The expendables: Vomitola on the chopping block

We are sure of few things in life.

1) There is no situation that cannot be represented via a Google Images search on The Sims.

2) We are all born terminally ill. It is only a matter of time. Please, have a Kleenex. Get your affairs in order.

3) In the meantime, we may be quotable, but we are always replaceable!

Just the other day, we read that John Galliano had been fired not only from Dior but from John Galliano! Apparently it is a foolhardy idea to allow someone else to own over 90% of your eponymous brand.

You could say we sold our souls years ago, so Lambchop and I have been getting nervous: recently she was asked to fill out a self-assessment, and I was asked to fill out a job application. On paper. These are clear signs that we are dealing with lunatics who do not understand our devil-may-not-particularly-care approach to modern life.

So we wondered: could our very existence in its present form be in jeopardy? Sure, we’ve had our rough patches, our little stunts and tantrums, but we’ve always apologized! Could Vomitola be fired from Vomitola? What will happen to our 401(k)s? Can we elect to use COBRA? Will we deny ourselves unemployment benefits because we were terminated for cause?

Times are still so hard that they make John Boehner cry, so we have decided that we must protect our livelihood by proactively pleading our case before a jury of our peers. As soon as we secure some, for where might we find those can match us in wit, intellect, and beauty?

In the coming days or hours, depending on our schedules, we must dust off our resumes (do people still print those on giant panda skin?) and don the leotards of fierce physical competition.

We will defend ourselves to the death!


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