Dear Employees of Pochismo, Inc.:
As most of you know, the company continues to grow in spite of the half-assed crap job you do. However, I can’t really expect you to be good at anything, considering my huevon ex-husband, MR. POCHO, is your boss. A piñata has better leadership skills than him. That is why I am taking the initiative to educate you about the upcoming election.
Currently, your lack of talent poses no threat to your job status. What does pose a threat is another four years of the Obamanation Administration.
Having been awarded a substantial portion of POCHO stock as part of our divorce settlement, I have a great interest in your financial well-being. MR. POCHO and I started this company almost 11 months ago and even though I am heiress to the Jupína soda fortune, I have put my duties of exotic travel and party-time debauchery on hold in order to focus on POCHO’s growth.
Since the divorce, I have lived a modest life in the smallest of my five mansions. I sent away all my servants so that I could fully concentrate on milking my chinchoso ex-husband for every last penny, I mean, help the company flourish.
However, between Hummer limo payments and Brazilian butt lifts, I’ve had a hard time making ends meet. The current administration is threatening to raise my taxes. They have labeled me the 1%. But if you prick me, do I not bleed? I do bleed. I bleed every time I get a Botox injection.
I am not that different from you. Despite being a soda heiress, I come from very humble beginnings. I lived in a basement for like three months while we renovated my beach house. MR. POCHO was just a wannabe luchador, fighting midgets in high school auditoriums when I met him. I did not protest when he wore his stupid luchador mask at our wedding, nor when he left his caca-smeared chonies lying around my father’s Malibu estate. However, it’s time I step up to protect your future.
When you leave the office, you are done with work, except for when I make you pick me up from the eye doctor. I am never done with work. I eat, breath, sleep, lick, suck, and anally penetrate POCHO. There is no rest. No one sees the sacrifice I make — mainly because I only make human sacrifices in my secret Ferrari garage.
Why am I going on about this? Because if any new taxes are levied on me, I will be so damn broke.
I will be forced to fire my driver, I will only eat out five nights a week and maintain but one personal chef, and I will be forced to switch from Dom Pérignon to Moët — I might as well drink piss.
Why do you want me to drink piss? If Obama is elected I will sell my stake in Pochismo, Inc. to Rupert Murdoch and permanently move to my private island off the cost of French Guiana. Do you really think Rupert Murdoch won’t replace your illegal asses with robots? He will, trust me.
I can’t tell you who to vote for but you better vote for Romney or you will you find yourself replaced by a robot. I will have your asses deported. Do you realize how slow the Internet is in Guatemala? Me neither! I have my own personal satellite providing me Internet service globally.
So, when you go to the polls next month, remember who really endangers your jobs. I know you are all committing voter fraud anyway, so you better damn well vote Romney, you fuck puppets.
Your Corporate Overlord,
