The Wanker Family Annual Letter
Well, here we are again, wrappin' up another year. I really hate writin' these things but Floyd insists I bring the family and friends up to date and since the hospital won't let him have anything that might be a weapon, I'm stuck with the job.
So, yeah, bout Floyd. I guess if you didn't read the papers ya woulda missed it.
Floyd's been at the mill since he almost graduated from high school, a good employee too. That man runs a mean forklift. Never botherin nobody, just pickin stuff up and putting it down. When he ain't workin', he's fishin and huntin, hanging out at the bar at the Moose Hall. Livin the dream.
Then the mill got a new boss.
It shouldna been a big deal.
Well, big probly aint the right word. No other way to say it. The new boss was short. He was shortern' a golf tournament in a lightnin' storm, and a Yankee.
He come in to that plant last July like that guy Napoleon and started right in with how he was going to narrow the loss margins and think out of the box to implement forward thinking objectives that make workers stakeholders and increase our optics on market share profitability. I might not have that quite right. Got it secondhand from Floyd and he thought the whole thing sounded dangerously European.
Lars, the new boss, (Who names their kid Lars?) starts off reviewing all the personnel files and next thing ya know Floyd's off the forklift and in the maintenance department.
Seems sales of sex toys, (That's what they make, ya know. They create more smiles than a discount dentist.) have been limp and a few companies have pulled out of the market after sales went soft. Anyway, now everybody got two jobs. Floyd was put in maintenance cause he did it in the Army. That dopey Yankee shoulda looked at Floyd's evaluations. One sergeant said Floyd was the best asset ISIS had. Floyd was not a good mechanic.
Well, the day in question began badly. Floyd no sooner set foot in the plant when that Lars guy starts shouting at him. The latex injector on the assembly line for 'Big Leroy' (I don't think I have to add any details on that) was not getting the right shade of black. I never knew black had shades, but I'm just a country girl.
Poor Floyd was the only maintenance guy there and Lars jus kep yellin at him like Donald Trump on the phone with Ukraine. Floyd doesn't do well getting yelled at. When I'm mad, I just clock him a two-by-four, try not to hit the steel plate in his head though.
Floyd tol' me he tried real hard and got the color right but the discharge chute weren't workin. That Lars fella kept ridin Floyd with his squeaky little-man voice and then Floyd snapped. That machine was supposed to fill a big bin and the discharge chute moved. Well Floyd got it workin', let out with that evil laugh of his— never a good sign—put the machine on high and aimed it at poor Lars.
They were in a back corner and Lars had nowhere to run. Floyd was firing fake dicks at his boss goin on forty miles an hour. Poor Lars was screaming in pain as they whacked him. Floyd hit the switch and fired off a few of those suction cup jobbies. One of em stuck to Lars bald head, so he's runnin in circles playin dildo dodgeball, lookin' like some porno unicorn.
Just before the cops yanked him off the machine Floyd switched over and fired off a "Big Leroy" knocking Lars out faster'n a right hook from Mike Tyson. Poor man lay on the factory floor hugging three feet of black latex sex toy. The pictures are still on the locker room bulletin board.
So we got us a good lawyer from the Capitol and instead of attempted manslaughter, we got Floyd off on temporary insanity. He's up at the state hospital in Cranksville waitin on his first evaluation. I sure hope that doctors' tall.
Billy Jean, our sixteen-year-old is our pride and joy. She's in the entertainment industry now. She's got the longest pole at the truckstop lounge. She's so damn good the ankle monitor never gets in the way.
Billy Jean got the monitor when she was runnin shine for her cousin Bo. The wood block fell off the brake pedal and she back-ended a party bus full of drunk State Patrolmen.
Well, that's all from the double-wide. Hope this finds you all well.
Love, Wanda Wanker.
