And That Was All She Wrote...

[magicaddict]

...that's it. Forget it. I'm out of there.

Any possibility of my being anything associated with BUSMS after Sweet Charity went straight out of the window with the advent of a short conversation at the end of a very long, very busy rehearsal. Once again, the committee have changed their minds after giving me free rein to do as I wanted with something.

They now want a twelve page program, because Helen doesn't see why we need it to be sixteen pages "if we're just filling up for no reason".

YOU FICKLE BASTARDS

Not only do you take my beloved poster (which you had asked me to create) and change it utterly to match with your ideas, not only do you make the front of my program (which you asked me to create) all manner of ridiculous colours, but you now seek to change its layout (which you asked me to create), site unseen and with no further thought on what it would entail than the fact that we couldn't do photographs today because everyone was rehearsing all the time.

Have you ever made a decision having thought it through entirely in your pathetic, shitty lives? Have you ever accepted any of what you asked me to create without putting your slimy little hands all over it and deciding that after all, you didn't like it, but still didn't know what you wanted? Have you given me a sliver of autonomy the same way that you have let every other aspect of the production committee do what it bloody well wants?

HAVE YOU MY ASS

You clearly think I am a loose cannon that you've got to watch like a hawk. I think you're a bunch of fucking amateurs who wouldn't know willingness and ability if it anally raped you with the worlds largest fake black cock.
I'm trying to create something that will be remembered as the best-looking show in the history of the university, and I would be able to do it if we pooled ideas, rather than you telling me to go and away and come up with something, have me slave away like a bastard, then act unsure and as though you'd like to go with something else when I present you with it.

I neither want nor need your kind of acquaintanceship. Come the 11th of February, you can all fuck off and die.

Anyone want to help me concoct an entirely more vicious resignation latter than the one I had previously designed?

Comments

[helbling.livejournal.com]

Man, I'm sorry, these guys are obviously treating you worse than something not-too-pleassant that they scraped off the bottom of their shoe.

Do you really have to stick around until Feburary? If they keep treating you like you're disposible, maybe you should hammer the point home by leaving now, and making them realise that you aren't, weren't and now without you, they're fucked.

Not to mention, if they keep messing you around this badly with the /publicity/, they must be doing stuff that's just as bad with other departments, if not worse because there'd be more people involved, which doesn't point to a very successful final product - do you really want your name associated with it?

You seem to be doing fairly well on the viscous sarcasm part for your resignation, but if you want any more insults, feel free to 'mail me. I'm sure there must be a way to reduce at least one of them to tears...

[magicaddict.livejournal.com]

Unfortunately, I can't just walk out. I'm trying to be someone who lives by his commitments, and I committed myself to doing this show. That means I do it, then tell them what I think and leave.

I would like to take you up on the offer of help, but I would need more than what you suggested - more than to make people cry. Before it ever gets as far as BUSMS, I want the proofreader in tears at the sheer level of vitriloic malice eminating from the page and threatening to overflow and engulf the room, shutting off all light and intrinsically painting the walls black.

I want the intended recipients eyes to bleed. I want them to be torn between gouging their eyes out in attempts to get away from it, and being unable to tear themselves away from the next passage - it holding them like velvet handcuffs lined with razor wire.

I imagine it'll just end up being a slightly tetchy resignation letter, but I can but fantasize.

[helbling.livejournal.com]

Your holding to your responsibilities while they continue to not only ignore theirs, but also impede yours makes you a far better person than they can even aspire to being.

The level of eloquent malevolence contained simply within your reply when referring to BUSMS suggests that you may well achieve your ends there, and that the final product will be a piece of art (agonising and pain-inducing, but art nevertheless and one I wouldn't mind seeing, given the standard of your writing). The offer stands anyway - as you say, we can but dream.

[rebel-wulf.livejournal.com]

Resign with nails. and a hammer.

If all else fails, quote some choice peices of shakespeare at them (because im sure he's got some things in there that would suit this perfectly)... mostly just because its ironic.

But like i said. Hammer and nails.

and salt

[magicaddict.livejournal.com]

Salt?

[rebel-wulf.livejournal.com]

Take hammer, take nails. insert nails into idiots with hammer. take out nails and generously clean their wounds. with pure salt granules.

Then insert more nails and leave them in.

[magicaddict.livejournal.com]

You know, I like it...

[indigogecko.livejournal.com]

if it's to be done, it's best 'twere done properly.. or somesuch... didn't that irritating guy in Guys & Dolls storm out with a nasty note and everyone wound up laughing at him? Not going to be as much of a laughing matter if there's more than one of you leaving I suppose... but just make sure you write well enough to make them care about what they've done to you. Don't think I'd have the guts to do it, more power to you if it works.

Good Luck.