Dear Steve:
No, I will not work for you. Ever. Never ever. Not even if I was dead broke, living in a refrigerator box, and eating government cheese. Isn’t there a limit on how many calls an ex-or almost-employer can make trying to get you back, before it is called stalking? Not that it isn’t flattering on a certain level, I mean it’s not like you’re the New Yorker calling me, but seriously guy – you are M-A-N-I-C. Your mood swings alone are a big honking signal to say ‘run for your life.’ And fella you are seriously deluded with your fantasies of a Hechtian newspaper office, with copy boys underfoot and Bakelite telephones ringing off the hook. Your aversion to computers and modern methods, isn’t novel, it’s rather arrogant and pathetic. Freelancers work from home and staff writers file by email, even the paper itself is upload via file transfer. It’s business in the internet age. Suck it up. BTW a start up free tabloid from East Podunk isn’t gonna get anyone with A-list journalism experience to even return phone calls, never mind produce work on the cuff. I’m sorry you overpaid for your newspaper and don’t have money left to print it, you really only walked away with a masthead and that’s not my problem. It’s also not my problem that you don’t know how to write word one of a business document or pull a newspaper out of thin air. If anyone else was in your shoes, I’d probably hang around as long as I was being paid, but pal, you’re an ass. You woke up one day and said, “hey why don’t I buy a newspaper, just so I can call people I don’t like names?” Well, you don’t need a newspaper for that, and you certainly don’t need employees sitting around to stroke your ego. Go buy a can of spray paint. If time comes when you transfer ownership to someone else, tell them to call me.

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