All,

I’ve recently learned that the joke you’ve all been giddily repeating since it was told at last year’s company picnic—the one about the wiener car—is once again being attributed to Chad. It was not Chad. It was me.

Now, I’m not bashing Chad. Chad’s fine. Chad does consistently adequate work, and he’s even finally learned what a pivot table is. But he’s not the author of the joke that has so resoundingly echoed in the company zeitgeist for the past year. That, again, was yours truly.

Does the joke even sound like Chad? Have you ever heard Chad deliver such a layered, quietly devastating witticism that employs this level of cutting satire and masterful wordplay? Has Chad’s so-called humor ever illuminated the human condition with such a heartbreaking blend of whimsy and despair? Nope. Chad once yelled “Hey!” when he saw a truck carrying hay.

Although Chad is the primary offender here, Betsy is no saint. Betsy likes to “do” the joke. Betsy is not up to the task. Betsy actually uses the key phrase of the punchline (mustard buns) in the setup, thus robbing the joke of its side-splitting clincher. Don’t get me wrong. Betsy’s great. Almost pleasant. I like those vanilla cupcakes she brings in, despite their stingy allotment of frosting. But this joke? It’s simply not a Betsy joke. Does Betsy even tell jokes? Jokes she hasn’t stolen, I mean.

While I have you, I’d also like to clarify that I’m not Eric. Some of you seem to think I am. “Hey, Eric,” you’ll say in the break room, “how’s it hanging?” This always presents a dilemma. Do I say “Lower’n it used to” (the conventional response) or “I’m not Eric”? The former perpetuates the misperception that I’m Eric; the latter simply alienates. Now, keep in mind I’m not anti-Eric either. But, really, Eric looks nothing like me. I’m a large man. Stout. Husky, as my mother would say. Eric is a pipsqueak. I once saw Eric trying to open the flap at the bottom of the vending machine, and let me say, he struggled. He eventually got his Crunchy Puffs, but it was a real squeaker, I’ll tell you that right now, my friends.

Also, while we’re on the subject of authorship, please know that I’m the sole party responsible for embedding certain buzz terms in the collective lexicon. Who do you think started granular, flyby, and dot-connected? Who was the first to get into the weeds? Who circled back? This is not to imply that you should stop deploying these terms. Just remember who’s been selflessly elevating modes of expression to facilitate a team cohesiveness that has propelled sales figures beyond all imagination, okay?

In conclusion, let me emphasize that the jocular comment made at last year’s picnic is proprietary humor that must be used as is and credited to its original source (me). If this requirement cannot be met, you are expected to refrain from telling the joke or making any references thereto. Likewise, any mentions of hot dogs must use exactly that term—i.e., hot dog(s), not wiener(s).

My hope is that this clearing of the air will usher in a new era of understanding among all of you, this scrappy little group of knuckleheads I’ve come to consider my extended family.

With all due collegiality,

Todd