Dear Travis,
Quit it. Quit being so yummy. I'm afraid I'm going to lose my job. Wear looser pants or something. Do me a favor and gain 60 pounds. At least quit being so sweet to me. I'm not stalking you, but I am acutely aware of you. In only a semi-friendly way. Who the hell has the right to look that good in black dress slacks and a red shirt!?! I think it's some kind of a violation of my civil rights to have to look at you for six hours while I'm trying to work. I'm calling the ACLU. The ACLU is going to sue you and sue H.E.B. and sue your ass for making my job have a sexually charged and uncomfortable environment. You're going down. Either that, or I'll end up fired and in jail for pushing you down on the floor in the produce cooler and humping you unmercifully. I would try to get you fired, but you're so damn good at your job. Which, I don't know if I mentioned it, but that makes me hot.
Your friend,
-kel
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