From: Meg Whitman Re: Keep Your Trap Shut

“In any high-pressure working environment, tensions can surface. Young Mi and I had a professional disagreement, which we put behind us. She and I continued to work together at eBay, where I valued her skilled counsel and thorough professionalism.”-California gubernatorial nominee Meg Whitman, in a statement regarding the six-figure settlement she paid to a former employee at eBay.

To: Young Mi Kim
From: Whitman, Meg
Date: 10/02/07
Re: Your Expensive Silence

Fine. Two-hundred thou. You win this week’s lottery. Spend it well, you miserable little monster. I think you’ll find that’s quite a few Gap blazer-skirt combos.

Here’s the deal: I’m not going to be at this shithole company much longer anyway. I’m going to be governor of Killa California, and after that, president of the United fucking States. And if you think I’m going to let the fact that I shoved an insolent media-prep pissant out of a conference room and down the hall to the stairs and down the stairs and threw a white board and a box of markers and a swivel chair and an eBay coffee mug down on top of her, you don’t know Meg fucking Whitman!

Oh, and by the way, as per the agreement, we’re going with “physically guided,” right? I “physically guided you out of the conference room.” That’s official now, just so we’re clear. In the unlikely event that this is ever spoken of again. Because also per our agreement, you are never to utter another word about this matter ever again.

I can’t believe I ever agreed to do an interview on fucking Second Life in the first place. I never like to talk to anyone that I can’t reach out and choke. Sometimes the only way to make yourself understood is with your fists. And that ridiculous avatar those clammy-handed dickworms in the graphics department made for me-my chest was so big, you could barely see my face! Surely, there’s better things to spend Linden dollars on than making your boss look like a lactating Lara Croft. Let them work out their mommy issues on someone else. Don’t embarrass me!

And then you, Little Miss Squeaks-a-lot, with your precious time wasting and your dry blue marker. You picked one hell of a time to run out of ink, lady. “Oh, here, let me just use yellow.” GENIUS!!! Like anyone without motherfucking Superman vision could see YELLOW marker on a WHITE fucking board in that godforsaken conference room with the glare from those fucking florescent lights. And after four breakfastinis with the McCains! All up in my face with those puke-stink, mouse-squeak, arid-as-the-fucking-Gobi-Desert writing implements and the namby-pamby, excuses-excuses hemming-and-hawing-”Oh, umm, sorry, umm, let me try red…” Tell me what I want myself to say about my goddamn company, and I’ll say it, goddamn it! It’s awfully fucking simple. Just tell me what I pay you to tell me to say! Don’t waste my time! I’m a very busy woman! “Let me try green…” How about try all the markers at once, rammed right down your neck?! How about all four wheels of this swivel chair straight up-

Anyway. That was an “unfortunate incident” (which is how you are henceforth legally contracted to refer to it) and it is in the past. I will leave you here and be governor of California and president of the world and I will give all my money to those idiots at Princeton who kiss my ass up and down like it was made of caviar, and no one will ever dare disappoint me again.

Welcome back to eBay, bitch.

Meg Whitman