.:Ratchet's Resignation:.

Dear Commanding Officer/Waste of Parts/Annoyance of the Millennium Award Winner/Pentium Reliant Collection of Scrap/Ruiner of My Life at Large/ Son of an iMac: (Del. As applicable)

As a graduate of an institution of higher education known as the Medical Academy of Iacon and holder of a senior role in your staff, I have a few very basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors have an intellectual capacity that ranges above that of the common hexnut. After your consistent annoying and harassment of my co-workers and myself during the commission of our duties over the past twelve million years, I can only surmise that you are one of the few true technological and mechanical wastes of our time.

Asking me, a highly qualified, senior medical technician, to explain every little nuance of everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is not only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen, fuel and processing power. I was hired because I know how to re-route major internal systems using a paper clip, pliers, adhesive tape, cornflakes and crazy glue within 15 seconds of injury occurring to an individual. Whilst you were apparently hired to provide endless amusement to myself and other staff, as we watch you vainly attempt to understand the concept of light switches for the hundred-millionth time.

You will never understand my role and capabilities, as something as incredibly simple as binary still gives you too many options to process. You will also never understand why your staff continually disregard your ridiculous orders. I am going to try and explain it to you in really simple, monosyllabic words and gestures – At this point I would ask you to note my single digit response to your latest disciplinary action against me. Even though I am sure this will be just as effective as telling you what the significance of the number 42 is. Your shiny new desk sign has more personality than you ever will. It is also vastly more entertaining at parties.

You walk around the base all day, shiftlessly looking for fault in others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you characteristic of human politicians. Whilst that may have worked for your interview for the coveted post of Chief Waste of Space, now that you actually have responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their talent will cover for your glaring ineptitude. If the world of managerial evolution were a fishpond, you would be the blue-green algae that everyone else eats and laughs at. Commanding Officers like you are a sad proof of the human’s “Dilbert Principle”. Since this situation is unlikely to change without you getting a full neural net rebuild and core programming upgrade at my hands, I am forced to tender my resignation, however I have a few parting thoughts for you to consider:

1. When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal for you to give me a bad reference. The most you can say to hurt me is "I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly call you over the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I know you would be unable to do it on your own. Your core programming does not incorporate such basic ethical coding.

2. I have all the passwords to every account on the Personnel Database and Medical Record system, and I know every password you have used for the last five years on your personal comm-station. If you decide to get cute, I am going to publish your "favorites list", which I conveniently saved when you asked me to "back up" your useless files prior to the required mainframe upgrade of Teletraan’s operating system last month. I do believe that terms like "Lolita-1" and “Hot Hoods” are not usually viewed favourably by the Cybertronian High Commission as being necessary tactical information.

3. When you borrowed Spike’s digital camera to "take pictures of local security concerns," you neglected to mention that you were going to take pictures of certain highly geared pleasure droids too. Then you forgot to erase them like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say I have never seen such odd acts with a can of WD40 and a monkey wrench, but I assure you that those have been copied and kept in safe places pending the authoring of a glowing letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell check please; I hate having to correct your mistakes.)

Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation on my desk by 08:00  hours tomorrow. One word of this to anybody, and all of your little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the public – remember, I am also staff counsellor and chief psychiatrist, I know how your CPU works. Never f*** with your senior medical staff. Why? Because they know what you do with all that free time! They have to clear up the mess you get yourself and others into on a daily basis.

Wishing you a grand and glorious day, oh most exalted leader. Have a nice life and don’t come crawling to me when the opposition rams your rear axle up your aft end the next time you decide to take the troops on a Kamikaze run.

Yours faithfully in service to the crew and in preservation of my own sweet sanity,

CMO Ratchet.

PS: If you need me I’ll be in Hawaii.