Corporate burnout meets dead founder

I can’t believe you subscribed to this newsletter. Maybe you can’t believe it either. But here we are. 

Some people have been confused, so let me be clear: “Die Laughing with Phil Angee” is not some Jack Kevorkian euthanasia enthusiast publication. I don’t want you to actually die. And I hope you don’t want to either—because then I’d lose you as a reader. We’re speaking metaphorically, OK? But boy are we going to beat that metaphor to death.

I’m just a guy with early-onset osteoarthritis using his ergonomic keyboard to write dark humor stories to cope with his own corporate burnout. If you feel that, then you’re in the right place.

I’ve been in tech for 25 years. What that means is my in-laws think I know everything about computers and can provide free tech support whenever their Windows 95 machine gets yet-another virus from a floppy disk that didn’t socially distance around phishing scams.

The last couple years in the tech industry have been pretty tough. I’ve narrowly escaped multiple rounds of layoffs, and I have the existential threat of AI replacement looming constantly. So as I’m filling out my TPS reports and attending meetings that could’ve been an email, I think to myself, “Does any of this really even matter?” Then my wife goes to Costco and I remember it matters to the tune of $600 or $700 per trip.

Feeling caught between a job that could evaporate at a moment’s notice and the realization that I may never get another job if it does, I started looking for something to bridge myself to retirement or death, whichever comes first.

Recently, I saw an ad on Craigslist for a part-time editor for a comedy startup founded by a guy who looks like he needs to eat a sandwich. I thought to myself, that’s perfect. I’m hilarious. I drop dad jokes like seagulls drop on unsuspecting beachgoers. And people tell me all the time, “Don’t quit your day job,” which fits my current plan perfectly.

I went in for an interview with the founder, Phil, and I pretty much killed it. You know that feeling when you pour out your soul to someone and you feel so seen because they’re such a good listener? Well, Phil was silent as the grave while I talked myself up. And talk about feeling seen—he didn’t break his gaze once.

So now I’m the Editor-in-Chief for this comedy startup and writing the newsletter you’re currently reading. And I’m super excited to have something to do besides dread the next reorg-and-layoff double whammy at my day job.

But this is where it gets weird. I don’t know how it happened. Maybe I just didn’t notice during the interview. But this founder, Phil Angee… I’m pretty sure he’s dead. No, not like “dead serious about comedy,” or “that stand-up set really killed.” More like Weekend at Bernie’s meets One-Eyed Willy from The Goonies dead.

I mean, Phil never said anything during the interview. Didn’t stand up and shake my hand. Never actually called me back to offer me the job. Honestly, I’m not sure how I ended up here. I was so psyched about the whole thing I just showed up and started working. But is this even a real job? Am I working for free? Who is this “Phil Angee” guy?

I asked my wife what she thought. Well, she thought I was making a dad joke about the “phalanges” (finger bones). I said, “Yes, exactly! I can see all his finger bones!”

So now my wife thinks I’ve cracked. Maybe she’s right.

Here I thought I was joining a comedy startup as the Editor-in-Chief. Turns out I’m the Deaditor-in-Chief. 

And my boss is a skeleton.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Normally, when the main character dies, the story ends. But in this case, death is just the beginning.

The harsh truth about joining a startup is that whatever your job is, that’s the thing you spend the least amount of time on because, well, there’s a bunch of other jobs that have to get done, and there’s no one else to do them. That’s especially true around here.

This week, not only am I the Deaditor-in-Chief writing this newsletter, but I’m also the publicist who has to write Phil’s obituary that we hope will get picked up by Techcrunch. (Because, hey, there’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?) After that, I’m the executive assistant scheduling Phil’s dentist appointment to get his teeth whitened for a photo shoot promoting his next book. And then—you guessed it—I’m the photographer who has to shoot Phil, too.

And NONE of this was in the job description.

Maybe you’re in the same boat at your job where your company has laid off so many people, you’re doing all those people’s jobs now, too. Without a promotion. Or a raise. To all you poor souls in that state, I pay my respects. Try not to work yourself to death.

And to those of you who have been out of work for 6 or 7 months and would kill to do the jobs of 10 other people, I’m rooting for you to land one that makes you want to die a little less than your last one. 

With the absolute certainty of death and taxes, we might as well stick together (unlike Phil’s ribs, which nothing sticks to anymore).

Let’s stay connected on Phil’s favorite socials:

Or pick up some morbid merch in the Official Phil Angee Store.

Sadly, we have come to the end of the first issue of Die Laughing with Phil Angee, but before we depart, we’ll now open the mic for anyone who wants to say a few words.

Hit reply on this email and tell me what you think. I read every message and always respond. So if you find me non-responsive, please call 911.

P.S. Kindly forward this email to your BFF and tell them to subscribe. Because going viral is the only way to keep this newsletter from becoming a ghost town.