Happy First Anniversary! Now Piss Off!

Ha! Today was my first anniversary at work, and also the day our CEO Mr. Shmutz accepted my 30 day notice.
It seems Mr. Parakeet Balls took a vote between the Operations Manager, the HR woman I'll call Bennie and the CFO. The score was 2 to keep me and 1 to get rid of me.
The NO vote belonged to the CFO, whom I'll call Bitsy von Schtup.
I have never before mentioned her because she's someone who always bought me breakfast tacos and solicited, then listened sympathetically to my stories about the DWiP.
She's the blonde Republican 34-year-old who told me she thought the DWiP was a typical small town Mexican, drunk with power and abusive to "the little people." She's also the one who calls in sick at least once a week, leaves for the day the minute Shmutz leaves the office and snacks all day but pukes after every meal so she stays trim. She's married to a scrawny guy named Glenn, the biggest pussy ever.
Yep, lil' Bitsy would always come into my office, shut the door and ask how I was doing with mock sympathy, then she ended up using what I told her to harpoon me. My Big Sis was right-- today I learned who my friends were.
It was hilarious this morning before Shmutzy called me into his office.
When Bitsy walked in, she muttered good morning to me but avoided eye contact. It was so obvious that she felt guilty, I immediately wondered if today would be my last day or the beginning of my 30 days' notice.
I was also suspicious when the DWiP arrived this morning and bid me a peppy, "Hi Karen!"
Around 9 a.m., Shmutzy called me in and Bennie the HR woman was already seated. I knew her presence was a bad sign.
He said, "We're sorry to lose you, but I've decided to accept your resignation."
I said, "Well, sir, you can't be that sorry, since you had the power to make the decision."
He shrugged as only a man with no balls can do.
Then he had me read his letter accepting my resignation, which said I'd be "turning relevant work product in to the Operations Manager," which meant I no longer had to report to the DWiP. He was too chickenshit to put that in writing, but before I signed it, I said, "Now, this is nebulously worded, but I want you to confirm to me in front of this witness that I won't have to have anything to do with the DWiP for my remaining time here."
He nodded. I signed and dated it with a flourish.
Then I smiled, took a deep breath and reiterated to him to mark my words: the DWiP would only be happy if my replacement was meek, docile and totally obedient to her, which are qualities in direct opposition to a successful magazine editor.
Then I said, "With all due respect, and in front of this witness, I have to wonder how many qualified professionals you plan to allow the DWiP to chew up and spit out before it dawns on you that there's one common denominator in all this, and it's her."
Then I said, "She's a bad supervisor and we all know you've been told that countless times by a lot of different people. But what you probably haven't considered is that allowing her to run off another good employee will embolden her to be an even worse supervisor to her next victim."
He was getting pissed and clearly uncomfortable that I had told him that in front of Bennie, so I changed gears and said, "Just so you know, I won't adapt a scorched earth policy. You know that because I came to this job with impeccable references. But with the albatross no longer on top of my head and pecking me in the eyes, I have the next 30 days to relax and do what I love most, creating--as you've said--the best magazine this company has had in 150 years."
He relaxed a bit, then he said, "If you can think of any colleagues you might want to recommend..." I cut him off and said, "Sir, I wouldn't wish the DWiP on any of my colleagues, and I doubt you'll find any decent journalist who can tolerate her petty, vindictive dictatorship for more than a few months."
Then I reminded him that I lasted as long as I did because she was out of town for six months of the last year.
Of course, he asked me not to talk about it with the other staff members (yeah, right).
And in the letter, he said if I 'misbehaved' he reserved the right to (get this) "no longer require your services, unless I plan to hire you as a consultant." Huh?
I've seen some corporate jabberwocky in my day, but he was trying so hard to craft a document filled with escape routes for the company it was ridiculous in its transparency.
Afterwards, I went back to my office almost giddy with glee. I found myself whistling, then for the first time in a year, I put on a nice Brazilian music CD and whistled along with it as I dashed out a near-perfect column for the Alliance President.
Within an hour, word was out and everyone (but Bitsy and the DWiP) was sneaking into my office, giving me high fives and patting me on the back, saying they admired my guts and wishing me well.
By this afternoon, when Shmutzy and the DWip had left for the day, both Bennie and the Operations Manager confided to me that Bitsy Von Schtup was the lone NO vote. I already had surmised that, but it was touching that they both put their asses on the line to let me know.
Now I have a whole month to wait for Bitsy to ask how I am, with her fake concern dipped in saccharine. I'll just say, "Shmutz asked me not to discuss this with the staff, so please don't bring it up again."
She absolutely loves to gossip and hates to be left out of the loop, so that'll chap her ass but good.
And the DWiP may have left today thinking she'd won the war, but on some level she'll soon start to realize that the truth about her is out, and I doubt Shmutz will be so oblivious when the next editor tells him she's an asshole they can no longer tolerate.

Meanwhile, tomorrow night is my monthly Publications Committee meeting, comprised of physicians who adore me, love the magazine and say I have the coolest committee meetings in the company. They already hate the DWiP because she has countermanded their editorial directives more than a few times.
When they ask why I'm leaving, I won't say, but it won't take long for them to guess.
I can almost guarantee they'll bitch to high heaven to Shmutz, and to Shmutz's boss. There still might be a bit of shit hitting the DWiP's fan over this mess, we shall see.

But in the end, I got what I wanted. I no longer have to speak to or take orders from that small town, horse peeing asshole DWiP. That alone was worth going All In.

Without going all Doogie Howser on y'all, I can say that taking care of myself by putting an end to her reign of terror has been very self-affirming. I'm leaving with 12 very good issues of the magazine, the respect of my colleagues and my balls intact.
As they say in witchy circles, Blessed Be.