Chapter 1:

There’s Crowley, the bastard. He’s obviously first on the list having spent three more years at the company than me. If he could suck his own dick, Crowley would be a recluse. I’m sure he wishes he could, craving the taste of come like the faggot fuck he is. I’ve always pictured Crowley as the type of guy to get robbed by a prostitute and then try to report it to the police. His parents probably wish they’d had a son.

There’s that fuck Jenkins, the world class assface. He always wears a suit, even on casual Friday. His cubicle is across the row from mine and I hear his chair squeaking all day because he can’t stand still for even a second. His secretions could probably qualify for world record status. This bastard, let me tell you. They broke the mold with him. He comes in everyday with a shiny suit, gray or blue or the ever popular black, and there’ll be a large stain right beneath one of his lapels or on the wrist where it extends past the cuff. A stain from pizza or beer or whatever he’s just ingested. This bastard is the kind of guy that would pay a hooker before fucking her and think this was some sort of win.

Jenkins has no chance. If you’re already bald and you haven’t made it to middle management yet, you can fucking kiss it goodbye. Jenkins’ smell has probably emptied more rooms than the Barbara Streisand catalog. Jenkins would make the Pope commit suicide. Jenkins probably goes a big one thinking about his fat wife and all the lovely young boys they’ve produced.

And then, oblivious to our inter-office politics, is that new fucker Ashley. No one knows if this is his first name or his last name. Not a bad kid, if intelligence and productivity aren’t counted. Only four years ago he was doing his internship here. Ashley’s greatest asset to the company is that he’s too short-sighted to realize that he makes no money at his job. The company’s greatest asset in Ashley is that he can wheel in for an early staff meeting looking like he’s just masturbated over his own image in the mirror. Don’t ask me why but executives love a man who is in love with himself. I give Ashley four years before a major sexual harassment suit ends his lofty ambitions for good.

At my desk I have pictures of the children from the charity I spearhead. The girls are good for a quick tug in the bathroom after coffee break. If I ever started smoking, I’m sure I’d be smoking more by now, just surrounded by these dead-eyed pictures and the stains that occupy the office.

There’s Crowley, the cock. But I think I’ve already mentioned him.

Crowley knocks on my cubicle wall and I continue talking into the phone as though I’m having a conversation. In reality, I’ve just picked it up because I saw him approaching.

“Right, you tip the maitre ‘d,” I say into the phone. “But you don’t tip the bus boy. You do tip your waitress but only depending on how much tit she’s showing.”

“Paul, can I talk to you?” Crowley asks from behind me.

I hold a finger out to him, asking for just a second.

Fucking right, you cock. I will speak to you at the time of my choosing, not the other way around.

“Parsons, you really need to get a hold of yourself,” I say into the phone, the dial tone buzzing in my head. “It’s just a date, you can find a girl anywhere.”

“I just need five minutes,” Crowley tells me.

“Listen, Parsons, I’ve gotta go. Reverend Chihuahua Garbanzo just walked in here,” I say. “Ha ha. Just kidding. Keep it loose, brother.”

I put the phone back in its cradle and pull a file off my inbox and open it. Then I turn in my chair and look at Crowley.

I notice the dyke bitch Farley giving me a glance over the top of my cubicle wall as she walks past.

Fucking right, bitch. You dyke. You can look all you want. A piece of grade A meat like Paul Rigby is right the fuck out of your league, you cunt. Fucking dyke anyway. Even so, it is a bit of a waste. Good ass on that one.

Crowley shuffles his feet and runs his hand through his hair, staring at his shoes.

“Out with it,” I finally say.

“It’s about this Christ case.”

Our new client Eddie Christ, the lounge singer from Vegas. We just acquired him last week and Crowley is in charge of it.

“What’s the problem?” I ask, faking concern. You fucking shit, you should take my word as gospel. You should get down on your knees and thank God for giving me to you, for allowing you the gift of access to my knowledge.

“Well I’m just not sure about it,” Crowley says. “So I was thinking maybe we could work on it together."

Fucking right. You expect me to bust my butt for you and then let you take all the fucking credit? Fat chance, limp dick.

Then, as polite as possible, “That would be just great.”

Crowley lets out a sigh of relief.

“I just thought it was more in your territory,” Crowley says.

In my mind I’m figuring out ways to trip Crowley up.

“You know,” Crowley says, “it’s just right up your alley. You go to Vegas every year, don’t you?”

Of course I do, you slimy little fuck. You know damn right I do. Everyone in the office knows that from December 12^th to December 26th I go to Las Vegas. Everyone knows this.

“That I do,” I say.

“Right,” Crowley says. “So you know the area, you know the background. This case is more suited to you.”

I see what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to get me to ask him if I can take the whole thing. Take the load off him. Well you can suck it, you little bastard. Smug little shit.

“I’ll be happy to help in any way I can,” I say.

Farley walks past my cubicle, brushing past Crowley as she moves and all I can think is that fucking dyke needs some serious deep dick action. Lucky Crowley, he must have felt her breasts squeeze against his back as she walked past because he’s got a look on his face that says, “More of that please.”

“Crowley,” I say, “can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Paul, you know my door’s always open.”

Aha! Smug, over-confident bastard! He’s already got it in his head that he’s going to get the promotion. As though I don’t exist in this office at all. As if he has a door to be open already and not the lowly cubicles we each have.

“Is there any word on the promotion coming up?” I ask. I just want him to know that I’m in the game too, that he doesn’t have this thing all locked up.

“Well I heard that Brinkley from accounting was all set to step into the top spot when his wife got hit by a drunk driver and now he’s out of it.”

Right. Love to buy that driver a drink. But, fuck. I already know this. My tactic has backfired, he’s now talking down to me like I’m a child.

“I think you’re obviously the man for the job,” I tell him. “And I do mean man. Can you imagine if that cunt Farley were to get the promotion?”

“You should probably keep your voice down,” Crowley says. “The walls have ears, you know?”

I’m not afraid of that cunt.

“Right right,” I say. “I was out of line.”

“But to answer your question, I don’t think Farley is in line for any kind of promotion.”

Farley is the result of a women’s liberation fucking freakshow that sued the company and got her hired. Even we aren’t above the courts it would seem. Farley got rejected for the job even though she claims to be qualified. And after eight months she hasn’t pulled her head out of her ass one time. I’m beginning to think we need to get her a sheet of glass in her stomach so she can at least see whose toes she’s stepping on.

She and her lesbie friends filed a class action suit against the company and forced them to hire her on in a position besides the obvious, that being secretary or personal assistant. They made her a junior vice president of acquisitions, a title that technically places her above me in the scheme of things but we’ll see about that.

“Who do you think’ll get it?” I ask Crowley.

“That’s a tough one,” he says and furrows his brow. “I think Jenkins is in line for it. He’s got the most experience of anyone here.”

There’s Jenkins with his stained shirts. When he gets hot, he takes of his blazer and there are deep, ugly sweat stains pooled under his armpits.

Who else is there?

There’s Baker and Ashley, even though they’re obviously too new to get the promotion. It won’t be going to anyone that’s been here under five years. That leaves just me, Crowley, and Jenkins. But you have to take everyone into account.

Besides Baker and Ashley, the new guys, there’s Cedrick Anderson. The guy has no chance of getting promoted even though he’s been here longer than me and Crowley put together. Crowley was right to not include him as a candidate because the guy is just too fucking stupid to do the simple job he does now. I’m sure a trained monkey could laugh in his face over his inability.

“Yeah, Jenkins,” I agree. “He’s certainly earned it.”

“You still have that charity?” Crowley asks me.

“A bit on the slow side this time of year,” I tell him. “Runaways are going back to their families for Thanksgiving or some shit.”

“It’s a sweet little thing you’ve got going there,” he tells me.

Just you try to top it, you little fuck. I could kill you with my thumb.

“I’d like to see you get the promotion,” Crowley tells me.

Fucking right you would. I can’t tell if he’s sincere or just putting me on.

“Thanks for your faith,” I reply. “But I think you are clearly the man for the job. You’ve been here longer than me.”

“But the way you handled the Penske account…” Crowley says. “It was just amazing, that’s all.”

Fucking right it was. These fuckfaces could learn about a million things from me.

He gives me a grin and I want to pick up the three hole punch and bash his face in. He’s gloating, thinks he’s got the promotion all lined up.

We’ll see about that, you shit stain.

Oh yes. We will see.

Chapter 2:

Our boss is a foul man named Arthur Robertson. Fucking bleeding heart half-wit if you ask me.

He’s called me into the office early today. Not asked me to come but demanded I come. I’m late, just to show him up. Fucker can’t have me listening to him, I do what I choose. That’s the way of the world.

“You’re late,” Robertson says.

“Dreadfully sorry,” I reply. “Traffic.”

Our office is located in Century City as that’s the most convenient place to park the company.

“I hear that you’re helping on the Christ account,” Robertson tells me. “Crowley’s very pleased about that.”

“Crowley’s a good man,” I say. Fucking shit. But I can’t make it obvious how much I want this promotion. As I said, Robertson’s a foul man and he’ll skip me over just for fun.

When Robertson came on board, it was the golden age. We had all kinds of clients. Pop star wannabes, lowly writer scum, diva hopefuls. That was back in the day.

How Robertson ever advanced to the position he now retains is a bit of a mystery as I’ve been rooting around in the personnel files and I’ve discovered no indications he ever did more than a competent job.

Through my clandestine researching, I’ve discovered that at one time Robertson was carrying on affairs with three women working for the company, all secretaries. Grudgingly, I respect his lecherous ways. I even wonder if he’s fucking Farley these days. She’s certainly got her lips buried in his o-ring.

“We’re having a staff meeting this morning,” Robertson tells me.

Oh you fucking pig, with your fucking staff meetings. Don’t you realize I’ve got real work to do? This is all just more shit from the bastard, more ways to keep me under his thumb.

“Always a pleasure,” I say hopefully.

“What’s the word on that charity you run?” he asks me.

“Moving along nicely,” I say with a grin. “More kids are added every week.”

“Farley’s been round to see me,” Robertson says. “Has her panties in a bunch over your behavior. Says that you’ve been dipping your pen in the company ink.”

Fucking bitch. The damn dyke. She’s referring, of course, to Sheila, Arthur Gelke’s personal assistant. At the Halloween party she had a few too many and I took her to my place and really gave it to her.

That cunt, what a piece of ass. Squealed when I put it in, screeched when I pulled it out. No condoms on that one. They’re too restrictive and kill all sensation. I’m always looking for girls I can fuck without a condom. Sheila was so drunk that she didn’t even seem to notice the lack of protection and I vaguely hope she gets pregnant. Would serve her right, the cunt.

“There’s obviously been some kind of misunderstanding,” I say.

Flashback to that night, Sheila puking into my toilet as I held her hair back. Then it’s a montage, me on top of her, her on top of me, laying side by side. Then the toys. First I pull out a black whip and Sheila’s eyes go wide. I give her a smile and lay it on the bed. I pull out the rusty coat hanger, the handcuffs, the black leather riding crop. “We’re not done yet,” I say with a grin.

“Well Farley’s really in a huff over it. Says you exceeded your authority, used the power of your position improperly,” Robertson tells me.

Fucking right. Bitch needs to mind her own business. Sheila was just an adventure, another conquest. Not even worth talking about anymore.

“Farley’s a good woman,” I say to Robertson, the fucker, “but I believe she goes too far sometimes.”

Robertson just nods.

“She sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong,” I say. Like in this fucking company or right up Robertson’s ass. She’s the only one in the office that kisses his ass and he’s been a right bastard ever since.

“Well you know the new policy,” Robertson says. “No sex between co-workers.”

There goes your darling dream of shagging Farley yourself, Robertson. Or are you above the laws you enact? Fat chance on that one anyway, you fuck. We all know that Farley’s a patron of the flying v’s.

“It was a drunken mistake,” I tell him. “It won’t happen again.”

“Great, great,” Robertson says, distracted. “But there are repercussions. Farley wants to talk to you under my supervision.”

“That’s really going too far,” I say. “She can speak to me privately.”

“I think she’s intimidated by you,” Robertson says. “After all, you may be getting promoted to a level above her.”

Drop the may be, you pig bastard.

And Robertson really does resemble a pig. His nose is cocked back at a certain angle, his ears stick out, and his mouth purses in such a way as to resemble a fucking pig.

He picks up his phone and dials Farley’s extension.

“Could you come in here, please?” he asks.

“Am I up for reprimand?” I ask when he hangs up.

“No no, nothing like that yet,” he responds. “This is just an informal chat.”

The bitch actually knocks at the door, as if she’s coming unannounced.

When she enters, she gives me a cold look. I return it evenly. Fucking bitch, don’t ever try to stare me down. Damn cunt, shouldn’t even be with the company in the first place.

“Thank you for joining us, Paul,” she says.

“Thanks for having me,” I respond.

She looks to Robertson for support but he just shrugs.

“I wanted to talk to you about the way you treated Sheila,” she continues.

“The Sheila that works here?” I respond and I can tell this trips her up because she looks flustered. Damn straight, you dyke bitch.

“Yes,” she say. “The Sheila that works here.”

Nice piece of ass, that one. No regrets.

“Well I may have been a little out of line,” I say, “but it was a hard time for me. We’re coming up on the holidays and I’m all alone. Loneliness will make a man do some pretty stupid things. And I was very drunk.”

“I don’t know if your apology is really sincere,” the cunt says.

I offered no apology. Fuck that.

“It’s good enough for me,” Robertson says. “It was the holidays, he was lonely. Can’t hold a grudge against a man for that.”

“But I really think we should bring Sheila in here so he can apologize directly to her,” the cunt says.

Oh, I see how it is. The dyke has her own little crush on Sheila. She wants me to dredge up the past so she can be the warm shoulder that Sheila cries on. Turning this to her own advantage when she fucks Sheila.

“I would be very embarrassed for that to happen,” I say. “This is a personal and private matter and I think it should be handled privately.”

“Well that’s all well and good,” the dyke says, “but I really think this should be handled through proper channels. You’re lucky Sheila loves her job here, otherwise she could have brought a sexual harassment suit against you.”

That’ll be the day. A suit against me would be the end of Sheila in this office.

“I once again insist that this be handled privately. If Sheila would like an apology, I’m man enough to make one,” I say. “But I shall only do so in private.”

“I will check with Sheila about it. So you will have to apologize.”

Fucking cunt.

Robertson brings his hands together as though praying and looks from me to Farley and back.

“Right,” he says. “I’m glad we’ve got that settled.”

Farley turns to leave and I say, “Hold on just a minute.”

Farley turns back to face me.

“I’m not finished yet,” I say. “I think you were completely out of line going over my head, Ms. Farley. This is a matter unrelated to work and it should have been handled discreetly. I feel very hurt that you did not approach me yourself and decided instead to include my supervisor.”

Farley has a concerned look in her eye, the cunt.

“I just thought-“

“It was wrong of you to go over my head. I’m not an ogre. I wouldn’t have ground your bones and eaten your skin for bringing this up. If an apology is what Sheila is looking for, an apology she gets. But there were two of us there that night and I feel quite used myself. But, being a man, I had to just accept what had happened. Sheila, not being a man, is free to ask for apologies about the matter.”

“Paul-“ the dyke says.

“I’m not finished,” I say. I look to Robertson. “I apologize to you, Arthur, for having been brought into this mess. But it was not my choice, it was foisted upon me.”

I turn back to Farley.

“And you, Ms. Farley, were way out of line taking a personal matter to my superior before approaching me. Did you not think that I would listen to what you had to say? I understand that Sheila is feeling hurt and does not want to face me man to man-“ I stumble here when I realize what I’ve just said. “Face to face, I mean. Face to face. So it is understandable that she turned to you. And I am embarrassed enough to have my personal life shared with a person who is, for all intents and purposes, a complete stranger to me. But to have it shared with my boss…that’s just out of line.”

Farley stands in the doorway, staring at me.

Fucking right, cunt. You want an apology for Sheila, I’ll be getting one for myself. Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, keep it planted in Robertson’s ass.

Robertson seems to be on my side.

“Elaine?” he asks.

She looks to him and then back at me.

“Paul, I apologize for not approaching you directly. But we do not have the best working relationship.”

“I understand that,” I say. “But it’s not my fault, my door is always open to you. Regardless, this was not a work-related matter. This was a private matter and should have been handled more discreetly.”

Game, set and match.

“I’m very sorry,” the cunt tells me and then walks out the door.

Robertson gives me an amused smile and I want to tell him how easy it is to put a woman like Farley in her place. But I can tell he wouldn’t want to hear it. He is too happy to have her constantly rimming his ass. He even favors his chances at getting her into bed, it’s quite obvious. It’s written all over the pig’s face.

“Is that all?” I ask Robertson and it pains me to say it. There’s no way I recognize his authority over me. It feels like shit in my mouth every time I have to ask his permission to leave.

“Just remember the staff meeting at 10,” he replies but he’s already looking at files on his computer, as though I’m not even there anymore.

Fuck you too, you pig looking motherfucker.

Chapter 3:

When I get back to my cubicle, Jenkins is waiting for me.

“What’s this I hear about the Christ account?” he asks me.

“You heard right,” I reply.

“How about that? Little Rigby is gonna help old Crowley.”

Fucking right, you fuck. Call me little again and I’ll split your skull for you.

“I’ll be doing fuck all,” I say. “I only said yes to look good with Robertson.”

“Gunning for that promotion are we?”

“With a man like you around, what chance do I have?”

“You think that I might actually get it?” he asks.

“You’re clearly the man for the job. More experience than the whole lot of us.”

“What about old Anderson? He’s been here longer than me.”

“You think that fuck’s ever going to be promoted?” I say. And seriously, does Jenkins actually think he’ll ever get fucking promoted? Over me? Not half, I say.

“Well just don’t put too much on your plate,” Jenkins says. “You never know, you might be the one called up.”

I look down on my desk and there’s a note laying there. I pick it up and read it.

“Dreadfully sorry for going to Robertson before approaching you,” it reads. “But that does not excuse your behavior. The matter will be dropped after you have apologized to Sheila.”

Fucking cunt.

“What have you got there? Love note?” Jenkins asks.

He’s obviously hot already because there’s a damp mildew smell rising from him. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll drop the sport coat and walk around with his disgusting armpit stains.

“Yeah,” I say. “Love note. From Farley.”

“Nice rack on that one,” Jenkins says. “Don’t look at me like that. I know you’ve noticed it too.”

I see Crowley approaching.

“Here he comes,” I say.

Jenkins turns and looks.

“Fucking bastard,” I say under my breath.

“What was that?” Jenkins asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing.”

Crowley stops at my cubicle and stands next to Jenkins.

“Hot today, isn’t it?” he asks and he’s clearly making fun of Jenkins but it’s an inside joke, only Crowley and I share it.

“Ghastly hot,” Jenkins says. “I’m sweating and it’s only 9 o’clock.”

“Should’ve seen the girl I picked up last night,” Crowley says. “Nice piece of ass.”

Jenkins quickly looks around to see if Farley can hear us.

“Tell us about her,” Jenkins says after his quick survey.

“Thigh high stockings,” Crowley says. “That’s all you need to know.”

“I always regretted,” I say, “not getting it on with a Catholic school girl when I was younger.”

“Yeah,” Jenkins agrees. “The plaid skirt and white blouse, the stockings, they had it all.”

“Too old now,” Crowley says.

Fucking bastard. Infantile piece of shit.

I just grin.

“Tell me about that Christ account,” Jenkins says.

“His name’s Eddie Christ and he’s a lounge singer in Las Vegas. Paul here has been nice enough to offer his services to me.”

Offer my services to him? It was his fucking idea, the fuck.

“Anything I can do to help. All for the good of the company,” I say.

“Rigby’s a team player,” Crowley says with a smile and I want to punch that smirk right off his face.

“Yeah,” Jenkins says, “the company. All for the good of the company.”

“Have you seen that hot girl that Gelke’s got working for him?” Crowley asks and for a second I think he’s making a dig at me but then I can tell he doesn’t know about me and Sheila. Just what I need, some dumb tramp spouting her mouth about what we did together. That would be top notch.

Just to have a go at Crowley, I decide to tell. “I’ve had that,” I say.

“Fuck off,” Jenkins says. “You’ve done no such thing.”

“The Halloween party,” I reply with a Zen-like stoicism. “She came back to my place afterwards.”

“Seriously?” Crowley asks and I can see admiration in his eyes.

“What happened?” Jenkins asks.

“A real man never tells,” I reply with a grin.

“Come on,” Crowley says. “Just a taste.”

“We did it all ways. That girl likes to take it from behind. No fucking kidding about that.”

“I thought she was gay,” Jenkins says.

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“I see her talking to Farley a lot. I thought they had a thing going.”

“That dyke-“ I say.

“Watch it, Paul,” Crowley says and I see Farley coming around Jenkins’ cubicle.

“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Farley says as she passes, a pile of papers in her arms.

“What a waste,” Crowley says.

“Are we sure she’s a lesbian?” Jenkins asks.

Fucking old fart can’t tell his ass from a hole in the ground.

“Of course she is,” I say. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“How can you tell?” Jenkins asks, offended.

“I’ve just got a kind of radar.”

“Her and Sheila,” Crowley says. “I’d like a front row seat for that.”

“You and me both,” Jenkins says. “But I don’t think she is.”

Don’t be an idiot, you fucking sweating cum-catcher. What Jenkins knows doesn’t extend much past baseball statistics.

“What was on that note?” Jenkins asks me.

“What note?” Crowley quizzes.

“He got a note from Farley.”

“It’s not about the promotion is it?” Crowley asks.

“Don’t be stupid,” I say. “You know that Farley isn’t involved in the promotion. Hell, Robertson’s not even that involved. It all comes from higher up.”

Crowley makes a face and Jenkins lets out a sigh.

I silently fart and start flapping my legs to waft it out. I see Crowley wrinkle his nose and give me a look so I nod towards Jenkins and Crowley takes a couple steps away from him.

“What was the note?” Jenkins asks, oblivious.

“Just a reminder about the staff meeting,” I say.

In my research of the personnel files, I’ve uncovered some startling facts. For example, Jenkins has been warned about his physical appearance at this company. I can only assume that’s why he wears a suit every day, no matter what the weather or office dress policy for that day is.

I’ve also learned that Crowley did not graduate college and was hired by the company on the basis of a strong recommendation from his father, a high profile movie producer.

Farley walks back by the cubicle after Jenkins and Crowley have left, right as I stand up to stretch my legs.

I block her path and she takes a step to the right to go around me.

I take a step to my left and block her way.

“Excuse me,” she says, taking a step in the other direction. I follow suit.

“We can’t keep running into each other like this,” I say softly.

“Please let me by, Paul,” she says, eyes downward at the bundle of papers in her arms.

“Excuse me, by all means,” I say and step back into my cubicle allowing her to pass. “Tell your friend Sheila I said hello,” I call after her.

Fucking right. Gotta let the cunt know who’s boss around here. And once I get that promotion, the first thing I’m going to do is put that cunt Farley back into her proper place. Making coffee and taking dictation.

Chapter 4:

The staff meeting is a joke, punctuated by a case of bad gas on my part. I get into the habit of turning my ass towards Farley every time I have to let one go and then turning back to watch her face screw up. It’s too beautiful.

“And we’ve got to start getting down on these accounts,” Robertson says. Pansy fucker, he thinks saying ‘getting down’ will make him appear younger and hip. Fucking half-wit.

Crowley brings up the point that there’s not enough staff to handle all of the accounts properly and I think it’s a good point but I despise the idea of more employees in our department.

So far, there’s me, Crowley, Jenkins, Anderson, Baker, and Ashley. Then Farley, who is loosely related to our division and is supposed to be even higher than Robertson but takes a position of kissing his ass and letting him handle everything. And then there’s Robertson himself, a foul and unpleasant man of ill moral character.

“So it seems,” Robertson says, “that the real question before us is whether or not we’re adequately staffed for the many accounts we deal with.”

This is pure fucking Robertson, always out to make it bigger than it is. Take a question and re-frame it as your own question. Pure Robertson.

“Can I see a show of hands for those that support having more employees in this department,” Robertson says.

And just as I thought, the first hand up is that of the cunt, the dyke. Sitting next to me, her back straight. Her hand is up before he’s got the words out of his mouth. Of course she wants more staff under her, preferably her lezzie friends.

The next hand up is Ashley, a sullen look on his face as though he has lowered his defenses and is going out on a limb. Which he most decidedly is because he’s now on my list for going against my wishes.

Next, Crowley looks at me for confirmation and I give him a nod and make a motion to raise my hand. Then I bite it and leave him stunned as he finds himself holding his hand aloft alone.

Jenkins, Anderson, and Baker all keep their hands down, as do I.

“Okay, thanks gentlemen,” Robertson says, “you can put your hands down. So we’re split down the middle with that one.”

“Could you please not say gentlemen?” Farley asks, the bitch.

“So sorry,” Robertson responds. “No offense meant. Force of habit. But regardless, we don’t have the budget to add members to our staff.”

“That was a pretty pointless exercise then, eh?” I whisper to Farley. She continues staring at Robertson. “I said that was fucking pointless, no?”

She turns and looks at me and I give her a smile.

“Could you please watch your language?” she asks me.

I just give her a grin and go back to watching Robertson. Then I turn slightly and let another one go right in her direction. Take that, you numb cunt.

“I’d like,” Robertson continues, “to congratulate our own Paul Rigby on his magnificent handling of the Penske account.”

Everyone turns to me and I give a modest smile.

“I mean it,” Robertson says. “The way you handled that account was brilliant.”

Score: Rigby: 1; Crowley, Jenkins, et al.: 0.

I start thinking about the promotion and lose track of what Robertson’s saying. Something about how we have to handle each account as though it’s our only account and the most important to us.

Then Robertson captures my attention when he says, “Ms. Farley would like to say a few words to us.”

I turn away from her and let one last one slip out to speed her on her journey up to the front of the conference room.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she says when she gets to the front. “What I’d like to talk about today is the increasingly hostile environment that I, and many other employees, feel that this office has become.”

I should have known the numb cunt was going to do something like this.

“I know that I am the first woman of this position in this company and I respect the fact that previous activities still continue out of habit, but I think it’s time we put an end to this.”

She says end and I’m thinking of her rear end, I think it’s time for that, sweetcheeks. Just turn around and produce that ass so we may get going on it. Fucking dyke bitch.

“So, from this moment onward, women in this company are to be treated with respect, regardless of their position in the company. Just because I am, thankfully, above most of your immature toilet talk, I still believe that a number of the staff is affected by this.”

Fucking numb cunt. Just shut the fuck up.

I catch Jenkins’ looking towards me and when I glance back he rolls his eyes and I think maybe Jenkins isn’t so bad after all. That little shit Ashley is going to pay though. And Crowley will get his, of this I have no doubt.

“From now on, I expect you to address the ladies of this office by name. No more calling them ‘sweetie’, ‘toots’, ‘sugar’, or anything else besides their proper name.” When she says this, she stares straight down at me. I return a smile. “Many of you may have a hard time getting used to this, but it is a necessary measure.”

I’ve got your necessary measure right here, toots. It measures seven and a half inches and it’s exactly what you need.

“I would also like to hear an end to the locker room talk that goes on here, especially after the weekends. If you can not keep your conversation civil, you should not be discussing it at work.”

Robertson gives a wry smile at this.

You fucking cunt. You sue your way into a job that you obviously can’t handle, and then you have the nerve to dictate to the others that can do their job (which is really just me) what their behavior should be. If you think this place is a hostile environment, just wait. After your whiney little fit today, I’m making it my mission to make life as difficult as possible for you. Just wait.

“There has been an incident that I would like to bring up,” the bitch says and I know exactly what’s coming. “And I’m sure that due to this incident, there’s been a lot of talk around the ‘water cooler’,” she says and even makes the stupid air quotes as if this is a euphemism for something else.

She continues, “It has been brought to my attention that an employee here entered into a sexual relationship with another employee, an employee with a lesser title. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how unethical this is and the employee left himself wide-open to a sexual harassment charge.”

Whine some more you scrawny little bitch. You’ll get yours.

“So I would like to, and I’m sure that Mr. Robertson here will join me, in reiterating this company’s staunch policy of no sexual relations within the workplace.”

And at this precise moment, Jenkins lets out a world-weary sigh as though he’s got a cunt ready for the fucking stashed around here somewhere.

“Mr. Jenkins, please refrain from interrupting me,” the dyke says.

This generates a buzz of good-natured laughter and I find myself caught up in it.

“Gentlemen, please,” Farley says.

“I thought you didn’t want anyone saying gentlemen,” I break out.

Everyone laughs at this and Farley’s face reddens. Out of anger or embarrassment it’s unclear, but either way I feel I’ve won this round.

“Mr. Rigby-“

“Paul,” I offer.

“Paul. You, of all people, should know that this is not a time for jokes.”

I get a little miffed here, feeling that she’s revealing that I’m the one she’s talking about. Old Robertson picks this up too because he interjects with, “Please, Ms. Farley, let’s not single anyone out.”

The bitch’s face reddens more and I grin at this.

“I’m sorry,” the dyke says. “I don’t mean to single you out. But you’re way out of line. There is a time and a place for amusement and I think we can all agree that while we’re on company time we should be working.”

What do you call this then? Stupid fucking staff meeting. Waste of time.

Jenkins raises his hand and starts waving it eagerly.

Robertson stands up. “Yes, Jenkins?”

“It’s so fucking hot in here. Can we have a window opened or something? Turn the air conditioner up?”

Farley’s face reddens again and Robertson says, “This is an office. We have to maintain a certain amount of decorum. If not for respect for the job, then out of respect for the fact that there is a lady present.”

Jenkins doesn’t seem to get it, just sits with his hand still suspended in the air.

“I’m talking about your foul mouth, Jenkins,” Robertson says.

“Oh,” Jenkins says, the impact of the words finally dawning on him. “Sorry, boss. Sometimes I talk faster than my brain works.”

Rightfully so. I think you’ve just summed up your whole sorry career, fat man.

Farley grabs the floor again quickly. “If we could move along, gentlemen-“ and there’s slight laughter, making her face turn more red. She’s starting to resemble a tomato.

“This is exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about,” the cunt says. “There is a distinct undercurrent of macho politics in this office. In this office there is an emphasis on may the best man win.”

Fucking right there is, bitch. This damn country was founded on may the best man win and all your affirmative action/class action lawsuits aren’t going to change that.

“If you’re having trouble with any of this,” the bitch says, “the door is right there. Feel free to use it.”

And I’m appalled by her utter conviction, her resolute belief that I’ll actually get up and walk out the door. To abandon the sinking ship as it were. Stand by my principles or something. Not this guy. And even more appalling, Robertson makes no move to correct her, to re-establish his own power within the firm. He’s a crude and repulsive man, lacking in almost every vestige of human worth, but even so I really lose what respect I did have for him.

I stand up and walk towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Robertson asks.

Crowley cuts in with, “He heard the lady. There’s the door. He’s made up his mind.”

“Suck it, Trebek,” I say with a laugh. The whole room cracks up, even the stony bitch, the ice queen supreme. “I’m on my way to my desk so I can get to work on the Christ account. Despite what some of our more fair-skinned associates may think,” I say and stare firmly at Farley, “there is work to be done here and I’ve had just about enough of this meeting. Send me a memo with the highlights.”

And with that I walk out the door.

Too fucking right. I’ve proved, once again, that I am here according to my rules, not theirs.

So the staff meeting was a total fucking joke, but I came out ahead. Points proven, reputation still sterling, and icy cunt put firmly in place. I hope she likes looking at my backside because that’s all she’ll be seeing from me until she quits this place and gets back to having babies or typing, as is her calling.