Sometimes 'Sorry' Just Doesn't Cut It

I don't even know what to say about this one. Here's the set-up: I'd invited Shaniqua, the prematurely dismissed whore from my ill-fated dinner party, to my place this evening for a little quality time. Make no mistake, though -- by "quality time," I mean hardcore dirty monkey sex. And plenty of it.

Now, longtime visitors to this blog will recall my fondness for rim jobs. Fortunately for me, this isn't just a service Shaniqua's willing to provide; it's her specialty. Unfortunately for her, I had Mexican for lunch. Lots of Mexican. Which, for me, inevitably means corresponding levels of diarrhea. You do the math.

Not that it was all bad. I mean, I did gain a new fetish. You gotta take your victories where you can find them, folks.

I Need A New Houseboy

"...so he says to the cop, 'But it's my dog, officer. What's the problem?'"

My dinner guests exploded in laughter, as people always do when I tell a joke. Which is when my soon-to-be ex-houseboy, Kang, made the ill-advised decision to rudely interrupt the festivities.

"Ha ha, very funny Mistah Boss," he said with obvious sarcasm, puffing on what must have been his fortieth cigarette of the day. "If you all done telling that stupid joke for the millionth time, me gotta talk to you."

"Would you look at that," said Shaniqua, my date for the evening. "The little oriental kid can speak English!"

I waved Shaniqua off and confronted the lad. "I'm entertaining guests, Kang. Can't this wait?"

"No it can't, Mistah Boss," he said. "Me too poor. Me can't even afford new People. Me need raise."

"A raise?"

"Yeah! How me supposed to be cool and get lots of American pussy if me no have no money?"

"American...? Look, this is no way to get a raise, you dirty foreign bastard. Now get back over to the bar and make us a fresh round of drinks."

"No way, Ho-zay," he sneered. "Me already made twenty today, and only get paid fitty-cent. Me make plenty drink for one day."

"That tears it. Go to your room!"

"My room? You mean laundry room, you fat pig!"

Sherm Schweinbumser's wife, whose name I can't remember because she's female and therefore largely inconsequential, gasped loudly at that point. Frankly, I couldn't blame her; a display of arrogance like this from the hired help is unheard of in the circles in which I travel.

"I'm warning you, Kang! If you don't head to your room right this instant, I'll chain you to the toilet again. You don't want that, do you?"

"Hokay, Mistah Boss," he said, pulling a dog-eared copy of People from his back pocket as he turned to leave. "But me not lift another finger until me get the big, big money! Mike my words!"

"You'll get nothing and like it!" I bellowed after him. "And it's 'mark my words,' idiot!"

Needless to say, my guests didn't stay long after that. In fact, I was so discombobulated by the evening's savage turn of events that I sent Shaniqua back to Pete's Poontang Emporium without enjoying so much as a perfunctory handjob, much less the serious ass-riding I'd intended to put her through. Goddamn houseboy, ruining my party. It's a good thing he walked off when he did, or I'd be shipping him back to Mongolia in a 4'-long pine box!

So I'm Back

I won't try to deny it; I've been neglecting you poor people for far too long. It's not entirely my fault, though. Without going into details, let's just say I do a little side work from time to time for one of our government's most trusted agencies, and leave it at that.

No, I can't tell you which one. Stop asking. Stop. Really, I mean it. Stop already.

So, look. I can't make you any promises. I know you want what I have, and I'm the only one who can give it to you, but that doesn't mean I'll be able to give it to you all the time. Sure I'm here today, but what about tomorrow? Who knows.

Okay, I'm off to powder my nose. By which I mean snort an Oxy rail as long as a baby's arm before burying my head between the overripe breasts of the whore du jour waiting seductively in my emperor-sized bed. Don't wait up.

Cigarettes Are For Assholes

So I come home from work tonight, and what do I find? My houseboy, Kang, smoking a cigarette on the front porch like nobody's business. To make matters worse, he was wearing a porkpie hat and my favorite pair of sunglasses.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I barked, expecting him to scuttle away like most children do when faced with my righteous fury. But the past few months of servitude must've inoculated him, 'cause he didn't even flinch.

"Hey, screw you Mistah Boss," he snarled in rapidly developing, but still broken, English. "Me on break. You make own martini, Mistah Boss."

"Break?" I said. "Who the hell said anything about breaks?"

"Mistah Federal Government, that who!"

"Mister Fed..! Look, that's not even the point. The point is, when did you start smoking?"

"Me smoke long time," he said. "Always on break. But you, you no let me take no break. So you no see me smoke. Me forced to smoke at night, under the covers."

"Under the--! Holy shit, kid! You could've burned my palatial estate right down to the ground."

"Feh," he said, waving me off as he picked up a dog-eared copy of People. "Your insurance cover it plenty, Mistah Boss. Besides, how me supposed to be cool if me don't smoke?"

"Yeah, okay. I guess you got a point. Go ahead. After all, the surgeon general just announced that smoking doesn't cause cancer at all. Or any kind of disease!"

"Really?"

"Yep! So smoke up, kid. You deserve it."

"Thanks, Mistah Boss," he said. "Now get out of here so me can enjoy me break."

Well, that settles it; time to pack up Kang and trade him in for a new houseboy. Good news is, the United States' third world business partners are constantly churning out fresh batches of devastatingly destitute children just like the little shit, so finding a replacement shouldn't be too difficult.

Huh, I'd Forgotten All About This Blog

How's it hanging? Been awhile, huh? Yeah, I'm out of rehab. That's old news. Truth be told, I haven't made any new posts in like a month 'cause I'd completely forgotten about this blog. If it hadn't been for my semi-annual Google search for my own name, chances are it would've gone missing a lot longer.

Oh well. Not much new going on here; still earning obscene amounts of money, ogling and/or propositioning women, using far more than my fair share of the world's resources, and generally making an ass of myself. Still, I'll see if I can't get back to posting a little more regularly. Shit, if that twat Arianna Huffington can do it, anyone can. Peace out.