Billionaire Secrets of a Wanglorious Bastard Read Free Page A

up.”
    Forget that noise. I wrote him a note. He read it. Gave me a once-over and said, “Hold this for a minute.”
    The porntastic crap can. No way I was touching that.
    He tried handing it to me. I stepped back.
    He stepped forward. “Look, don't be all dainty. Just hold this.”
    I reluctantly took the can. Pinkies up.
    He read the note. And leered. “Oh. You want the Butt Spooge. I got some industrial size right here.”  
    Soon as he grabbed a big old can, I shook my head. “I just need a small size.”
    He gazed skyward. Bit his inner cheek meat. “Well, I could pour you some of this. If I could only open this can.”
    He tried.  
    And failed miserably.
    “Oh well. Let me find Budro. Maybe he can find a smaller one.”
    I followed him as he went to the back. I begrudgingly held the can.
    “Nope. He's not there either. Follow me.”
    He sauntered to the front. Grabbed an outrageously phallic microphone. Shouted. “Hey, Budro. We got a guy who needs. Who needs?” He scratched his neck beard. “I plum forgot. What is it again?”
    “I already wrote it.”
    “I lost the paper. So what is it?”
    I didn’t want to say. But what choice did I have? I whispered. “Butt Spooge.”
    “I can't hear you. Speak up.”
    This again? I raised my voice. “Butt Spooge.”
    He tried repeating it, but started to stutter. “Look, you take this—”
    He handed me the dong mike and said, “Tell Budro yourself.”
    No.
    “Look, it ain't gonna bite.”  
    I reluctantly grabbed the mike with one hand, and he took the porntastic can back.
    “Tell Budro what you're looking for.”
    When in Rome. I said, “Budro. I'll have—”
    Tim struggled to open the can.  
    “Budro, I'll have the Butt—”
    I couldn't do it. Neither could Tim. I mean, he couldn’t open the can. He tussled with it. Back to me and all. Not seeing my plight. Soon as I tapped him on the shoulder, the can exploded all over me. I felt like a bukkake victim. I said in the mike, “Butt Spooge.”
    A voice from afar said, “Aisle Five.”

6

    I LIMPED DOWN the hallway of my new job. Brown paper bag in hand. Soaked in Butt Spooge and dried chocolate milk. I felt like a mouse finding its way in a wooden maze searching for the exit. So embarrassed, I couldn’t ask anyone the specific office location.  
    So I ducked into a telephone closet and looked up the name Hugo Stack.
    While searching, I saw the most peculiar name.  
    Had to be a typo. Who would name their child that? And even if a woman, raging with hormones, deigned to curse their child with that name, wouldn’t she or he change it? Especially as a lawyer?
    I mean, how would anyone get clients with that name?  
    And he didn’t have an office number. Just the name “APT.” That couldn’t stand for apartment? Could it? Working from home? Must have been some kind of joke.
    Anywho, Hugo Stack was easy to find. Just two doors from where I was.
    His door was open. So I peeked in and saw a man on the phone in his sixties who looked like that loud guy from Seinfeld .  
    He noticed me and waved me in.
    I entered and closed the door behind me.
    “Fuck that. Time is money. I'll be there in an hour.” He slammed the phone receiver. “You got my spooge?”
    “Yes.”
    “Well, bring it here, sweet cheeks.”
    Sweet cheeks? I froze. Was it a joke?  
    “What's the matter? Think you're too good, homie? What do you think they hired you for?”
    I was baffled. “To do legal work?”
    He chortled. “A mailroom guy doing legal work? And I suppose you went to law school?”
    “Actually, I did.”
    He stared. Then laughed. “Whatever.”  
    Now I was angry. I whipped out my transcript. Flashed it to him.  
    He flashed, too. Once reading it, he flushed. Cleared his throat. Blushed. Wriggled in his chair. And uttered a nervous titter. “Well. Yes. I was just…just…testing. Yes, I was testing you on sexual harassment and hostile work environment. Well, go to Mabel down the hall and she'll give you