Anally servicing Lithuanian sailors
“Have you completed that spreadsheet on the P&L for the HR department of Amalgamated Consolidations yet?” barked Tarquin?

I dried my eyes and replied: “I'm afraid not, boss, not with mum's emergency operation today and everything, I'll...”

“Stop mumbling, man! Have you done it or not? And the answer better be yes because your appraisal's due and let me tell you it's not looking too clever, you've had four hours to complete that simple piece of work – a monkey could do it – and if it's not done you can start packing your bags and why haven't you got your company tie on – you're a disgrace – and I could tell you weren't paying attention when I briefed you so...”

“You've had your afternoon coffee, haven't you?”

“Yes, what of it?”

I took a deep breath. I looked at the window at the late evening sunshine. I looked round the badly lit yellow cube hell where I had lost my youth. The office of Consolidated Amalgamation Solutions was empty now, the poor doomed souls who work here having gone home to drink themselves into oblivion until the morning commute crushed their spirits once more. Yes, it was time. I looked my employer in the eye and said: “Because you always turn into a vicious, unreasonable fanny after your coffee, ya choob.”

He started to splutter but I continued: “But you're quite right, I wasn't listening when you briefed me. I was too busy watching a video of your father anally servicing Lithuanian sailors down the docks at a fiver a go. By the way, is that you in the corner licking them clean afterwards? Nice jacket.”

He just stared at me. I got to my feet: “Ah, you're speechless now. That'll be the scoline I slipped in your coffee. They use it to paralyse people having operations.”

Tarquin slumped to the floor. I looked at him, this petty tyrant brought low by his pathetic craving for caffeine. His ugly gash of a mouth hung slack, no more spouting the corporate analingus that had served to drag him up the tiny company ladder. Importantly, his eyes sill flickered with terror. And there was a reaction when I kicked him in the Acer maracas. He was conscious and could still feel pain. I thanked God my plan had worked, at the same time as I asked forgiveness for the many wicked things I was about to do.

The next few hours involved more concentration than I'd ever devoted to my job. Flaying someone alive is far from easy, especially when you are using company paperclips. As well as trying to peel the skin off in one piece, I had to not only keep Tarquin paralysed but also alive and fully conscious. I wanted to him to fully appreciate the sensations of the pickling process especially as it had been such a bitch squeezing all those lemons.

Finally, we were ready. I had been preparing for months so I had them lined up. One after another, hour after hour, over the unbroken space of three days I seduced every woman who had ever been special to him. I used the same strategy of blatant lies he had used on his employees to get these ladies to perform acts that even the Marquis de Sade would have found a bit much. Tarquin's wife had been easy but finding his first love had been really bloody tough. In the end, thanks to Facebook, I'd managed to get her over from Australia to join my unwitting sequential harem. And at each moment of climax I made sure I was looking straight at the double mirror, behind which dangled Tarquin with his now lidless eyes.

Of course, I couldn't leave him to watch such a heartbreaking scene without distraction. So I provided a specialist trinket it had taken me years to find in a back alley shop in the Castro district of San Francisco, one famed in certain circles for its devotion to the extreme intimate arts. True, my electricity bill had rocketed but it was worth the money just to see the look on Tarquin's face when I first turned on “The Fist Of Hercules”.

All good things come to an end. “Tarquin, it's time to end the madness.” He looked at me (well, he had no choice) and I could see hope building in him that I meant to release him. I took some fading pleasure in crushing that dream: “It's time to end the blasphemous horror of your continued existence. You are the worst kind of MBA monkey: a corporate drone who's never happier than when whoring his ass and his mother for a profit. Your life has been devoted to blind greed and the reckless destruction of the lives of those who are weaker and poorer than you. You've got off lightly if you ask me.”

I then inserted the last few bricks of the false wall and left the country for six months trekking in Nepal.

As a result, I am unable to provide a reference from my previous employer. But, rest assured, I have many years' experience in this sector and have a clear understanding of the goals and culture of Amalgamated Solution Consolidated. Finally, I have a proven track record of seeing projects to completion, involving members of my team every step of the way.

I hope you will consider my application worthy of an interview.


(From my yet-to-be written novel... Oh and length, etc)
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Fri 23 May 2008, 18:36, 1 reply)

Will Self
Your yarn really reminds me of Will Self, Specifically the one with the fat controller - have you read it?
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Sat 24 May 2008, 8:28, closed)