“…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.”
“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. 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 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!