Great Scott. My plan from last night appears to have gone awry. At least, the most important part of that plan. Granted, a woman with a satisfied smile is currently snoozing in my emperor-sized bed. However, she is not Heather Graham.
No. Much to my horror, it appears to be Demaine’s wife, Maude. And let me assure you: under no circumstances can Maude be considered attractive. Unless a feminine version of me, with the addition of a wispy mustache and a ring of warts under the left eye, is the sort of thing that gets you hot under the collar.
However, this isn’t the worst part. Well, actually it is, but it’s compounded by another factor. You see, Demaine’s wealth dwarfs even my own and is matched only by his inexplicable love for the she-beast in my bedroom. Which means that I’ll be ruined if he catches wind of this cuckoldry. Ruined!
In any case, it’s time for action. Montgomery is currently giving her an injection of the same military-grade sedative used to kill Michael Jackson so as to ensure that she doesn’t awaken. Then we’ll roll her up in an enormous Persian rug, head over to Demaine’s, and toss her out of the limousine as we drive slowly past the front gates.
After that, I’ll have to go to the hospital. Not to be tested for diseases, but simply because I still have a very painful erection that’s starting to result in dizziness and loss of vision — a clear sign that it’s been around for more than four hours. Oh well. I suppose that will teach me to mix large quantities of Viagra, OxyContin and alcohol in the future. At least until I’m positive that the woman I’ll be bedding is worth the trouble. Toodle-oo.