I awoke this morning to a series of strange, violent sounds emanating from the pool area behind my palatial estate: yells, grunts, and smacking sounds, like fists hitting flesh. I arose from my whore-filled bed and threw on a robe to investigate the source of the disturbance.
“Does this mean we can go home?” asked one of the girls.
“Oh Jesus I hope so,” said another. “Last night was terrifying.”
“Half of you are free to leave,” I said. “The uglier ones. The rest of you stay put; I’m not done with you yet.”
Making my way downstairs, I threw open a set of French doors to the pool area… only to be greeted by a scene straight out of Enter the Dragon. Dozens of martial artists were practicing in lockstep with each other, while my former houseboy, Kang — now my adopted son — watched from the vantage point of the pool’s lifeguard station.
“Yes, yes!” he cried, prosthetic hook hand glinting as he raised it high. “Me turn you into raised fists of vengeance, soldier boys! Faster! Faster! With conviction!”
“Now see here, Kang!” I barked as I approached him. “It’s Sunday goddamn morning — what have I told you about loud noises before noon on the weekends?”
“Oh, you,” he said, not even bothering to disguise his disdain. “So sorry, Mistah Fathah. Hell forgive me for keeping your fat ass from getting sleep with foolproof plan to take over the world!”
“Take over the world? With rejects from the Cobra Kai dojo? You must be mad.”
“Yes, me mad! Mad at you! Or did you forget… this!?!” he screamed, waving his hook hand in my face.
“Jesus, get over it,” I said. “That happened, what, two months ago? You can’t live in the past, Kang.”
“Asshole!” he said. “Anyhow, lack of Playboy TV on bedroom cable box not in past, Mistah Fathah. Still happening now!”
“I’ll ask Montgomery to take care of that for you. Now tell your friends to go home, then get inside and do your homework.”
“Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“And lose the attitude! Just thank your lucky stars that I’m not one of those superstitious halfwit parents who make their children go to church on Sundays!”
“Hokay, hokay. What about Saturdays? Me can run martial arts academy then?”
“Whatever. Just so long as it’s in the afternoon. I work hard to provide for this family, and I’m entitled to my rest on the weekends.”
“Hokay. Me sorry, Mistah Fathah.”
Now that his squeaky wheel has been greased, I’m headed back to my bedroom where I plan to gobble down a handful of boner pills and treat the remaining whores to some very demeaning sex. As to Kang’s increasingly troublesome attitude problem, I suppose that I’ll just write it off to hormones. Maybe I’ll start taking him to two-for-one night at Pete’s Poontang Emporium; god knows it did wonders for my angst when I was his age. In the meantime, peace out.