Free at last. After making a very vigorous complaint to Luddite, Crapstone & Fuchs’ Human Resources director, I’ve been rewarded with the services of the lovely — and very young — Miss Sugarteats until my usual personal assistant, Miss Cashtushy, returns from her Vegas vacation on Monday.
This personnel change was preceded by an incident in which my previous fill-in secretary, Mrs. Finklebaum, had the unmitigated gall to leave a gray, flea-intested lump of pubic hair on my coffee mug in some kind of antediluvian mating ritual. And just between you and me? Cashtushy can stay away as long as she wants now that Sugarteats is on the case.
Not that the new girl is particularly skilled at her job, because she’s not. In fact, I think I’d be better off with a syphilitic monkey and a case of waffle irons as far as productivity is concerned. But while Cashtushy looks fantastic for her mid-30s age range, Sugarteats is here as part of LCF’s college intern program. And it shows. As does her aversion to undergarments.
In short, while Cashtushy is most assuredly a Porsche, Sugarteats is a newer, gold-plated Porsche that gives hummers on demand. At least, I sure hope she does.
Speaking of which, I need to make sure that Sugarteats isn’t having any problems. And if that affords me the opportunity to ogle some ample breast meat that’s barely concealed behind an ill-fitting, low-cut blouse, so much the better. High five.