“Montgomery!” I bellowed after returning home from work this afternoon. “Mont-gom-er-y!”
Half a second later, my layabout butler emerged from the kitchen. “‘Allo, guv’nor!” he said, smiling broadly. “And how was it at the office today, wot wot?”
“Terrible,” I said, chucking my briefcase at him. “I need you to see to this. I ate something at lunch that didn’t agree with me and I…”
While I spoke, Montgomery made the ill-advised decision to open said briefcase, only to immediately snap it shut with a pained look. “Good lord!” he said.
“…had to vomit in it during an important meeting,” I finished. “And it cost me the deal, Monty! It cost me the goddamn deal.”
“That’s teddible, guv’nor, just teddible. I’ll have Rosalita take care of it directly, or my name’s–”
“You impertinent swine! If I wanted the maid to take care of it I would’ve said so!”
“Oh dear. You have my deepest apologies, guv’nor. I’ll see to it personally.”
“Oh?” I said mockingly. “Will you really? Gosh, Monty, that’s swell of you. Really swell. How will I ever be able to repay you for doing your goddamn job?!”
“Erm, ah, no thanks necessary, sir. Should I fix you a drink?”
“A drink? Only if you want to get slapped. Make it a pitcher of Old Fashioneds or you’re fired!”
With that, Montgomery hightailed it out of there, providing my first moment of peace that day. Which probably leaves you wondering: What does any of this have to do with Valentine’s Day?
The answer, of course, is absolutely nothing. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. But the six-pack of Vietnamese prostitutes who are scheduled to stop by later are sure to go a long way toward rectifying the situation. Or erectifying, if you know what I mean.
If you don’t know what I mean, you must be some kind of moron and frankly I’ve had enough of you, so beat it. Besides, I have a date to prepare for. Enjoy your bouquet of wilted flowers and table for two at Olive Garden or whatever it is you poor people do on such occasions — you’re certainly more of an expert at it than I. Toodle-oo.