Read Online CLANK: A Book of Madness (Psychological Satire Novel) Unsettled Office Worker Loses the Last Screw by Draven Madpen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Draven Madpen
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naturally, comes to me. The best in the business.
Natasha sits across from me, crossing one leg over the other, and flips her hair
to one side, exposing a graceful neckline. Her face is vulnerable, seductive.
But I see danger in those big beautiful eyes. Those sultry emeralds of menace.
The downfall of many men. I see treachery. She pulls a cigarette out from her
purse. My hand is extended instantly, offering a quick light. Natasha smiles
and puffs suggestively.
I drum the desk with my
fingers looking her over.
“Well?” I ask.
She takes another drag, oh so
slowly, before blowing it out in my direction, followed by the response.
“I’ve upset some pretty bad
men,” she says coolly.
“Yeah? How bad,” I question.
“Bad.”
We stare at each other for a
whole minute. Neither one speaks. Neither one blinks. A few trails of smoke
waft up from the cigarette.
There’s a loud knock at the
door… wait, there is a loud knock at the door! Suddenly I am snatched
from the reverie.
12
Ellington Fairfield is hiding
behind a burly security guard. They enter my office, with Ellington trailing
behind, scared to continue. The paranoid man’s shaking finger reaches over the
guard’s shoulder, pointing at Wilmer’s door. Then I remember my comment… “GET
OUT! HE’S GOT A GUN!”
“What’s the matter?” I ask
innocently.
The guard eyes me over. He
doesn’t appear too enthralled. It’s the type of look someone gives when they’ve
heard people cry wolf too many times.
“This man here says your boss
is carrying a gun and plans to kill him,” the guard informs me.
“What? What gave him that
crazy notion?”
“Apparently you did,” responds
the guard.
I laugh nervously. “Oh…?”
Ellington chirps in. “Yes! You
said he had a gun!”
I laugh again, a little more
relaxed this time because I’ve figured a way out of this mess. “No, no, no. I
said ‘ HELP OUT! HE’S LOST HIS GLASS!’”
The guard rolls his eyes. I
add in one more comment to cement the deal.
“Feel free to search the
office, you’ll find no gun here. Sorry for the misunderstanding Mr. Fairfield.”
Ellington waves it off with an
agitated chuckle, mumbling to himself. The guard asks him if that will be all.
It is. They both leave.
Wilmer nor Percy is even aware
of the incident that I so deftly handled. And they’re lucky I was here too.
Otherwise things might have gotten rather messy… Sexkitten69 sends me another
message. She wants a rematch. Hmm, how many beatings can this girl take in one
day?
I arrive at the office earlier
than normal. Last night was a wash. I’d wanted to draw a couple more Natasha
pieces but the muses abandoned me. I simply could not conceive anything. Not
one suitable idea. And so here I find myself sitting at my desk waiting to
catch a glimpse of Natasha as she walks by. She’s a very punctual woman -- always showing up on time, and usually a little early to allow room for error. A
practical thing to do if you care enough about your job. I myself have never
been late. But I don’t show up early, just right on time. What’s the point of
being early? I could wait outside or twiddle my thumbs in the street instead,
all being just as effective. It won’t get me anything, other than perhaps one
of Cromwell’s Hey I’m not actually paying attention but GREAT JOB TODAY! remarks.
The building is barren aside
from the lop-faced janitor pacing up and down the halls. He’s supposedly
working, but I don’t see it. All I see is a hopeless man wandering through a
hallway without a single ambition in the world. He isn’t even carrying a mop!
This miscreant is being paid to walk the halls and stare at walls. Like a
homeless man. How useless. What an unproductive piece of proletarian garbage. A
vile nuisance to society and a scar on the very face of humanity! I can’t help
but cast mental aspersions and calumnies at this indolent wretch. How dare he
dawdle away the day derogating from the outstanding
Natasha sits across from me, crossing one leg over the other, and flips her hair
to one side, exposing a graceful neckline. Her face is vulnerable, seductive.
But I see danger in those big beautiful eyes. Those sultry emeralds of menace.
The downfall of many men. I see treachery. She pulls a cigarette out from her
purse. My hand is extended instantly, offering a quick light. Natasha smiles
and puffs suggestively.
I drum the desk with my
fingers looking her over.
“Well?” I ask.
She takes another drag, oh so
slowly, before blowing it out in my direction, followed by the response.
“I’ve upset some pretty bad
men,” she says coolly.
“Yeah? How bad,” I question.
“Bad.”
We stare at each other for a
whole minute. Neither one speaks. Neither one blinks. A few trails of smoke
waft up from the cigarette.
There’s a loud knock at the
door… wait, there is a loud knock at the door! Suddenly I am snatched
from the reverie.
12
Ellington Fairfield is hiding
behind a burly security guard. They enter my office, with Ellington trailing
behind, scared to continue. The paranoid man’s shaking finger reaches over the
guard’s shoulder, pointing at Wilmer’s door. Then I remember my comment… “GET
OUT! HE’S GOT A GUN!”
“What’s the matter?” I ask
innocently.
The guard eyes me over. He
doesn’t appear too enthralled. It’s the type of look someone gives when they’ve
heard people cry wolf too many times.
“This man here says your boss
is carrying a gun and plans to kill him,” the guard informs me.
“What? What gave him that
crazy notion?”
“Apparently you did,” responds
the guard.
I laugh nervously. “Oh…?”
Ellington chirps in. “Yes! You
said he had a gun!”
I laugh again, a little more
relaxed this time because I’ve figured a way out of this mess. “No, no, no. I
said ‘ HELP OUT! HE’S LOST HIS GLASS!’”
The guard rolls his eyes. I
add in one more comment to cement the deal.
“Feel free to search the
office, you’ll find no gun here. Sorry for the misunderstanding Mr. Fairfield.”
Ellington waves it off with an
agitated chuckle, mumbling to himself. The guard asks him if that will be all.
It is. They both leave.
Wilmer nor Percy is even aware
of the incident that I so deftly handled. And they’re lucky I was here too.
Otherwise things might have gotten rather messy… Sexkitten69 sends me another
message. She wants a rematch. Hmm, how many beatings can this girl take in one
day?
I arrive at the office earlier
than normal. Last night was a wash. I’d wanted to draw a couple more Natasha
pieces but the muses abandoned me. I simply could not conceive anything. Not
one suitable idea. And so here I find myself sitting at my desk waiting to
catch a glimpse of Natasha as she walks by. She’s a very punctual woman -- always showing up on time, and usually a little early to allow room for error. A
practical thing to do if you care enough about your job. I myself have never
been late. But I don’t show up early, just right on time. What’s the point of
being early? I could wait outside or twiddle my thumbs in the street instead,
all being just as effective. It won’t get me anything, other than perhaps one
of Cromwell’s Hey I’m not actually paying attention but GREAT JOB TODAY! remarks.
The building is barren aside
from the lop-faced janitor pacing up and down the halls. He’s supposedly
working, but I don’t see it. All I see is a hopeless man wandering through a
hallway without a single ambition in the world. He isn’t even carrying a mop!
This miscreant is being paid to walk the halls and stare at walls. Like a
homeless man. How useless. What an unproductive piece of proletarian garbage. A
vile nuisance to society and a scar on the very face of humanity! I can’t help
but cast mental aspersions and calumnies at this indolent wretch. How dare he
dawdle away the day derogating from the outstanding
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