The Cyborg Queen came rushing through the doors to the lift today, just after I’d got back down from reception, where I’d heard some suit ask for her by name. She rushed on passed me straight to the closing lift doors, with barely a hello for me. If I’d been a gentleman, I’d have held them open for her, but I didn't. Oh well. Of course, gentlemen ceased to exist when the sexes became equal.
Anyway, once, she used to smile and give the impression of a warm greeting, even if it was just what she learned in “how to deal with people” at her remedial human classes when she was a partner for a well known accounting firm, when they were trying to find the human inside her. Maybe that’s why she jumped ship to law firms, no human required.
There used to be an almost girlish blush when she said hello to me, when I was an employee in favour, but not now. No longer. The Anorexic Bitch and Fat Boy have seen to that. The Cyborg Queen only listens to her immediate drones. You see, she has no idea how to manage people, she only understands balance sheets and profit statements, so she is completely reliant on her subordinate managers when it comes to anything, even vaguely, related to human beings. She has no choice, that part of her soul is missing, there is a great gaping black hole right where her heart should be. Some say, it is how she got to the top.
Of course, being gay myself, I can see the great big lez inside her, so it is no mystery to me how she got to ride the corporate world bareback with stirrups, using the profit and loss statement tightly rolled into a dildo for that extra gratification.
It’s funny between her and The Celebrity Head, who runs the company beside her, what she makes up in balls, he “brings” in femininity in equal parts per operating committee. She’s the quiet masculine type and he’s the fussy, self aggrandising type who sucks more oxygen out of a room than he puts in.
Yin and yang.
So, that puts me on the outer on two fronts. Firstly, from the muck raking and face saving of her lesser minions who she trusts implicitly... well, that’s the main reason, let's face it. They fucked up the department and now I'm the scapegoat to take the heat. God damn I was factoring in a major organ malfunction for the Anorexic Bitch by about now. You should see her, she looks like something out of Michael Jackson’s thriller video clip... the walking dead. I could theoretically pull this back from disaster if she'd just lie down for the count. It must be soon, has to be. When they announce the bad news, I’m going to laugh, I promise you. And do a little dance.
But, I digress...
My new boss, let’s call her the Brunette Blonde is beautiful. She’s also pretty clueless and well, let’s face it, on the dumb side. No, really, she is a true blonde, except with dark brown hair. Of course, she’s got the manager’s job and I’m being pushed out, so who exactly is the dumb one, I ask you? However, I’m getting a firsthand account of what the beautiful can get away with. Pretty much everything, it would seem. She doesn't know what she is doing, but they all make huge allowances for her. The boy’s fall over themselves, one after the other. It's a slobberfest, I tell you. Her fat real-blond friend, who works in the next office idolises her, and lives vicariously in the Brunette Blonde's nutmeggy light. And the Cyborg Queen, when she comes in, it’s reminiscent of Homer Simpson drooling... except, in an Armani suit. It’s no secret to me that the Cyborg Queen likes to lick a bit of snatch the way she strips the Brunette Blond naked in one glance.
My gaydar tunes into her gaydar and I can hear her silent plea, Come to me my pretty.
No comments:
Post a Comment