It’s time (Part I)

Darrel snuck out of bed to take a shit. After he clogged the mistress’s toilet, he received an urgent call from a familiar number. “What are you doing at my house?” the voice angrily asked.

Darrel was tired of the hiding. He knew the jig was up. “I’m fucking your wife, what do you think?” he replied.

After a moment of silence, the voice responded. “I’m coming for you.” Then caller hung up.

For the first time in awhile, Darrel actually felt fear. He could barely get his ass wiped before he heard the front door swing open. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. He slowly opened the bathroom door and tiptoed towards the back entrance.

“Hold it there buster!” Darrel heard from behind. Startled, he quickly turned around to find the mistress’s husband, also named Darrel, holding a Desert Eagle pistol. “Darrel,” said Darrel, “it doesn’t take much to kill a human being. Don’t you think that Desert Eagle is a little much?”

“Shut your mouth!” Darrel responded. “The only reason I won’t blow your brains across the carpet is because you made me A LOT of money. Your book, My Ass=Your Face, spent 91 weeks on NYT bestseller list. You’re a cash cow. And as my father always told me: never slaughter your cattle in the living room.”

“So you’ll let me keep fucking your wife then?”

Darrel cocked the pistol. “Get the fuck out. I’ll figure out what to do with you later.”

“Yes sir.”

***

“Goddamnit Darrel!” screamed Bob “Big Beef” O’Connell. “You can’t fuck your publisher’s wife!”

“C’mon Big Beef!” retorted Darrel. “You’re my agent. If I wanted a guilt trip, I would’ve spoken to my bartender!

“You need to start thinking with the right head! The publisher is considering dropping you!”

“Jesus, Beef!” Darrel exclaimed. “You can’t let them do that! They know all the skeletons in my closet! Like, literally. I literally have skeletons in my closet that they know about!”

“I spoke to Darrel. He said that fucking his wife was bad enough, but clogging his toilet went a too far. He said that they will keep you on if you attend a sensitivity seminar.”

“Sensitivity seminar? Another one?!”

“Yes. Not one on sexual harassment though. This is a teamwork workshop for big name executives.”

Darrel was beside himself. “You tell Darrel that I’m a writer, AN ARTIST! Not a goddamn suit!” he shouted.

“Darrel says that he wants team players. Now the seminar is three days long. NO ALCOHOL. So deal or no deal?!”

Darrel rubbed his forehead and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hand me a fuckin pin,” he finally ordered, then he begrudgingly filled out the application.

After storming out of his agent’s office, Darrel pulled out his phone and dialed up the other Darrel. Unfortunately it went straight to voicemail. “Listen here mother fucker,” he stated in his message, “I’m getting tired of these boring ass seminars. And for that, I’m gonna fuck your wife again!”

TO BE CONTINUED…