Amy, your bitch step-sister, walks into the Oak meeting room. She is wearing a white pantsuit consisting of skinny slacks and a tiny bolero jacket over a black croptop. Vain, she competes with the models at her own agency in beauty and style. The croptop shows plenty of midriff, and her blacks stilletoes emphasize her calves.
Ms. Mallory Swift, the older but beatifully statuesque executive from Edgar & Sons Advertising, is there to meet her. Ms. Swift is under the impression that she is wearing a skirt when in fact she is wearing none. Her blouse is tucked into her pantyhose.
Mr. B, your understudy, is there to exact his revenge on the women who've tormented him. You are there to exact yours on women.
"Ms. SWIFT!" exclaims Amy.
"Excuse me?"
"Your attire is extremely unprofessional."
Ms. Swift is shocked. "Are you serious?"
Amy is getting testy. "I am extremely serious. Look in the room mirror behind you."
Ms. Swift turns and saw an imaginary skirt and blazer still on herself. Irritated, she turns to respond.
"My attire is proper, formal, and conservative. This is in stark contrast to your midriff-baring, inappropriate, outrightly slutty garb, Ms. Amy B."
Mr. B influences Amy, who is about to call security. She calls the receptionist instead, the one Mr. B had left proudly in red bra and panties. "Reception, please go downstairs, purchase a double-ended dildo, and bring it to the Oak room."
Amy then calls Ms. Swift's employer. "Hi Edgar. This is Amy. I have a major business proposition for you and your firm. Can you come here now? Bring the sons."
Ms. Swift is rooted to the spot throughout this unsure why. Perhaps it is shock, perhaps it is seething rage. She is really beginning to hate Amy. |