April Fool's Day

Marcellus Bennett (April 09,2009)

The life of a journalist is basically hit and miss. There's so many people competing for the right story and if you miss it, you simply don't get the fame and fortune- this is currently my dilemma: finding the BIG story.

I work for a second-rate hack newspaper called Desert Stone Weekly. We mostly publish the fluff pieces like if someone finds a cracker with Mona Lisa cooked into it- we are all over that shit, or should I say, I am. They make me go out and sweat in this fucking heat making an embarrassment of myself while they all sit in their cozy, air-conditioned offices and laugh at my stupidity. It doesn't help that I have a woman, a FUCKING woman, as my boss. Just the thought of Maria fills me with rage. I'd like to take Maria and fuck her until she shuts her bitchy, entitled mouth- perhaps then she wouldn't consider me a lap dog.

The thought of holding her down and fucking her senseless brings a smile to my face. The thought allows me to walk into my work building with a grin all up until the lady of the hour walks in, and oh boy, she is in some form today. "I need you on the field covering the Amish community outside of town", she tells me without even greeting me. "I thought those fuckers hated technology", I say with absolutely no trace of humor in my voice. She knows I dislike her, and I think she gets off on deliberately making things harder for me. "That may be the case, but they don't have to know you are there. Are you a journalist, or are you not?" It takes me a while to process what she asks in a question that was obviously rhetorical- how dare she spit her blatant sarcasm at me without a second thought as if she holds all the power. I think of saying something very naughty indeed but instead, I shoot back with my own sarcasm. "So, what? You just want me to kneel down in cow shit and write about the precise muscles they use pumping their cisterns?" A little over the top on the sarcasm there, but it had the desired effect, and that's all that matters. "You will do what is needed to find out what they do on a daily basis, and you will write a precise piece educating those who know nothing about the Amish community. Good day" and she turns on her heel and leaves.

Where the hell does she get the nerve to do this- to just come and go as she pleases? I'd really like to find her outside of work where she's no longer in her domain, and as I force myself inside her, I'd say "I'm the boss now, bitch".