|Bastard Threw ME ! (standard:humor, 902 words)|
|Author: Danny Zil||Added: Jun 23 2007||Views/Reads: 1783/1027||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|This dude thinks he can outsmart a Lawyer....but he's soon sent flyin !|
Bastard Threw ME! The Lawyer was one of those young, keen, earnest types. Nice suit, short hair, thick glasses. Prob'ly not long qualified. Like the eager-to-pleaseness just oozed outa every pore. Man was I gonna enjoy throwin him! “So you want me to handle your divorce?” he began brightly. “That's correct,” I said. “From your wife, naturally?” he asked. “No,” I replied. “From reality.” There was a coupla heartbeats silence after that. Like I knew there would be. I couldn't blame the guy – he genuinely thought he'd misheard me. I extended the heartbeats by a couple more. Hey, this dude had a lot more sweatin to do before I was finished. Throwin him was one of the reasons I'd come. He glanced at me. I knew what he was gonna ask. “Your wife – her name is Reality?” he ventured. “Nope,” I told him unhelpfully. He tapped his fingers on some legal lookin papers. Like I knew he would do. “Then you actually want to be divorced – “ “ – from reality,” I finished for him. He picked up one of those thin silver pens an rolled it round in his fingers a little. The way those kinda people do. Throwin this type of smart-assed, moneyed, successful young bum – hey, I loved it. It was one of the reasons I pulled this kinda gig. He leaned back in his leather chair. It creaked expensively. “You really want me to handle your divorce from reality?” he asked, peering at me through his thick glasses. “Sure,” I replied. “Can you do it?” He hesitated. “Are you...are you quite certain you've come to the right place?” he queried. “Whadya mean!?” I shot back. I knew this would make him uncomfortable. It did. He fiddled with his tie an tried a joke. A lame one. I won't even tell you what it was. He laughed unconvincingly at it then cleared his throat. “I think we'd better start from the beginning,” he said. I thumped my fist on his desk. Little sports trophies and framed photos of his family jumped then fell over. I enjoyed that part. “Look, you fuckin creep!!” I yelled. “Can you handle this divorce or not!?” He turned kinda pale an shot back in his chair at that. I stared at him coldly for a few seconds then reached forward an helped myself to a smoke from an antique-lookin silver box. I knew what he was gonna say next. I nearly felt sorry for him. Nearly. He cleared his throat. “Ah, don't you think you'd, ah, be better seeing a...seeing a...a psychiatrist?” he asked timidly. “What the fuck for!?!” I yelled. “Well if you, ah, want a divorce from, from, ah, reality,” he mumbled, “well, ah, you know, ah...,” he trailed off. I sneered at him an lit my smoke. His next move was oh so predictable. “Tell you what,” he said brightly, “let me call my Secretary in. She'll probably be able to put you in touch with someone who can help you.” He reached forward an pressed a buzzer on his desk. Click here to read the rest of this story (47 more lines)
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