I Want To Live But Within Reason!

 

I'll bet you're glad I hung onto this, huh. Big Brother?" my kid brother Cecil crowed as we walked in.

     We're currently in the Czech Republic, which used to be part of Yugoslavia, and we're now domiciled in the old sex doll factory where Cecil had once housed his adult entertainment talent when he'd ran www.cecilsprays.com, the world's first adult sex chat room. For some reason, the commie feds, when they shut down his operation back in the 90s, didn't see fit to seize this property, which Cecil still owns.

    The reason for this, of course, is because of Brian Thompson's shooting in Midtown early this month. No sooner than we got back from my friend Donald Trump's resort in Mar a Lago, I was forced to leave Manhattan yet again, this time in fear for my life. And even though he's not a CEO, any more, and has nothing to fear, it can't be said my kid brother isn't a Blubberpuss through and through. He's always there for his big brother just as I was for him when the stormtroopers of the FBI broke into Cecil's loft in SoHo when he was in mid ejaculation.

     Now you'd think that with a city the size of New York City, there would be enough executive and corporate security companies to go around to protect the well-being of the 1% but there you'd be wrong. You see, Thompson was shot just before Cecil and I left Palm Beach and by the time we got back home, all the security companies had been booked up for the next five years.

     Now, every executive on Wall Street, seemingly, is being followed by at least one gorilla in an ill-fitting black suit and Ray Bans. After just one day of making frantic phone calls to security contractors, it became all too obvious that it was either hire a low rent, fly by night outfit or leave the country entirely.

    On my daughter Bertha's recommendation, I interviewed one outfit that was run entirely by butch lesbian types named Sappho Security. Their company logo looked like a woman in a toga crushing a tiny man in her right fist. Their rates were fine but they more than implied that their focus was going to be Bertha and not Cecil or me.

     The last I heard, Bertha was paying them out of her own money. When Cecil and I left the house, kd lang was blasting throughout the brownstone while huge women in black uniforms were moving in suitcases.

     So, bottom line, Cecil and I will be in the Czech Republic for the foreseeable future while I try to run my company via cell phone and the country's spotty internet service that may or may not involve diesel or rats running on hamster wheels. The mayor of the village, an old friend of Cecil's who wears a suit that looks like it was made in 1950s Ankara, Turkey, has welcomed us warmly and said he would let us stay indefinitely on condition that I marry one of his daughters, a solid Slavic girl with a very subtle goatee who would put even Bertha to shame and apparently cleans her teeth by chewing on a stick. I politely declined and almost succeeded in not throwing up in my mouth.

     But this is what we've been reduced to, when corporate executives have to go on the run like a Brooks Brothers version of The Defiant Ones. We're in the process of rehabbing the old sex doll factory but work has been slow. The people Cecil and the mayor brought in look like the kind of guys you see holding blow torches in the background of an old Nicholas Cage direct-to-DVD movie and I suspect they even have connections to Sebastien Gorka.

     One interesting thing was when we found the skeleton of a human foot and we're almost convinced it was the one sawed off by that ungrateful whelp Cecil had rescued from a hostel so he could make good his escape. One of the contractors also found graffiti on the wall that he translated to, "Cecil Blubberpuss will lose interest in you the minute you start growing facial hair," a point to which even Cecil had to concede.

     So now I'm trying to conduct business on the casket of a Kosovo war victim that I'm using as a desk. I have no idea when I'll be able to come back stateside and start working out of my own office on Wall Street again. In the meantime, my first official act is to order my employees still working from home to get back to the office or else.

     The liberal pinhead who runs this sewer of a blog calls me a hypocrite but I disagree.

     But since arriving at the Czech Republic, I feel somewhat safer, although I'm a little on edge looking through the large open concrete doorway. We seem to have attracted the liveliest interest of a one-footed middle-aged man on a crutch who's looking at us with intense loathing.