Corporate Man is called in to investigate reports of vile, unethical business practices at Great American Business Company. What he finds there just might destroy him (except we all know the ending to The Tragic Death of Corporate Man so it should be fairly obvious that it can't really destroy him, though it can come close).
Enslaved by the Bonus Whores is an all new Corporate Man Adventure Serial. Chapters will post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Monday, April 2, 2012
“So where is he?” Mr. Jones asked.
“He was right here,” said Tanya. “Look. His tools and charts and notes are still laying around on the floor over there. Hey! Hey douche. Where are you?”
Tanya kicked open the only stall door that was closed. The D.O.S. was sitting on the toilet, a look of pleasant comfort on his face, pants resting on his shoes.
“Oh god!” Mr. Jones cried out. “You said he wasn’t–”
“Hey!” the D.O.S. shouted, snapping out of his blissful trance. “Occupado! Occupado!”
“Pull up you pants,” Tanya said. “We need to have a little chat about your business practices.”
“First,” the D.O.S. said, “we don’t discuss corporate policy with out guests, the press, the competition, or our employees. And two, the thing I need to have requires that my pants be down, and from the aggressive sensation in my bowels, it’s not at all little.”
Mr. Jones shook his head, took a calming breath, and then said, “Listen up douche bag we–”
“Why is everyone saying that today?” the D.O.S. said.
“We know you’re harboring an enemy of the people and we intend–”
“What I’m harboring is a couple of tacos, last night’s cheese pizza, some bear claws and a pack of corn nuts,” the D.O.S. said.
“Dude. Sick,” Tanya said.
“As for ‘enemy of the people’ if you’re still here when this bad boy crowns I imagine you’ll be at odds with whatever comes out.”
“Okay, stop it. Seriously. Or I’m gonna throw up,” Tanya said, backing away.
There was a moment, silent and still, where neither of the bathroom occupants spoke or moved. A frozen piece of time in which those involved weighed their options. Finally, the D.O.S. shrugged, hunched his shoulders, and started grunting.
“Get him off the toilet. Quick!” Mr. Jones shouted, jumping into the stall and grabbing the D.O.S.’s arms.
“Not on your life,” said Tanya.
“If he shits The Greed into the sewer system we’ll lose his trail.”
“Fine by me.”
“I need your help.”
Tanya gritted her teeth and then lunged forward, clamping her hands around the D.O.S.’s ankles. She shook her head violently and shouted, “Why do I gotta get the legs?”
A symphony of grunts and groans, accompanied by squelchy, slurping, sucking noises, echoed through the bathroom as the combatants strained and flexed.
Amidst the clamor a soft, timid voice chimed, “Is the bathroom ready for–”
But the old woman proffering the question never finished her inquiry. Her breath caught in her throat and she covered her mouth with a white gloved hand. She could not fathom what would cause such terrible noises. It sounded like an orgy of fantastically painful bowel movements. When she saw three pairs of legs protruding in spasms from one stall she bolted from the room, eyes pinched shut, hands waving frantically at the side of her head.