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So You’re a Corporate Fat Cat Who Finally Got Caught
Living on Skid Row can be fun!
You never thought the day would come. Well, you did, but you thought you’d be safely hidden away on a small personal island off the coast of Guyana by then, being fed grapes by a pubescent girl who was procured for you by your BFF, Hildegard (of no fixed address. It was always such a pain trying to mail her a letter).
Well, things didn’t turn out that way, now did they? Who was the whistle blower? Think, think, think. You bet it was that bitch in HR, whassername. Annette? Yeah, you bet it was Annette. That’s just what a whistle blower would be named, some throw-back, Golden Oldie, Mad Men name. Somebody named Ashley could never be a whistle blower.
Plus, Annette never took you up on your offer to give you a quick blowie in the janitor’s closet. Clearly she was a lesbian who was out to get you.
The Judge was actually pretty cool about the whole “corporate malfeasance” thing. He talked to you mano a mano, one rich guy to another. You could have gone to prison for something like… 50 years? Did your attorney really say 50 years? You’re not sure, it all got kind of blurry there when you realized that prison jumpsuits are essentially one size fits all. No tailoring whatsoever. Quelle horreur!
