Blair took me to a very expensive Sushi dinner for my birthday. This was a very sweet gesture on her part and only cost me $160. 

Blair's husband is also in Finance and watches every debit like a hawk. If a restaurant is not on their approved vendor list, Blair is not allowed to spend a dime at that establishment. Her weekly expense report is reviewed and approved by her husband with strict criteria without exceptions. My favorite Sushi restaurant does not happen to be on this approved vendor list because it's overpriced from his perspective.

So Blair gave me the choice of going to my favorite Sushi restaurant and paying for it myself or settling for a restaurant on their approved list and letting her pay. I chose my restaurant. It's my birthday, right?

We started off with drinks. I had a dirty martini, she had a greyhound.  

She asked me about Chelsea the Intern by saying, Cute intern this year. If I act like I don't think Chelsea the Intern is cute, Blair will know that I think she's cute and get pissed. If I agree that Chelsea the Intern is cute, Blair will know that I think she's cute and get pissed.

Blair likes to present me with one "no win" situation prior to fucking my brains out on my birthday. She likes me to earn my gift. So she likes to administer a test I can't possibly pass.

But then again, I'm me... 

"She has cancer," I said.

Blair's eyes bulged, her jaw dropped, her demeanor transitioned to deep sympathy.

I told her she had Hodgkins, but it was treatable. She forgot all about her passive aggressive point and we ordered sushi. I wonder what she'd have said if I told her the truth: she used to be a stripper and a hooker; now she's just a hooker who works our building and gives me a cut.

While Blair enjoyed taking me to Sushi, she did not enjoy watching me eat Sushi. I eat Sushi with my fingers; Blair believes the proper way to eat Sushi is with chopsticks. I pointed out to her that in Japan the correct etiquette, at least for Japanese men, is to eat Sushi with their fingers.

However, Blair does not give a rat's ass how they eat sushi in Japan. The only thing that really matters is her perception of what's right and wrong. And in her book, eating sushi with your fingers is wrong.

We argued about this for a good twenty minutes.

I didn't mind so much because even though we were arguing, I could see the black garters around her thighs. She was wearing a black skirt that was slightly hiked up sitting in the booth. Every time I looked down, she could see it got me all hot and bothered. The more she saw me get hot and bothered, the more she got hot and bothered. The more we argued, the more I checked out her legs. The more I checked out her legs, the less I cared about the argument. The less I cared about the argument, the less she cared about the argument. By the time we finished the meal, neither of us were arguing but both of us were very hot and bothered. 

She only wears garters on my birthday. She knows what it does to me.

We didn't feel like having tree sex that night, so we went to the local high school and had sex on the bleachers. Surprisingly, bleachers are very ergonomically correct for sex. You can do a lot of different variations that you just don't get with tree sex.

Well, it's my birthday today.

Okay, moving on...

Remember Friday? Later that evening, Conklin, Detective Curran (aka Rob Jackhoff) and I took a look at the CD that allegedly contained incriminating evidence against us. I popped the CD into my computer and an interesting thing happened. The CD did NOT in fact contain evidence against Conklin and myself. The CD DID in fact contain the infamous "Fuck You Very Much" virus. 

My computer is toast.

Conklin's dead slutty wife's evil sister Fiona the Cunt is a big fucking cunt. Have I mentioned that lately?

Here's what I can piece together...  Conklin's dead slutty wife's evil sister Fiona the Cunt does NOT have evidence against us. She DOES have a copy of Conklin deflowering Blendi the Virgin. She also has McKinney's work print of his 3D porn film. She did NOT actually call the police and the police did NOT actually call back; it must have been a friend or relative. I think she wanted to see how I would deal with the situation. And how we would react to her own deductions about what happened. That little bitch...

I don't think she has an interest in sending us to jail. She's planning something much worse for me and Conklin. The virus was just a little Fuck you, I'm smarter than you message. She's learning; adapting to my style of deceit. This is the behavior of a very meticulous and patient sociopath.  

Well, that's just great...

All right, I'm going to have some sushi and a few dirty martinis and try to think of happy thoughts... 

Conklin has a tummy ache.

Conklin's dead slutty wife's evil sister Fiona the Cunt did call the police and the police did say a detective would get back to her.

Conklin has been very upset ever since. Which is why he's been eating too many black olives. When Conklin gets upset, he usually calms himself down by smoking an American Spirit. Unfortunately, he recently quit smoking. Fortunately, eating black olives seems to have a similar calming effect, although not quite as satisfying. Unfortunately, eating too many black olives makes him sick to his stomach.

Personally, my preference would be green olives, because that reminds me of drinking a martini, which would calm me down if I were upset.

"Why aren't you upset?" Conklin asked. "She called the cops."

"We didn't kill your slutty wife," I calmly said. "The truck did."

"Failing to kill someone is still a crime. It's called Attempted Murder."

"Conklin," I said. "When are you going to learn to trust me?"

Conklin should never learn to trust me. If he learns one thing in this life, it's that he should learn to never learn to trust me. Some people can trust me and it works out just fine; but when Conklin trusts me, it always works out badly.

The problem with Conklin is that he always does learn to trust me sooner or later. And as soon as he does, things go badly. This time, he chose not to trust me, which means things will go well. As soon as he sees things go well, he'll learn to trust me again and things will go badly again. It's the Conklin circle of life.

Conklin's dead slutty wife's evil sister Fiona the Cunt stopped by my office while Conklin and I were talking. Acting much like her dead slutty sister, she taunted us.

"I spoke to the detective," she said. "He said he'd be here around this time."

"Your dead slutty sister was run over by a truck," I said. "What's he going to do? Arrest the truck?"

"I have evidence there was more to it than that," she said confidently.

Conklin sat in his chair rubbing his stomach.

"I have photos of you and Dickhead here right before the accident," she said and held up a CD. "It shows exactly what you were trying to do."  

Conklin's stomach hurt even more based on the very pained look on his face. It certainly was an interesting turn of events. Did this revelation have the same sickening effect on me as it had on Conklin? Not exactly...  

There was a tap at my door and Teri stuck her head inside.

"Jason, there's a detective here to see you," she said.

Conklin grabbed his stomach again with one hand and gave a clump of hair a yank with the other.

Conklin's dead slutty wife's evil sister Fiona the Cunt smiled and licked her upper lip like she just set the gang bang world record. Teri moved aside, the door opened, and there was the detective.

"Good afternoon," he said. "I'm Detective Curran."

Ah, yes, porn star Rob Jackhoff reprising his role as that tenacious asshole Detective Curran. Conklin immediately relaxed and stopped rubbing his stomach and yanking his hair.

Right after Conklin's dead slutty wife's evil sister Fiona the Cunt made the call to the police, I had someone in Telecommunications (Marie, the person who introduced me to Comm closet blowjobs) forward all of the cunt's phone calls to Teri's phone. If it was a call for Mulhausen, she transferred the call back to Mulhausen's line where the cunt could pick it up. Teri continued to do this until the real detective called. Teri then said she was Conklin's dead slutty wife's evil sister Fiona the Cunt and had heard a rumor that the husband was involved in the accident somehow. The detective laughed and said, No, a truck killed your sister. She pretended to be satisfied and hung up. 

Then I gave my good friend Nick Zima a call and arranged to have Rob Jackhoff come back and pretend to be a real actor again. You could tell how much he loved this.

"On the phone, you said you had evidence of foul play," he mumbled as he eyed Conklin and me with suspicious eyes.

Conklin's dead slutty wife's evil sister Fiona the Cunt produced the CD which also apparently had the video of Conklin deflowering Blendi the Virgin.

Rob Jackhoff grilled us for a little bit in front of the cunt for show, then said he would go back to his office and examine the evidence.

I haven't seen it yet, but we're getting together later to check it out. Who does she think she is? I'm Jason fucking X. You can't beat me...

Athena the Lesbian is upset because Lesbians have rights too, not just lesbians.

It took me a little while to figure out what she was talking about, but this is the gist:

"Lesbians are suing lesbians for calling themselves lesbians and making it seem like all Lesbians are lesbians too, even if you're a Lesbian who's only attracted to men. And it's worse for male Lesbians."

Athena the Lesbian was so upset, she almost couldn't blow me in the Comm closet the other day. But I assured her that a little fellatio would take her mind off the subject of lesbians and that it would help calm her nerves.

Apparently it did calm her nerves but calmed my nerves even more because I completely forgot about lesbians of any sort.

Athena the Lesbian, however, was talking about the sore subject of Lesbians suing lesbians again within minutes after swallowing.

All because the Lesbians on the Greek island of Lesbos are suing the lesbians in Greece for using the term lesbian to refer to gay women, but unfortunately, Lesbians who are native to the Greek island of Lesbos are Lesbians too, but not the kind that munch carpet. So they want lesbians to come up with a different term to refer to lesbians.

Turns out the story is true; the source is here.

Athena the Lesbian is now thinking she should also file the same suit in California against all the gay groups that have "Lesbian" in their title.  

Her new found cause has created tension between her and Jane the lesbian from Softlines. The two hooked up at the Holiday Party when Athena the Lesbian got curious and decided she might be a lesbian even though she's already a Lesbian. The following week she decided she wasn't a lesbian because when you're a lesbian you don't get any dick. And apparently, she likes dick more than she thought. The bottom line is, a pussy just lies there. What's a pussy going to do for her? And the answer, sadly, is very little.

So she bounced back to my dick and hasn't let go since.

In order to support her cause, I agreed that I wouldn't refer to lesbians as lesbians. Only a Lesbian is a Lesbian. So instead, I'll refer to lesbians as carpet munchers so that I don't offend Lesbians. 

Today, on the 5th of May, we celebrate the Mexican victory over the Americans at the Alamo in 1836.   

Once again, Tefft was put in charge of handling the festivities for our Cinco de Mayo office party. For some reason, she is under the impression that the Mexicans celebrate this day to remember the Alamo,  the one and only time they kicked American ass. Granted, we kicked their ass back to Mexico shortly thereafter, but that's why we celebrate the 5th with them. Just to show them there are no hard feelings.

Okay, I'm the one who told her that Cinco de Mayo was all about the Alamo.

But she asked. Sure, it's really about the Battle of Puebla against the French in 1862. But she wouldn't get it even if I gave her the right version. Tefft needs something she can understand. And since she's seen multiple film versions of The Alamo, I knew she'd get the concept and make a party of it. I mean, there's a ton more Indians than Mexicans where I work. So who really cares?

Well, apparently the Americans cared.

There were posters celebrating the fact that the Mexicans beat the crap out of Americans. Little stick figures running around stamping on poor Texans. And one depicting Davy Crockett run up the flag pole. I didn't tell her to do that... 

This didn't bode well for Fernandez.  

Once people started getting liquored up (I also suggested we drink real margaritas), they turned to Fernandez and demanded an explanation. He claimed he had nothing to do with the planning of this party and that he was American too. Nobody believed him.

Fernandez got a swirly in the women's bathroom.

Well, I'm off to a real Cinco de Mayo party to celebrate... What did I say it was for again?