First day, I fell out of a tree trying to fuck a local Cuban girl I met at a bar.

Her name was Dominga. After a couple of tequila shots at the bar, we started talking about the differences between Miami and LA.

I brought up the fact that people in Miami for some reason don't indulge in the popular LA practice of tree sex. This immediately caught her attention and she actually believed this was a common activity among Angelenos.

"Why?" she asked. "Why would you have sex in a tree?"

"Have you ever done it?" I asked.

She had to think about it for a minute. "No."

I told her there was almost nothing better than fucking in a tree. And of course, it's not something that can be explained; it's something that must be experienced.

I told her:

• It was one of the Kama Sutra positions.
• It's what started the sexual revolution in the 60's.
• It's how Demi snagged Ashton.

A couple more shots, some fondling at the bar, and Dominga was ready to climb a tree.

We found a tree on the other side of the parking lot, which was not very well lit. It was a good tree for climbing; a good tree for sex.

While Dominga seemed good at climbing trees, she was not very good at staying in a tree.

Maybe it was the tequila.

We started making out on a nice sturdy limb, then I snaked my hand up her skirt and just when the real wood was about to come out, she decided to steady herself on a limb that wasn't there.

She fell forward, I tried to catch her, but she swung to my back and I slid down the side of the trunk of the tree scraping my side to shreds; then I fell to the ground with Dominga on top.

Luckily, it was my ass that broke the fall, not my wood. Dominga jumped clear before I hit, otherwise she would have broken my fall.

Dominga laughed at first, then she got up and steadied herself. She looked relatively unscathed, though shaken up. Definitely, shaken up.

Which is probably why Dominga then puked on the tree.

I looked up at her and smiled.

"Well," I said. "I guess this is why people in Miami do not have sex in trees."

I'm sure Smithee thought he was in a good position to fuck me over because he does not exist. However, there were a few factors he might not have considered.

While Smithee cannot say I am one place if I am actually someplace else, I can always say Smithee is anywhere because he is always nowhere.

And while Smithee cannot say I am doing one thing if I am actually doing something else, I can always say Smithee is doing anything because he is always doing nothing.

On Friday, Smithee accused me of having sex in the Comm closet with with Minoo the HR Coordinator at noon. I was actually having sex in my office with Lucia at noon; my assistant confirmed that I was in a meeting at that time.

Smithee also accused me of flirting with Maricruz at 3:00pm when I was supposed to be in a Marketing meeting. I was actually flirting with Lucretia at 3:00pm when I was supposed to be in a Home Furnishings meeting.

I told Teri to create a second fake schedule for me. I was almost positive Smithee's only sources of intel were Tawny the Temp and Gladstone. So I told Gladstone about the Comm closet and flirting with Maricruz; and Tawny got a look at my schedule. 

And they proved my theory.

Now it was my turn. 

As I mentioned, since Smithee is imaginary, I could have said anything. But I didn't want it coming from me. So I decided to unleash pure relentless fury on Smithee; a force so fierce and evil, once set in motion, it becomes impossible to stop. 

I told Blair that Smithee thought she was fat.

Okay, it didn't come out that blunt. I let the cat out of the bag in a much more subtle way. Had her drag it out of me; made it something I pretended I didn't want to tell her. Something that slipped.

I changed Smithee's email password again, but told nobody this time. On Friday, he sent Blair a couple of flirty emails; I know just what Smithee needs to say to get her all hot and bothered. Then I dropped the fat bomb. 

By the end of the day, Triplet wanted to see Smithee in her office. And not because I complained about anything; Blair submitted the complaint--for sexual harassment. 

Nobody seems to be able to reach Smithee. 

I don't want Smithee fired. He's been a great boss up until now. But I do want the evil spirit that has possessed his imaginary body to be exorcised from him. This will hopefully do it. 

I'm in Miami this week. But I'm going to pull a Jack Bauer on Gladstone's ass when I get back. He will give me answers. One way or another.

I didn't pay on Monday and I still have my left nut. 

Normally, I am not very intimidated by threats; even less so when I am being threatened by an imaginary person.

At the same time, I adore my nuts. 

It's kind of like being in the Hatch on Lost and typing in the magic number every 108 minutes so that the world doesn't end. 

If there's even the slightest possibility that my precious nut might be be removed, maybe I shouldn't take this imaginary person's threat too lightly.

I decided to compromise.

I sent Smithee a coupon for one free session of sex with Chelsea the Intern. I told him it was better than getting the cash, since Chelsea the Intern charges more than Tawny the Temp. A real value deal.

I did not get a reply. Nor did I lose my nut. 

However, today, I got another email from Smithee asking for a status update on all my projects. This was odd for three reasons:

1. It was strictly business
2. It came from Smithee's company email account and we changed the password just last week
3. I did not send the email to myself

I then came to the realization that while Gladstone is not the one fucking with me, he is somehow responsible without knowing it.

"Who are you sleeping with?" I asked him.

"I'm not sleeping with Fiona anymore," he said. 

"That's not what I asked. Who are you sleeping with? Who's in your User Pool?"

Gladstone hesitated, but then rattled off the list. Nobody that had a grudge against me, as far as I could tell. But I still felt like he was holding out on me. 

"That's it?" I asked.

"That's it," he confirmed.

Bullshit.

Today I was called down to HR by Triplet, the VP of HR. She informed me that there was a performance problem.

"Says who?" I asked.

"Smithee," she said.

"You spoke to him?" 

"Yes."

"Face to face?"

"Well, via email," she said.

Now my imaginary boss is complaining about my performance. This is very disturbing for me. Smithee and I have always had such a good relationship. Well, it was a little rocky when Nick Zima was playing him, but that was all resolved a long time ago. 

Now I feel he's just out to get me. 

"Let's get him down here," I said. "I want to face my accuser." 

Triplet made the call. My assistant Teri answered, and no surprise, Smithee was in a meeting. 

I stood up.

"Please reschedule the meeting for a time that Smithee can attend," I said, and left Triplet's office.

I now see that this is more than just settling an unpaid debt. In fact, this has nothing to do with Tawny the Temp. This is a grudge. The performance complaint is just the first strike. It's going to get worse. Much worse. This is a grudge, all right. This is war. 

Monday

After my imaginary boss sent me that kind email threatening to remove my left testicle if I didn't pay his ho, I decided a little tree therapy was in order. I tried to explain to Fred the Therapist:

"My imaginary boss sent me an email," I said.

"The imaginary boss you made up that everyone else believes is real?"

"That's the one."

"Was it an imaginary email or a real one?"

"Real."

"Did you send it to yourself?"

"Not that I recall."

"Then I see your dilemma. I don't think the tree is going to help."

At that moment, I saw Una in her office on the second floor. She still had that sweet, sexy, insane look in her eye as she watched me standing in the tree. Since Fred the Therapist couldn't help me with my dilemma, I decided to go see what Una could do.

A blowjob and sex on her desk.

Well, Una didn't solve my dilemma, but visiting her was a good diversion.

Tuesday

I decided I wasn't insane. So if not insane, who could have sent me the email? Only someone who had access to the mailbox. There are only three:

• Kessler
• Gladstone
• Nick Zima

I interrogated each, including Nick via phone who was on location in Brazil. They all swore it wasn't them and that they hadn't given out the email password. I interrogated Gladstone a little more closely.

"You sure you didn't say anything to Fiona?" I asked.

"Of course not," he said.

"What do you mean, 'Of course not'? You fuckin' told her all my shit, why wouldn't you tell her this?"

"I said nothing about Smithee. I swear."

I didn't know what to do. So I fucked Lucia in the Comm Closet.

Wednesday

I confronted Tawny the Temp in the kitchen.

"Who the fuck do you work for?" I blurted out once I had her pinned up against the counter and microwave.

"You know who I work for."

"Smithee?"

"That's right."

"Have you ever seen him?"

"No," she said. "I got a request through my agency for a temp job. It's a great gig. Everyone around here is so fucking sexually pent-up. The money is great--when people pay... 30% goes to Smithee." 

I immediately thought: How come I only get 20% from Chelsea? 

Then I got suspicious. Is Tawny the Temp just playing dumb? Or...

"Are you Smithee?"

"What?"

"Do you have a pimp that doesn't really exist?"

"Make up my own boss? That would be insane," she said. "Smithee is real. You should know, he's your boss."

I was beginning to think insanity was again the answer.

I went and found Chelsea. I complained about the 20%, so she fucked me in my office and reminded me that I get that shit as a bonus. 

Thursday

I had lunch with Blair. I asked her if she had seen Smithee lately. She said yes, just this morning. I knew immediately Blair was as insane as ever and that she had nothing to do with this.

I had sex with Blair that night on a swing set in the park. 

Friday

I got another email from Smithee, but this time from a private gmail account (real.smithee@gmail.com). It said:

Pay Monday or lose your nut.

I should probably just pay. I don't like my testicles being threatened. This whole thing is really stressing me out. So I let Maricruz sooth my nuts last night in the bleachers at the high school. 

But the question remains: Who is Smithee?

I told Chelsea the Intern what happened when I went out with Tawny the Temp last week. She gave me that I told your ass so look, but didn't gloat about it because she was too infuriated for being right about that bitch. She wanted to take quick action against the temp to remedy the situation.

"I know a guy," she said.

"Okay, I don't want to know about a guy you know who could remedy the situation. Besides, there's another player who might know a guy too."

I told her about the anonymous pimp and the death threats because I didn't pay.

"You didn't pay?" she said. "You have to pay."

"Are you defending her?" 

"No, I'm defending the profession. There are ethics to consider, you know."

"Ethics with prostitution?" I asked.

"That's right."

"Well, she should have disclosed before we did it. Aren't there any ethics about that?"

"She didn't disclose?" she asked, again surprised. "Oh, then you're okay. You negotiate up front. If she didn't do that, you have a solid case."

Somehow, I didn't think this would be going to court. 

Chelsea the Intern did some recognizance, but didn't uncover much. She ran into Tawny the Temp several times during the week, gave her the death stare, but just got it right back. Enemies for life.

The best thing to do in a situation like this is to get the bitch fired. But until I unveil the anonymous pimp...

Late in the day today the pimp was revealed via email:

Jason:

I hate to be a hard ass about this, but business is business. You owe my girl $250 for the other night. If you don't pay, I'll deduct it from your paycheck.

Oh, and I'll also have to remove your left testicle.  

Cheers,

Smithee

Well, there you have it. Or not. 

This came from Smithee's email. Either I am insane and Smithee does exist or... I am insane and I'm sending messages to myself as Smithee.

I think I need to go into hiding.

If you can prove a point by having sex with someone, I believe that always the best route to take.

The point is, just because Tawny the Temp is young and pretty with plenty of cleavage and a tight little ass, doesn't mean she's a prostitute. 

We got drunk on tequila at my favorite dive watering hole. It's a dark, relatively small place that nobody from work ever frequents. Except maybe Gladstone and Kessler. But we usually coordinate.

It wasn't long before Tawny the Temp and I were fondling each other under the table. Tequila is always a good way to get someone to touch you. 

We went back to her place, which was surprisingly nice. I expected something a little more studio size, but this apartment was big. I also expected some more Hello Kitty shit in the bedroom like I found in Minoo the HR Coordinator's place. But Tawny's place was more classy; grown up.

I don't like classy and grown up, so I asked her to spank me. 

Unfortunately, she was ready for that request. 

She returned from the closet with handcuffs, a whip, and a paddle. 

I was reminded of my Sexorcism for some reason. I told her I wasn't into handcuffs, but I could put socks on my hands. She whipped me for that comment, then she ordered me to lie down on the couch. 

Wow, she really seemed into it. I figured, what the fuck? She handcuffed me and then paddled me like a bad schoolboy. I did not enjoy it. But, if it did something for her, I figured I could handle it. 

Finally, after the discipline, she turned me over and jumped aboard for some real fun. It was good, but also very angry, violent sex. I was fine with that, but I was thinking, this bitch is kinky. 

After sex and a shower, I got dressed and was ready to leave. 

"That was fun," I said.

"I hope it was worth the price of admission." she said. "That'll be $300." 

I looked at her like a glazed donut; everything all blurry. "Huh?"

"Non standard sex is always more," she said.

It took a couple of seconds to click, but instead of proving that Chelsea the Intern was just being a paranoid and jealous prostitute, I proved she was a smarter intern than I gave credit. 

"You're a prostitute?" I asked.

She nodded.

"I thought you were into that shit?" I said.

"I thought you were," she said. "Weren't you?"

Not only did I prove Chelsea the Intern was right, I paid for services I didn't even want.

"Look," I said. "You didn't disclose the fact that you were going to charge me up front. So I don't owe you shit."

I grabbed my jacket and opened the door.

"Then you'll have to deal with my pimp," she said.

"Pimp?"

"Someone at work," she said. "And not someone you want to deal with. You will not like it." 

How fucking ridiculous is that? Someone is pimping a prostitute at work. Well, besides me.

I didn't get a name, but apparently I was going to get a visit...

While Tawny the Temp does look like a precocious young prostitute, I assured Chelsea the Intern that she is only being paid to answer phones, manage schedules and file documents.

Tawny the Temp is blond, short with nice legs and tits, but an amazing ass. And she likes to wear clothing that accentuates this particular endowment. 

Chelsea the Intern spends a good majority of her day now pussy blocking Tawny the Temp. Even when Tawny the Temp is talking to me, Chelsea the Intern interrupts and drags me away. And Chelsea the Intern doesn't even charge me for the sex.  

Chelsea the Intern believes I am expanding the brothel. I assured her I wasn't. I mean, I never wanted to be a pimp in the first place. I guess it's one of those things you just fall into when a prostitute follows you to work from the strip club. 

I do understand the paranoia. While Tawny the Temp does not sell her body like a prostitute, she does market her body like a prostitute. 

For example, when I'm standing at her desk having a conversation with her, she props herself up on her elbows so that her arms push her breasts together, providing me with a spectacular view of enhanced cleavage.

She does this with everyone.

She also bends over a lot to pick up things or to file documents. And she doesn't bend her knees. She just bends over at the waist and juts that ass out so that you have a clear view of her thong of the day. Today it was pink.

And while she's not a whore by trade, she is an attention whore by nature.

This is also how Chelsea the Intern behaves. But it's strictly business for her. So when she sees someone else behaving the same way, she believes it must be for the same reason.

I think Chelsea the Intern's clientele in the building may also believe Tawny the Temp is a prostitute. I see them talking to her a lot. Can't wait to see her reaction when they finally ask her, How much?  

I'm beginning to think I should have sex with Tawny the Temp. I don't want to piss off Chelsea the Intern, but someone has to prove her wrong. 

I mean, there's a lot of tension between these two. Something has to be done. Having sex with the new temp without getting charged for it should convince Chelsea the Intern that the new temp isn't cutting into her business. 

Some might call it, Fucking the temp. But technically, this is just "Conflict Resolution."

HR will be so proud of me. 

Our office building has crash-landed on a desert island in the middle of the south Pacific and we are Lost. 

We have been cut off from the rest of the civilized business community and are forced to come up with our own crude policies, procedures, and methodologies with the limited resources this island has to offer. 

We are constantly thwarted by "The Others," who are also known as Corporate IT. They try to infiltrate us, pretend they are working with us--but really, they're working against us. Their agenda is sabotage, not synergy. I see right through their ruse. 

Fernandez used to work for Corporate IT; I don't think he ever really left. In fact, he's probably still their leader. Let's call him "Has-Ben". 

The SOX initiative, also known as the Karma initiative (what your company reaps, so shall your company sow), has been here since I arrived. This initiative is run by E&Y, who has enforced the use of the most inept and ineffective controls in order to satisfy government compliance, and more importantly, to pretend to ensure the safety of our company.

For example, any change order, data fix, or enhancement request that is intended to go into the system needs my email approval at every stage of the process. I have been told by E&Y, if I don't check my email every hour and click the "Approval" button, the company will explode. 

So every hour, I click to save our company from a cataclysmic disaster. 

The leader of the island may very well be Smithee. Nobody has ever seen him, although many purport to have spoken to him in person so that others will think he or she is cool. This took the pressure off of me to pretend my imaginary boss was real, since everyone else started pretending he was real for me. At this point, so many people have seen my imaginary boss, I'm beginning to believe he might be real after all.

I am constantly surprised by the fact that we continue to make a profit in this business with so many incompetent business people working against that goal. But this is, after all, the business of licensing. And with a brand like ours, it simply sells itself. 

Both the island and brand are mystical. They transcend time and space, as well as the complete ineptitude of its inhabitants.   

The good thing about this island is there are a lot more women to fuck than just a single Kate.  So although I've had the opportunity to leave the island on a submarine, I have declined because there's just too much pussy to pass up for freedom. 

I'm afraid, my friends, I will be stranded in this company forever.