You ditch your sensible granola breakfast and decide to grab a fast food sandwich on your way to work. Within minutes your stomach feels as if Montezuma is juggling bowling balls inside it. It doesn’t take long before your belly files a class action suit against your bowels. So you leave work early and miss a meeting, after which it is decided that your position is duplicitous and you recieve a pink slip. Not surprisingly, your hot girlfriend turns Ice Princess and fires you as well.
A job search turns into the Bataan Death March. You quickly discover that your resume- once solid- has become a hindrance. You’re overqualified in most instances and the higher paying jobs have dried up. So you decide to dip into the rainy day fund, take a month off and enjoy all of the things you’ve been missing out on. Like travel. And daylight. And sleep.
Upon returning from the islands, you receive a job tip from a friend you used to work with. Your interview goes really well after which your friend calls to let you know the job is as good as yours.
Hold the boat. The company decides to split the responsibilities of the job and hire two less qualified candidates at a fraction of your pay grade in a two for one deal. Of course, you missed this voicemail while you were busy spending a small fortune on threads for your new job. And now it occurs to you that you’ve gone through Charlie Sheen strip club money and you still have no job. And to make matters worse, the mortgage, car and alimony payments are due. Not to mention the escort service bills you’ve been running up since your hot girlfriend left.
You decide to procure a loan. Your credit history is perfect but you A) don’t have a job, B) don’t have a co-signer, C) hence, you don’t have a loan. So you take a job at a big box store for a much needed cash infusion when your friend with that can’t lose job tip strolls in with your hot ex-girlfriend. You’d like to suffocate him with a bag of cheese puffs but instead you talk sports. He asks you out for drinks later and you say sure. He’s paying.
At the bar that evening, he confesses that he was the one who made the decision to let you go after you ditched the meeting he had convened. He thought you were onto the fact that he was bilking the company out of some really stupid money, so he did a pre-emptive strike figuring you would be too pissed off at the bosses about losing your job to turn dime on a brother in arms.
This is where quiet rage alchemizes into brilliant inspiration as the spirit of Montresor courses through your veins, imploring you to wreak some good old fashioned Poe-like vengeance. You invite him back to your place for some advice on a construction project you have going on, appealing to his pitiable ego while at the same time planning his demise.
You lure your drunken friend to the basement where construction of your man cave is back underway thanks to a shit load of cinder blocks you purchased at a deep discount from your big box employer. You position him behind a six foot high wall with a level and a bottle of Grey Goose and then proceed to seal his fate. As you place the last cinder block into position, you hear a blood curdling scream. “I don’t have cell reception down here!”
The police and your hot ex-girlfriend show up the next morning. It seems your friend has gone missing and the GPS on his i-Pod led them to your place. She’s sick with worry since it’s her i-Pod and it contains her entire music library.
You go on trial for murder and your lawyer uses the “China Syndrome” defense to get you acquitted. It seems the cinder blocks you purchased were made in China and as such, were highly toxic. He points to autopsy results determing the cause of your friend’s death to have been the result of toxic poisoning and he argues that you were suffering from mind-altering hallucinations on the night in question as the result of the dangerous fumes you were inhaling. The case is cinched when your lawyer exploits your disfigured Gigantour hands by asking you to try on a pair of gloves for the jury and borrowing one of the most famous lines in the history of jurisprudence, “If the gloves don’t fit, you must acquit!”
After the trial you sue your big box employer for $150 million dollars, which works out to $15 million per finger or $75 million per middle finger. You start dating the Ice Princess who is perfect for you since you don’t have any feeling in your hands.
Your best selling motivational book “The Building Blocks to a Better Life!” is made into a movie and while on the set you meet Jennifer Aniston. The two of you live happily ever after for the next seven weeks.