‘T was a beautiful winter morning in May and as usual Albie was walking
down the hall with his filthy worn down trousers and greasy tartan shirt.
As it was his job to secure the maintenance, he could wander around the
building without arousing suspicion whatsoever. He made a habit of it,
visiting the different departments and in particular the female occupants.
That day he set out once again on a quest for sexual gratification, knowing
the little ladies, as he called them, would indulge his filthy fantasies.
Little did he know that his licy life was going to alter drastically in the
following hours. He flabbered with his fat double chin and almost tripped
over his beer belly when he entered the supply room.
His victim – a willing one according to his fucking arrogant self-love –
entered the room to get some stationery. She felt his presence immediately
behind her, not in the least because he had an evil odour hanging around
his fat body and she could hear his fat double chin flabbering heavily
against his greasy tartan shirt. He was standing in the dark behind a rack,
breathing heavily. The walk to the supply room probably had proven to be
very strenuating considering his fat beer belly.
While he was planning to make advances he didn’t have the faintest idea of
what was hanging above his head, or rather what wouldn’t be hanging so
leisurely anymore someplace lower than his head. As he tried to put his
filthy greasy hands on her, she turned around like a speeding bullet and
kneeed him in his groin. He doubled over in pain and squeeled like a
castrated guinea pig. He lay there for a while, crying like a baby,
sniffing his damart handkerchief his mom had knitted for him.
He had lost his deep voice forever but with his lousy phraseology, that
wasn’t even such a great loss…