"You see, ladies and fucknuts, Mrs. Weatherdick received a fair settlement. It was found that the semi that ass-ended her at a green light was in fact at fault. The driver was hopped up on celery uppers and Kool-Aid and just lost control of his truck. Plain and simple. What I don't get is why I have to stand here at this fucking podium and explain myself to you. The settlement was fair. She's walking around just as peachy as a kitten hooked up to a tire pump, healthy as can be. Yet you morons in the media think we fucked her over. Get real. We did everything we could to get the money she deserves for herself and her family."
That's when I felt my cerebellum fuse. I nodded to my roving reporter friend in the audience, and he made his move. He stood up.
"Mr. Insuranceman, yes, Stan Fartin, Fukaduk News. Mr. Insuranceman, is what you are saying accurate? Are you absolutely sure you and your firm did everything in your power to assist one of your customers, who has always been on time with her monthly payments, who has always been available for questionaires, who has never so much as complained about anything that has to do with your company?"
Mr. Insuranceman's shoulders began to twitch. You could tell he was caught offguard. Surprise, motherfucker. The best is yet to come.
"I....uh..."
Come on, you lousy prickfuck. I dare you. I double dog DARE the piss out of you.
"We....We did everything we could."
Wrong answer. Stan's smile and gaze met mine. Let him have it.
"Mr. Insuranceman?"
"Yes?" Smug fuck looks a little more confident now. Oh man, this is gonna hurt.
"Mr. Insuranceman, you have a daughter named Emily?"
CONGO LINE!!!!!!
Mr. Insuranceman looks around and grabs the podium, not sure where this is going. "Yes....yes I do?" He coughs.
"Good to hear," Stan says. "Right now we have her blindfolded ready to be transported to Thailand with a .44 Magnum to her head. Wanna see a picture?"
Everyone gasps. "Wha...what....Who the fuck are you?" Mr. Nervousfuck says.
"Oh, sure you do," Stan says, "Fuck the pics, she's right here." From his large dufflebag he lifts Emily out and puts her in front of him. Then the gun comes out.
"EMILY! EMILY! You motherfucker, don't you...."
Stan waves the gun. "Don't waste my time, asshole."
Mr. Insurancepantshitter calms down. "Alright," he says. "What do you want?"
Stan cocks the gun. "Are you sure you and your company did absolutely everything you could for your client?"
Mr. Insurancedick breathes out, looking around, knowing his ass is on the line.
"No, we didn't. We could have gotten her 10 times what she got, but if she's able to walk, we have to reduce the claim! We have to! We're a business! We can't give everyone everything they deserve, or else we'd be fucked! FUCKED!"
"Good." Stan says as he puts the gun to his head. "Toodleloo."
Trigger pulled, point made. I would've added Stan to my to my martyr list, but my pen ran out of ink after Marvin Heemeyer's name.
Then I went to sleep.
