Take This Job and Shove It!!

By Robert Beau Michaels

A bizarre chain of events in a wacky comedy/drama of errors propels a popular psychology/best-selling author, Dr. Jack Stroker, into the role of a feared assassin and secret agent, and yet he's never killed a soul! And his writing and life has had a profound inspirational effect on the president of the United States--Dirk Hamilton: a man who decides to tell the truth about what's wrong with America!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483593876

Book preview

Epilogue

1

THE DREAM WAS ALWAYS THE SAME…He watched helplessly as the Statue of Liberty was sinking slowly beneath the sea, and there was absolutely nothing that he could do to stop it. But the meaning of the recurring dream was quite clear to him: The Lady of Liberty holding high the torch light of freedom—the most powerful symbol of the spirit of America, was soon to be extinguished, as she was slowly sinking into the dark depths of the sea…America, the land of the free, was going down. But he had the uncanny feeling that it was not just a very disturbing dream. It was a prophecy…

President Dirk Hamilton fired up a joint—a type called White Widow, and slowly inhaled, held it in his lungs for a few moments, and then slowly exhaled. It brought on a light euphoric high, and was slightly energizing. He hated the way antidepressants made him feel—like a goddamn tug-of-war in the frontal cortex of his brain. Weed was much better. It helped him to relax as he listened to the music of Pink Floyd. He turned up the volume. He was not a happy camper. He hated his job. He rarely went to the Oval Office anymore—only when he absolutely had to, and he now spent most of his time chilling out in his second floor West Wing study.

Suddenly, his personal assistant, Jane Harrington, a plain but intelligent-looking woman in her late 40s, entered the room. I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. President, but I just wanted to remind you that you have a meeting with the Saudi Arabian ambassador in an hour. Shall I have him come here to meet with you or in the Oval Office?

Hamilton took a drag on the joint and sighed with annoyance. Tell that fucking camel jockey that I'm ill and reschedule the meeting for next week, or next fucking month, or better still, tell him to go to fucking hell! I'm sick of those fucking rag-heads having us by the balls because of their goddamn oil!

Mr. President, do I need to remind you that we have very few friends in the Middle East and we can't afford to lose anymore?

Hamilton laughed. Lose friends in the Middle East, Jane? We're losing friends all over the world! We're making enemies faster than we can kill them!

She gazed blankly at him in disbelief. Mr. President, in all due respect I think you might have some serious issues.

He groaned. Serious issues?! I've got some serious issues alright! It's called being the president of a totally fucked-up country that I can't do anything about to improve! He let out a heavy sigh. I'll come to the Oval Office.

She stared at him for a few moments, shook her head in disapproval, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The powerful symbolic imagery of the dream was perfect! He was in the third year of his administration, and as President he had inherited the legacy of a fucked-up country that had gone to shit. The casino-economy was on the verge of collapse. Unemployment was going through the roof. And his approval rating was on a down-slide. The American people were really pissed off and were becoming very much aware that Big Money was running the country—just like Big Money had put him in the White House. And the situation was now getting progressively worse. It was like a runaway train on a path towards self-destruction. A cancer devouring the country and the world. He had finally come to the conclusion that the System was rotten to the fucking core and there was nothing that he could do to change it. And yet, that was what he promised back on the campaign trail to become President. Truly meaningful change that would reinvigorate the American spirit, democracy, and freedom. But he knew that it was a lie every time that he spit out those meaningless, worn-out platitudes of politicians. Bullshit!! Total fucking bullshit!! He was nothing but a goddamn puppet with his strings pulled by corporations, Wall Street bankers, and the military-industrial complex. And he was sick of it! He hated his goddamn job. He was ready for a life change.

So he had become a recluse in his study. The most powerful political leader in the world was now spending most of his time slouched in a large, well-worn, over-sized leather chair with one leg draped over one of the arms of the chair, getting stoned, and playing his guitar. At 51 years old, with dark brown hair streaked with gray, he had movie star good looks—strong, rugged features that held a powerful sensuality and charisma. He was quite fit with a regular routine in the White House fitness center and regular jogging. He had a killer-smile, and was a charming, silver-tongued devil that could talk the ticks off of a dog's back—excellent qualifications for a politician! He was typically dressed in a T-shirt, shorts or jeans, and flip-flops and often watched a big screen TV featuring sports much of the time. His hair was getting longer, and he was gradually looking more and more like a peace and brotherly hippie from the 1960s. Actually, he loved the music from the 60s and you could hear it blasting out of his study throughout the day: the Doors, the Yard Birds, Deep Purple, the Rolling Stones, Cream, Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, and Big Brother and the Holding Company, just to mention a few. Sometimes he would crank out some fuzz-tone riffs on his electric guitar, imagining that he was back on stage with his band when he was in college. He had once dreamed of becoming a professional musician—much to the protests of his upper-class Beverly Hills parents—protests that eventually forced him into a career as a lawyer. So it was a short musical career, but the groupies and the pussy were great!

He had also become addicted to watching Dr. Jack Stroker's TV talk show, You Can Change Your Life. Dr. Jack had become his new hero. Dr. Jack really had his shit together! He admired Dr. Jack. His recent antics showed that he really had a sack of nuts. It was Dr. Jack's advice in his best-selling book, You Can Change Your Life, that convinced him to run for president. And now it was Dr. Jack's advice in his best-selling book, Take This Job and Shove It! that was convincing him to say take this job and shove it! He had to get out! But how?! Resign?!

He was sick of meetings. So many of his meetings were now held in this room and rarely lasted more than fifteen minutes, while his personal aide, Jane Harrington, jotted down notes of the meeting. He was becoming more and more distant, and feeling trapped by the horrendous pressures of his job. He was fucking miserable. As he was reading Dr. Jack Stroker's latest book, Take This Job and Shove It!, a member of his White House staff, Bradley Tucker, a bright young man in his early 30s, entered his study carrying a brief case. Good afternoon, Mr. President! he said jovially. He then opened the brief case revealing four rows of different varieties of marijuana joints with ten different varieties in each row. What are you in the mood for today, Mr. President? I've got some new hybrid varieties that you might find of interest.

I want to laugh like a mother-fucker, Brad! I'm in a laughing mood! I really need to get out of my fucked-up head!

Tucker was amused. "Well, in that case, I think one of the sativa strains is just what you need! It will give you a good head high! You'll become energetic, talk a lot, and have long fits of laughter. You might have some enhancement of your visual and audio senses. You might start to feel like you're noticing things that you never noticed before. He lifted out one of the joints. This is from Africa called Durban Poison! He lifted another joint from a different variety. And this is Haze from Jamaica! It will make you feel like one happy camper!"

Excellent, Brad! Give me some of them both! He liked Brad. Brad was a loyal, efficient member of his staff. And a damn good provider of his mental and emotional relief!

Tucker gave Hamilton about a dozen of the joints and then closed his brief case. Anything else, Mr. President?

Hamilton took another hit on the joint and gazed at Tucker. You know, Brad, I've got the shittiest job in the world. It's a fucking prison! You help me tolerate it, my friend!

Tucker forced a warm smile and nodded. Thank you, Mr. President. I can see how you would feel that way. It's a thankless job because you have to try and make too many people happy. And they blame you when everything goes to shit.

Hamilton sighed and nodded. I couldn't have said it better, Brad. I'll see you next week. Or maybe a few days, depending on how I feel. Things are going to be changing very soon.

Tucker smiled and headed for the door. Let me know if you need anything, Mr. President.

Thanks, Brad. Hamilton smiled and took another hit on the joint, and then started laughing as he recalled the argument that he had with his wife the night before. And ironically, his 45 year old wife, Amy, opened the door of opportunity for his life change as a result of that argument…

It was a typical evening as he was getting into bed. Not much conversation. She was sitting in bed reading Stroker's book, You Can Change Your Life, while ironically, he was getting into bed with Stroker's book, Take This Job and Shove It!. There was tension in the air, and they both knew that things just couldn't continue as they had been going for so long. He sighed heavily, put the book down, and then slipped closer to her as he began caressing her arm very romantically—trying to put her in a love-making mood. It's been a long time, Amy, he said in a soft, romantic tone of voice.

I'm not in the mood, Dirk, she muttered coldly as she continued reading.

His mood vanished instantly as he sensed her annoyance. You haven't been in the mood for three fucking months, Amy!

Why don't you go down to that Dragon's Den down in one of the lower levels of the White House where you fuck your little whores! You think that I don't know about that little secret boudoir for presidents and what goes on there, Dirk? You think that I don't know how some of your Secret Service agents bring in prostitutes for you to fuck, and all that pussy gets paid for by the American taxpayer?

You really know how to kill a boner, Amy! I was all primed for some good hot sex with you. You may have heard that sex is usually quite common between a husband and wife? he exclaimed with exasperation. Okay, I admit it! I'm guilty of cheating on my non-fucking wife! But I'll be damned if I'm going to jerk off while your goddamn pussy remains in a fucking coma! Or maybe you have a little action going on too! Is that it, Amy? You got some action on the side? He suddenly rose from the bed and began pacing the floor, and was obviously tense and frustrated. You know, I really hate this fucking job! he shouted. I spend almost all of my time kissing the asses of the wealthy fucking pricks that put me in the White House! I have to please everybody! The fragmented, polarized American people who can't agree on anything! The bankers on Wall street! The Congress! The Big Money Fucks! The military-industrial complex! The international political community! And I have to please my adorable First Lady who doesn't want me to give me any fucking pussy anymore!

Well, Dirk, I'm glad that you brought that little subject up because there's something that I've been wanting to tell you for a very long time, she said in a very angry, straight forward tone of voice. Because, Mr. President, I'm very miserable too! I hate this fucking life! I hate everything about it! I hate being constantly in the spotlight! I feel like I'm under constant scrutiny being the First Lady and all the moralistic behavior that comes with the job. I feel like I'm suffocating and dying for a lack of air. I hate going to all those tight-assed, high-society dinners and social functions with all their politically-correct bullshit talk and gibberish! I can't do it anymore, Dirk! I just can't!

Hamilton was becoming impatient. "I feel just like you do about this political-circus bullshit, but what the fuck does this have to do with sex, Amy?! Why is it so fucking difficult for you to give me some goddamn pussy?!"

I'm in love with somebody else, Dirk, she replied with a long, exhausted sigh.

He was caught off guard, but smiled blandly and without emotion. You're in love with somebody else? Who is he?

She sighed. "It's not a he. It's a she…I'm a lesbian, Dirk."

He gazed at her with a critical squint of disbelief. Excuse me?

You heard me, she replied firmly. "I'm a lesbian.

He nodded, chuckled softly, and then laughed as he walked around the room for several moments as he tried to assimilate the thought. You're a fucking muff-diver?!…How long have you been a lesbian, Amy?

I think I always felt deep down inside that I preferred women to men but I kept fighting the feeling. I was bi-sexual when we met.

Hamilton let out a howl of laughter. Son of a fucking bitch! The first lady of the United States is a goddamn muff-diver! That's going to make a hell of a story for the six o'clock news! That certainly explains a hell of a lot—especially why you never liked to suck my dick! You preferred to eat pussy! Right?!

If the truth be known—yeah! I never liked to suck dicks. It felt like a goddamn sausage stuck in my mouth. And yes, I do like to eat pussy!

He laughed. Hey, we have something in common! I like to eat pussy too! But how come you always pushed me away from you when I tried to eat your pussy, Amy?!

Because you don't know how to eat pussy, Dirk! Your technique is terrible! You eat pussy like a dog licking and slobbering over a bone! You really don't know how to please a woman, she added with a sense of frustration. I didn't really know what I was missing until I was with a woman who understood my emotional and sexual needs!

Excuse me?! I don't know how to please a woman?! he exploded. "Back in the day I was the man, Amy! When Dirk Hamilton put his face between a woman's legs, she was on a fucking magic carpet ride! She could take her panties off when she was on a date with me and toss them against the ceiling, and her panties would stick, baby! That's how wet I could make a woman! Don't talk to me about eating pussy! You think you can eat pussy better than me, doll?! I don't fucking think so! I've eaten seventy-three goddamn pussies! How many have you eaten?"

She couldn't help but laugh. Well, for a stud-muffin that's eaten seventy-three goddamn pussies, you didn't learn a hell of a lot about pleasing a woman! You never could get me off!

"Pleeeeeease!! There's nothing wrong with my pussy-eating technique, believe me! I should get a lifetime achievement award for my pussy-eating technique! Hell, I should apply for a fucking patent on my pussy-eating technique! The problem is YOU, baby! Your sexual energy is so damn cold and frigid, I'm surprised that you don't piss ice cubes!"

Well, maybe you just never could light my fire, stud!

He laughed sarcastically. Oh, the truth comes out! You just want to bust my balls, don't you?! Isn't that what you carpet-munchers like to do?! Bust a man's balls?! Goddamn pussy-eating, man-hating, radical feminist lawyers infiltrate the legal system and declare a fucking war on men. They would like nothing better than to castrate a man—cut off his fucking balls and put them in a meat grinder! A man tries to cop a feel of a woman's breasts in the heat of passion, and she has him arrested for sexual assault, and he gets labeled a sexual predator! He couldn't control his anger. This goddamn country has become a fucking system of organized insanity!! It's gotten to the point that you're not participating in American society unless you're suing somebody or being sued by somebody!! Everybody cries I'm a victim!!

So you're a fucking lesbian basher! she shouted. The truth comes out indeed, Dirk!

Wait a fucking minute! I've got no problem with women who like to eat pussy, Amy! I've had some pretty goddamn exciting threesomes with bisexual women. I can get really turned on watching a beaver-fest between two women while they take turns sucking my cock! The problem is when sex gets turned into a fucking weapon used against men! I can imagine that sometime in the future that a man will have to go to a dating agency with a woman and get a written contract drawn up with the woman specifying explicitly what behavior will be allowed before you go on a date: Will there be foreplay and fondling of the breasts? Will the hands actually touch the skin of the breasts? Will there be sex? If so, what will be allowed? Penetration in the pussy? Penetration in the ass? Will there be oral sex? Sadomasochistic activity? Spanking of the buttocks? If there is cock-sucking will the semen be swallowed or spit out? Or will a condom be required? And a man will have to do this just to protect his ass from being sued or arrested for sexual assault or both!!

You're pathetic, Dirk! she groaned in a raw, harsh voice. And the only reason that you got elected was because you have an amazing ability to lie in such a way that people believe that you're telling the goddamn truth! She laughed loudly. I've seen you do this time and time again, Dirk! You stare a man right in the face and tell a bald-faced lie and he walks away thinking that you spoke the truth!

Truth is not a factor in human affairs, Amy! Because the truth is a very sordid, messy, and controversial thing that politicians would prefer to ignore. A man who spoke the truth about anything would never get elected in this country! Truth is always crucified. Politicians are masters of double-talk: sound profound but be ambiguous in your rhetoric so people hear what they want to hear or not hear. Why the hell do you think the history books are being sanitized and watered down in the schools to nothing but political correctness and 'feel-good' history?! His tone became very sarcastic, mocking. All the races and ethnic groups want to be portrayed in the best possible light, so they sweep their historical dirt under the carpet! Schools are nothing but propaganda factories to silence the critical thinking mind, and to get the people to submit and obey their corporate-owned governments! Democracy is just window-dressing. Freedom in this country is a fucking illusion! And we both knew this before I ran for President!

And that's exactly what you promised to change when you were campaigning for president, Dirk! she replied with words loaded with ridicule. And that's why I married you. You were inflamed with passion, Dirk! You had a vision for the possibilities of life in this country. You wanted to restore the integrity of the Constitution. You wanted to empower the people! You wanted to breathe life back into this country's decaying institutions. You were a master at convincing people that their lives could really be changed for the better if they could understand and appreciate the dynamics of your political vision! She sighed heavily as her voice became more somber. But the moment that you got in the White House, you began to change, Dirk. You became intoxicated with the lust for power. You vision crumbled almost overnight. And your corporate masters wanted payback for putting you in the Oval Office.

I didn't change, Amy! I'm the same dishonest son-of-a-bitch that I was on the campaign trail. You have to lie to get elected and tell people what they want to hear! Elections are nothing but stage plays, political spectacles for the masses. The people that finance the Republicans are the same people that finance the Democrats in order to make sure their agenda is always served! But you're absolutely right that my corporate masters put me in office! That's the way the fucking system works! I'm nothing but a master salesman, the chief executive liar, the pimp for corporate America, and Congress is nothing but a goddamn whorehouse—in fact, you could call it 'the best little whore house in Washington'! It fucking stinks!! The system stinks!! What America needs is a radical overhaul of its entire system! An extreme makeover! And no President can possibly do that!

She exploded angrily. "Then what the fuck are we doing here, Dirk?! Who the hell are we? Con artists?! If you're nothing but a goddamn liar and pimp then what the hell does that make me?!

He burst out laughing hysterically. You're a goddamn lesbian First Lady married to a liar, and in love with another woman. That's what you are, Amy! You hate the fucking life of being First Lady, just like I hate being the President! It's like you just said: we're both con artists!

She was almost on the verge of tears. The notoriety and celebrity of being the First Lady was not something that I was prepared for. And I began to realize that it was not something that I could handle. And at the same time I also began to struggle with my sexuality, as I realized that I was really a lesbian. It was Marcia Collins, who is on your White House staff, that opened my eyes to the truth about myself when we secretly became lovers. I truly love her in a way that I could never love you, Dirk. There's a completeness that I feel with her that I've never felt with any man.

Hamilton laughed loudly and shook his head in disbelief. Unbelievable! The First Lady of the United States coming out of the closet will certainly get you a million dollar book deal! He chuckled softly, took a hit on the joint, and sat back down on the side of the bed. So where do we go from here, Amy? Are you telling me you want a divorce now? If so, this will probably be a first in American presidential history!

She laid the book down as she tried to gather her thoughts. I've given this much thought for a long time. And I've realized that I can't continue being your wife. Our life together is a lie! I want out because I feel like something precious, something sacred, is dying inside of me as long as I remain First Lady. I can't wait until you're no longer president which could be maybe five more years if you get re-elected in a year. I have to change my life NOW, Dirk.

* * *

As Jack Stroker was humping and pumping, grunting and groaning on top of his wife, Elaine, it was obvious that there was something dreadfully wrong with his life. For as he was pounding away as though his testicles had been hot-wired like a testosterone-charged teenager, she was totally emotionally detached from the moment reading a steamy romance novel and eating chocolate covered strawberries.

She was becoming annoyed. Jack, you're shaking the bed too much! I can't read my book!…Damn! I lost the place where I was reading!

Stroker continued humping like crazy, breathing heavily, and groaning like a wild animal. How about some goddamn participation in this sacred act between a husband and wife, Elaine?! I could use some fucking inspiration! he cried out breathlessly as he pounded away.

Elaine continued reading her book as she slid another strawberry into her mouth. My nails are still drying, Jack. She suddenly found her place in the book. Ah! Here it is! Here's some inspiration for you, Jack! She began reading a passage from the book. His lips touched hers with the lightness of a feather, and with each kiss, he lingered, as though savoring the sweetness of it. And with the slow, dreamy intimacy of each kiss, her mind seemed to ebb and flow like an incoming tide, but with the ever-powerful feeling of inflaming her with a searing, reckless abandon! Never had she surrendered to the depths of passion with anyone as she did with him! She sighed and looked up from the book, as though imagining the beauty of that moment. Oh, how beautiful! she said with a soft sigh.

Stroker groaned and rolled off of her and let out a long sigh of frustration as he tried to regain control of his breathing. He shook his head in disgust as he glanced over at her being thoroughly involved in reading the book and chewing on the strawberry in her mouth.

Did you get satisfaction, darling? she asked in a detached tone of voice as she munched on another chocolate-covered strawberry.

About as much satisfaction as I would get from fucking a goddamn corpse! he shouted as he rose from the bed and stormed down the hallway towards the bathroom. I'm going to jerk off in the shower! You make me feel like a goddamn necrophiliac!

He stepped in front of the mirror over the marble bathroom vanity and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He sighed with frustration. You can change your life, he said weakly. You can change your fucking life, he said again but with more emphasis. What are you waiting for, asshole?!

It was true that Dr. Jack Stroker was ready for a life-change. But what kind of life-change could that be? The truth was that he was bored shitless with his life, despite the fact that he was very successful and wealthy. He had acquired a multi-million dollar lifestyle by means of his very popular TV show, You Can Change Your Life and his self-help book sales. He was, in fact, a psychology super star, a celebrity of the self-help movement. His books were consistently on the best-seller lists, and millions of people were inspired to change their monotonous and bored lives. And he was recently voted Psychologist of the Year. But deep down inside, he knew that it was a lie. He was trapped by this self-image and he wanted out. He had to get out! He was suffocating from the whole stinking business of helping people try to find meaning in their fucked-up lives! And despite his success as a self-help author and guru, it was rapidly losing meaning for him. He had lost all enthusiasm in his work. He was bored shitless with his life. He needed change. But what kind of change?

He was 54 years old and was a man with classically handsome features, with dark eyes and a mysterious, secret expression, but with touches of humor around the mouth and near the eyes. A full head of dark brown hair with light streaks of gray. He had a devilish smile with perfect white teeth, and he had a unique way of getting women sexually aroused just by talking to them. His strong features held a certain sensuality to say the least, that women found attractive. In fact, women would send emails to his TV program saying that they would often masturbate as they watched him on the show. There was something dark and mysterious in the way that he talked to guests that was a real turn-on for women who watched him. So you could say that Jack Stroker was somewhat of a devilish rascal, but he hadn't realized just how much of a devilish rascal he really was. He was still Mister Perfect Psychologist and helper of fucked-up people. But yet he felt that he was the most fucked-up son of a bitch of all! And he was now ready for a life-change, an extreme makeover!

Ironically, both President Dirk Hamilton and Dr. Jack Stroker were ready for a dramatic life change. And while Dirk Hamilton was sitting in bed wrestling with the misery of his job, and his wife's confession of being a lesbian and wanting a divorce, he buried himself in his hero, Dr. Jack Stroker's book, Take This Job and Shove It!, while a frustrated and disgruntled Jack Stroker was jerking off in the shower.

2

IT WAS A TYPICAL TAPING of You Can Change Your Life in the studio before a live television audience in LA, but Dr. Jack Stroker was bored almost to tears. An agonizing thought kept repeating itself over and over again inside his head—much like a tape recorder being constantly rewound and played back. You can change your life, Jack! You can change your life, Jack! He sat in a chair as few feet away watching a young couple with married problems: a young man, Bob, and his wife, Ellen, both in their late 20s. They were both seated at a small table across from each other with their faces very close—about one foot apart so that they were forced to gaze into each others eyes as they spoke to each other.

You're a real bastard, Bob. All you ever do is think of yourself. You never do what I want to do. You're a selfish prick!

And you're just a damn mall rat, Ellen. All you want to do is shop. I can think of a hundred things that I would rather be doing than walk around a mall watching a bunch of fat women shaking their cellulite in a size fourteen and saying that fat is beautiful. And all the time they're secretly wishing that they looked like Jennifer Lopez. He turned to the ladies in the audience and shouted at them. Get a life! Join a gym! I'm sorry, ladies, but fat is not beautiful!

There was a loud outcry of booing from the audience but he laughed and shrugged it off. "What can I say?! I believe in telling it like it is! I don't buy this 'full-figured' crap label that women prefer rather than 'fat'. You're FAT, ladies! You need a very serious reality check!"

So you're saying that I'm fat?! snapped Ellen somewhat defensively.

Well, you're not the Good Year blimp yet, but you could stand to lose some pounds!

You always said you liked to pinch a woman's ass that had a little meat on it!

Not when it has so many cellulite pockets that it looks like a golf ball! It's a real turnoff, Ellen!

Ellen let out a sarcastic laugh. And you think that I'm turned on by you sitting around in your underwear watching TV going (she made whisping sounds with tongue against her teeth several times) trying to get the food out from between your teeth! Pleeeeeease! A knight in shining armor you ain't, baby!

There was a loud applause and cheering in the audience from the women. But Stroker sat quietly with a bored, blank look on his face, as he watched them going at it. You can change your life, Jack. Why do you keep doing this shit? Get out!

Ellen became more enraged. And it really turns me off when you fart in bed at night! You think it's funny when you raise your legs in the air and say, 'Hey, babe, listen to this! Name this tune!'

He gazed at her with a look of disbelief. What the hell do you expect me to do every time I have to fart?! Get out of bed and go in the other room?!

You expect me to be all turned on for some hot, romantic sex after you've been farting for five minutes and stinking up the bedroom—especially after you've eaten a plateful of beans?!

Romance?! You've got to be kidding! The romance died when your ass starting looking like a huge golf ball and you sending me to the store to buy your damn Maxi pads! said Bob with humor in his voice. You say, hey, babe! Will you pick me up a box of super Maxi pads at the drug store? I'm bleeding like a stuck pig this month! That's really romantic, Ellen!

And what about your ass, Bob?! It looks like a shag carpet! And I hate stepping into the shower and finding a dozen butt hairs stuck to the soap!

Stroker shook his head in disbelief and sighed. Well, if you want to save your marriage, Ellen, maybe you should buy him some fart-relief medication and shave his ass.

Nobody's shaving my ass, pal! snapped Bob.

Why? asked Stroker with a laugh. Is having a hairy ass a status symbol for you? He then glanced at Ellen. Was he ever a knight in shining armor, Ellen? He must have had something going for him for you to decide to marry the bastard!

Bob was upset by the remark. He turned towards Stroker. I'm not a bastard, pal!

I'm just using your wife's language, pal! She called you a bastard, and I'm just repeating the term of endearment to you. replied Stroker calmly but edged with sarcasm. "Personally, I think you're more like a zero, than a bastard, but I guess it's just a matter of opinion. But what do I know, I'm just the Psychologist of the Year!"

Bob was now quite upset. I've got a lot going for me, pal! I'm not a zero!

"Hey, don't take it personally, Bob! I'm a zero too! In fact, we're all zeros!! We're all trying to fill that unbearable void in our lives with something, anything, to give our lives meaning! Our culture, our entire way of life is nothing but a complex game of self-deception to keep us from discovering the truth about ourselves! Being nothing, being a zero is good, because you have nothing to defend, nothing to protect! His voice became more emphatic. People, if you want to change your life, then begin NOW, where you are, and be willing to let go of the cultural and personal crap and support your local self! Get real, people! Get a life! The clock is ticking! Wake up before your life slips away!!"

What the hell does that have to do with our relationship? asked Bob with frustration and anger. I'm somebody! I'm not a zero! In fact, I don't want to be a zero like you, dude! I like my cultural and personal crap! It gives my life meaning! It makes me happy!

Stroker gazed at Bob in disbelief and sighed wearily. What a fucking loser! He rose slowly from his chair and walked over to Bob, leaned down and thumped him on the head several times with his knuckles. Duh, hello?! It's seems like the light is on here but no one is home!

Is that a round about way of saying that I'm stupid?! asked Bob as his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed slightly.

Stroker noticed that the Floor Manager for the show was giving him the signal to bring the show to a close because the time was about up.

Stroker was now annoyed and frustrated. People of America, this is a perfect example of what is wrong in your lives, said Stroker with a long sigh and sense of repressed anger. You've lost the sense of being truly alive because you've become preoccupied with totally trivial things that become magnified as a reflection of the emptiness and boredom of your lives. Your lives are safe, secure and sane, and that's the problem. You have a totally sedated existence because you don't confront and accept those darker aspects of yourselves—aspects which would give your life a sense of real vitality! You need to totally unplug from the cultural dysfunctional realm! Get real, people! You can change your life!! GET FUCKING REAL, AMERICA!

In the TV Control Room, the show's director, Margaret Hayes, was shocked by Stroker's sudden burst of profanity. Did Jack just say what I think he said on national TV? she asked as she glanced at the show's producer, Gabriella Martinez, a beautiful and fiery Hispanic of 38 years old with hair as black as a starless night—a woman with a wild, slim beauty about her that seemed to radiate sexual energy that attracted men like a magnet.

Gabriella was obviously turned on by Stroker's unexpected outburst, as her eyes seemed to be smoldering with the fire of sexual desire as she gazed at the TV monitor in front of them. Yes, indeed!…Why didn't you bleep it out, Margaret?

Margaret chuckled softly. I don't know. Maybe his dark side is starting to rub off on me.

Gabriella smiled as she continued gazing sensuously at Stroker on the monitor. It rubbed off on me a long time ago, she said softly. I keep fantasizing about walking out there on the stage in the middle of the show and unzipping his pants, pull out his cock, and just suck it right in front of the goddamn world!

Suddenly, the telephone started ringing next to Gabriella. She smiled and glanced at Margaret as she reached for the phone. What shall we tell the 'big boy' upstairs? He's going to be pissed!

Margaret laughed. How about, 'get fucking real!

3

STROKER STORMED INTO his dressing room and angrily slammed the door. He yanked off his suit coat and obviously seemed very high-strung and tense as he walked over to the bar in the corner of the room. He poured himself a straight shot of scotch and gulped it down quickly. He took several deep breaths, as though trying to relax and regain his composure. You can change your fucking life! You can change your fucking life!

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Gabriella entered and closed the door behind her. She was a woman on fire as she walked straight towards him and began kissing him passionately on the lips, and then began frantically unzipping his pants. She was breathing heavily as she was reaching for his cock. God you made me so fucking horny today, Jack! I want to suck it! She knelt down on her knees and frantically tried to slip down his trousers.

But Stroker obviously wasn't in the mood at all as he pulled her up and into his arms. He guzzled down another sip of scotch. Not right now, Gabriella. Maybe later, he said with a sense of weariness and frustration.

Gabriella was disappointed. What's wrong, baby? I don't turn you on anymore?

He shook his head silently and then kissed her tenderly on the lips as he led her to the sofa and eased down on to it. "No,