The XX Rated Business Factor

Two friends meet and discuss employment trends.

Friend One: Congratulations on your new job.

Friend Two: Thanks. I’m glad it all worked out. Now maybe I’ll get a good, stress free night’s sleep. Binky's been away so I have no one to distract me lately.

Friend One: I know the whole mess has been bothering you since the now ex Mr. Dog Food terminated your services.

Friend Two: That was an Error on his part. It was a great distraction for me- a little bit of writing. But I really won’t be doing a lot of the daily grunt work. The ex-wives and ex-dogsitter requested that pleasure. It will give them all something positive and satisfying to share, besides the ex connection with ex Mr. Dog Food.

Friend One: Perfect!

Friend Two: Well, they apparently know more about his business than he ever did. Ex-Wife One’s new husband was his silent investor, and Ex-Wife Two’s brother owns the manufacturing plant. He mysteriously became the CEO of the holding company quite recently. And as for the dog sitter- Mr. DF never learned that you don’t mess with the woman who tends to your 4 legged companions while you’re off mismanaging your business. She is the Lady Dr. Doolittle if there ever was one.

Friend One: How did you keep it all a secret from him?

Friend Two: Well, you know those military types don’t think very creatively to start with. I just made a couple calls and the rest pretty much fell in place.

Friend One: My new website, scornedexwives.com has connected a lot of women for some ultimate good.

Friend Two: Yes, I’m so glad you developed it. Plus Mrs. Binky Sr brokered the deal to add another layer of anonymity. Mr. DF couldn't pay on time when Ex-Wife One’s new hubby called in the loan, so he had no choice but to take the deal. I guess the fine print was too fine for the small minded to see. All the phony Southern charm must have blurred his vision.

Friend One: The ex-wives are very lovely ladies. They've moved on quite nicely from the days of canine inspired marriage.

Friend Two: Please, no Doggie Style jokes.

Friend One: You spoil the fun at times, you know.

Friend Two: Well, at least now they won’t have any airport waiting lines. I had two Lear jets spruced up for business travel. Down time in terminals is so tedious.

Friend One: So how did he take the news?

Friend Two: He tried the Good Old Boy thing but Mrs. Binky Sr. just gave him The Look. It's worked with two vice presidents and three congressmen, so he didn't stand a chance. He signed everything she slid in front of him. No questions. The mild electric current running through his chair may have sped the process up a bit, too.

Friend One: So what happened after the papers were all signed?

Friend Two: Mrs. Binky Sr. invited him to a Meet and Greet with the new owners. The four of us were waiting in the boardroom just down the hall watching the feed. You knew Mama Network bought the building a few months ago and upgraded everything.

Friend One: What did he say?

Friend Two: Well, since he had never actually met me, I greeted him first. He must have thought I was some exploitable flunkie and started to ask me for a beverage or something. Then Mrs. & Mrs. Ex and Lady Doolittle walked out from the inner office and his jaw dropped. It was quite entertaining. He finally recognized me when I asked him why he was still wearing jeans and a sweatshirt to a business meeting.

Friend One: Did you have to call security?

Friend Two: Only after he tried to order us out of “his” ex-office. I don’t think he really understood that he was MY guest. Mrs. Binky Sr. tried to explain, but he got a bit feisty. The Baltic twins were nearby and they each took him by an arm and helped him enjoy a ride to the airport.

Friend One: So where is he now?

Friend Two: You know how he said he’d be happiest on a ranch with just animals?

Friend One: You didn’t…

Friend Two: I did. I have this piece of desert in New Mexico that needs tending. I built a rough cabin, stocked it up with some garden tools and equipment, seeds, some canned goods and basic accouterments.

I dug a well and left a map to the nearby mine. One of the papers he signed without close inspection is a five year lease agreement. He’ll have his dogs as long as he maintains them. Once a month I’ll stop by with dog food and see how the farm is coming. He needs to pay rent, which is doable if he spends his time wisely. The mine has active silver veins and I left him a gemology/precious metals course to study.

Friend One: He should be able to figure out the gravity fed irrigation thing, too. Those ex-military guys are usually somewhat self-sufficient. At least the good ones are.

Friend Two: Yes, he should. He’ll even be able to shower if he rigs it up right. He has other animals nearby- some lizards, snakes, and a few camels and mules. Almost like the childhood farm. And think of all the new jobs we created.

Friend One: Just doing our part for the economy. I wish I could have been there, but that odious Russian man, well- never mind about him. By the way, does that cabin have a guest room?

Friend Two: Don't get distracted. Here, take a look at the XX Business Factor edited short. Then we'll go clean out a suddenly available office. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watching this. *click*

Wonky Winter Woes

Two friends meet to bemoan the never ending winter.

Friend One: Will the cold and snow never end? I’m thinking of donating all my non-boot footwear to charity.

Friend Two: With the gorgeous shoes you own, that would be a tragedy. If you stop buying shoes, the entire economy of Italy will take a hit and the Euro will be devalued.  But if Christie’s auctions them off, it could pay the National Debt. There might even be a surplus in the budget.

Friend One: Now that’s a cheery thought. Well, I won’t really give up any of them, but I am thinking of purchasing some dynamite. Is it illegal to use it on private property? I can’t see out onto the highway because of the snowbanks.

Friend Two: Did the Highway Department ever do anything about the NASCAR snowplow driver who keeps dumping snow from the cross highway near your property entrance? I know you recorded him backing up and barreling down the road so fast it shoots the mess fifty feet up your lane.

Friend One: I spoke with the county commissioner.  I think things will improve.  I told him I posted the video on YouTube as a statement to the quality of tax dollar use in our county. I also called the local TV stations, one of which I own.

Friend Two:  My bank holds the loan on the equipment the town uses for all the road work. I can call up the Board members if needed.

Friend One: How about your road?

Friend Two: The snow mountain outside my garage is still encroaching on the house. Every day it seems to be creeping farther down the driveway. I think it has formed a glacier. Pretty soon I will be trapped in the house and won’t be able to get any vehicle out. You may have to lend me a horse.

Friend Two: You know you can borrow the helicopter anytime. When are you going to break down and get your own? It’s much more practical than your yacht.

Friend One: But not as much fun for those tropical excursions.

Friend Two: We need a distraction from all the winter depression. Even TV has the same old stuff.

Friend One: Yup. More of the same. And the gender inequality is getting worse. First we had Sister Wives, about the man who has four women and all those kids living together.  In theory this scenario is every man’s dream. A harem at his beck and call. Now there’s a new one coming out called My 5 Wives. They have 24 kids but are all supposedly blissfully happy together. Why do women put up with this? Are they that insecure? Who in their right mind wants to go through labor and delivery five or more times?

Friend Two: What man wants to live with 5 times PMS, tampons by the truckload, cases of Pampers piled in corners, and leg hair in every shower? The never ending puberty and teen angst issues of the kids would drive me to drink or self-medicate. Plus the kids have PMS and shaving issues, too. I want to know how they coordinate sports, ballet, music, homework, and everything else for 24 kids. Who does the cooking? Changes diapers? How many loads of laundry are washed a day? Who takes out the trash and cleans the toilets? I’ll bet those real life issues will never come up on the show.

Friend One: The gender roles need to be reversed. Why aren’t there any shows like My Horny Hubbies or The Testosterone Twelve or Multiple Male Minions? I’d love to see the promo with five or six hot guys fawning over some average looking middle aged woman with cellulite, stretch marks and saggy boobs.

Friend Two: Well, Mama Network just announced a new series starting next week: Studmuffin Ranch. I’m not yet sure if it is serious or a satire. I can imagine the steamy scenes with the gal of the week ropin’ those cowboys. I wonder if they are taking applications for women to be profiled each episode?

Friend One: I just hope it makes men uncomfortable as women turn the tables and go public about the old double standard the same way men have always done. Can you imagine overhearing comments in public by women about male anatomy just the way men comment on women’s body parts?

Friend Two: Yes. How would men like it if every time they walked by a woman they knew she checked out his crotch, ass or gut and winked at a friend, or made a lewd masturbation gesture?

Friend One: What finally happened with the restaurant thing the other day? Weren’t you seated at a table next to the county commissioner you spoke to earlier?

Friend Two: Yeah. He never stopped talking about the waitresses’ breasts. “They were the size of cantaloupes. Isn’t that top heavy? When is enough enough, or is it never enough? Hahaha. ” He was so busy trying to impress some flunkies that he didn’t even recognize me. So I moved to a different table and watched the fun.

Friend One: What did you do? Did he realize that you own the restaurant?

Friend Two: First I talked to the manager, who spoke to the staff. They accidentally spilled water on him three times, and if I were him I wouldn’t have eaten the food that was put on his table.  It was anatomically correct, but I doubt he noticed. And I have no idea what went on top of it.

The staff took turns going out to the parking lot on their breaks. When I left, his car had four flat tires and was covered in toilet tissue. Someone had drawn very realistic pictures in ketchup and mustard all over it, too. I’m not sure how it happened, but I guess he forgot to lock the doors and some random spray cheese cans exploded inside. Such a shame for a brand new luxury car.

Friend One: When you called me I was just about to dial Mavis at the car insurance company. I think his policy has been cancelled. You know the sheriff’s department already hates the guy because of the snow plow thing. Once he manages to get a vehicle from Shady Sam, the only guy who will sell to him now, he better drive really carefully. Plus Mavis has a friend at the credit bureau…

Friend One:  We just want some decent men over 50 who have their own teeth and some money. Where are they?

Friend Two: Looking for women well under 50 to patronize and exploit. Mid-life crisis junkies.

Friend One: It’s a sad state that the lessons their Mamas taught them got lost in the Good Old Boy back rooms. Don’t men realize that every time they mistreat a woman they give up the right to be treated like a man? That means anything coming out of their mouths, like cussing, sexual references and innuendos, off color jokes or any spoken words. It also includes gestures, invading personal space or any action that makes a woman feel uncomfortable in a man’s presence.

Friend Two: So apparently sexual harassment training in the workplace hasn’t been taken very seriously. Despite lip service, men still control the climate in most companies.

Friend One: Or in the military when many women must report the abuse by chain of command to the person who abused them, their superior officer, so you know that goes no place and gets worse. And the majority of women remain silent victims of repeated rape and abuse. It’s all over the news.

Friend Two: It’s so depressing. Females should never have to compensate or excuse anything about their existence or skills. Where do we go from here?

Friend One: Maybe we could clone DNA and start a new race of Amazons. The intelligence of women with the strength of men, and the sensitivity and "it" quality of gay men. 

Friend Two: Ping, ping. (Looks at smartphone) Well, Mama just sent me some GPS coordinates. You aren’t doing anything for a couple days are you?

Friend One: * Sigh* Nope. Hey- Is that your helicopter landing in the parking lot?

Friend Two: Sure is. Come on- let’s just go and enjoy a weekend at Studmuffin Ranch.

Friend One: OK. Now where did I put my spurs?

A Picture is Worth- Well, You Know…

Two friends meet at a favorite coffee shop to discuss current events.

Friend One: Well, I finally did it.

Friend Two: Did what? Got a tattoo, re-lost your virginity, tried out for an Olympic sport?

Friend One: Don’t be so snarky. The only body art I ever got was a hickey, followed closely by the V thing, and there isn’t an official naked Olympic sporting event, although we both would have earned medals many times over.

Friend Two: Ah yes, I vaguely remember those “Good Old Days”. *Sigh*  So what did you really do?

FO: I finally started a Facebook page.

FT: Congrats! It’s about time. How’s it going?

FO: Well, my computer and social networking skills aren’t quite cutting edge, so you are my only friend request so far.

FT: Let’s take a look. (Opens tablet, and brings up FB site) OK I just accepted your “friend” request. So let’s switch to your page. *tap, tap, tap*

FO: See- there’s nothing there; I don’t even have a photo, just a gray head silhouette on a blue square.

FT: But you do have advertisers trying to get your attention. That’s immediate and never ending. FB has invasive, targeting software that tracks anything you “like” or website you click on and within 30 seconds they direct ads related to those topics melded with any profile info you are required to enter to set up a personal page.

FO: Well, I don’t need a Miracle Ear or Hover Round Wheelchair. Do they honestly think any woman over 50 is debilitated and deaf?

FT: Wait until you start getting the male enhancement and incontinence ones, even though you are neither male nor incontinent. Some of those are quite amusing, and forwarding them to specific people with a personal message is quite a satisfying creative outlet.

FO: Speaking of male, what’s this dating site ad doing here? I didn’t click on any of those sites. How can 26 men in my town be interested in meeting me? I own a 10,000 acre ranch. There aren’t 26 men in a 26 mile radius of my home.

FT: Maybe they’re hiding out in the abandoned missile silo or the mountain caves.

FO: Seriously, the silo is being converted into condos and the caves are home to mountain lions. See- those men have no profile photos either. They must all want to remain anonymous to avoid something. That must be what we have in common; I want to avoid them.

FT: The only photo they probably have is a mug shot, or one they copied and pasted from a kinky online website.

FO: Yup- the no selfie group is probably a secret chat room for scammers who want to remain anonymous. Maybe people go there to exchange scam secrets and techniques. They develop invasive FB ads together. Then they can target unwitting victims who are lonely and incontinent.

FT: So you need a profile pic. With just a few taps I’ll photo shop up one that makes you look like a cross between Betty Crocker, Ivanka Trump, and sex on a plate. *Tap, tap, tap* See? Now you look like a smart, sexy, business mogul, and the wooden spoon in your hand hints at just a little wicked side.

FO: Nobody looks like that! *Pause* Although it does kind of resemble me. OK let’s go with it and see what happens.

FT: I just set up a private vetting process that’s government worthy. Plus the buy in fee is seven figures. I’ll just add a firewalled email address with messaging inbox…

FO:  (15 seconds later) *Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding…* What have you done? Now 468 men are interested in meeting me. Five of them are oil sheiks, three are European princes, and one owns an archipelago in the Pacific. And that’s just in the first 15 messages…

FT: So now the real fun begins. You know how we were looking for a project? We do have several friends…

FO: Maybe we should build offices.

FT: I’m on it already.

L. Frank Baum- Where are You when I Need You?

Two “women of a certain age” meet at a neighborhood bistro at the end of the day to quench their thirst and discuss the day’s events:

Server: Hi, My Favorite Ladies “of the evening”. Would you like your usual?

Friend 1: Do martinis come by the gallon?

Friend 2: I’m just going to dive into the vat of olives and pickle myself from both the inside and the outside.

Server: I’ll be right back, just vent politely.

Friend 1: He’s so adorable. I wonder if we could adopt him.

Friend 2: Well, he’d be a more pleasant household member than that daughter of mine. I can’t stand young adults. At 20 she is 20 times worse than during the Terrible Twos.

Friend 1: What has the Wicked Witch been up to now?

Friend 2: I swear she is bipolar. She threw a plate at me. 

Fortunately it missed me but it shattered a window, then sailed straight out into the yard and impaled a tree on the front lawn. After she laughed uncontrollably for 5 minutes, she hugged me and told me she loved me.

Friend 1: You need to increase her meds. Get a tiny hypodermic needle and shoot some into her toothpaste tube. Put a couple squirts into her salad dressing, too. 

Friend 2: I told her to clean up the mess, call the glass shop, and I left. What do I do about the plate in the tree?

Friend 1: Nothing. It’s the latest addition to the performance art exhibit she is making of your house. By summer you’ll be ready to charge admission and pay off your mortgage earlier than you ever expected.

Friend 2: You know, it’s like we’re living in Oz. My daughter is truly the Wicked Witch of the West, and at work I’m surrounded by those harping flying monkeys. Your almost ex-boyfriend needs a heart, and your Boss needs a brain.

 

Friend 1: *Sigh*

Friend 2: What about you and the Boss? Any tension relief there? I know long distance relationships are hard with you two 1,000 miles apart, but he must be very dense to not get the fact that you two have more than a work thing going on. I feel the airwaves sizzle every time he calls your cell.

Friend 1: The last four times he called I had just gotten out of the shower.

Friend 2: Well, that has some possibilities…

Friend 1: I remained calm, explained the situation and asked him to call back in an hour. Then I hung up. At least he isn’t texting at 3 AM any more. The man needs copious amounts of sleeping pills.

Friend 2: So what happened last time?

Friend 1: I again politely explained that I had just gotten out of the shower. He just kept babbling, so when he took a breath I said, “I told you I just got out of the shower. I’m lying on my bed naked and wet. If I’m going to talk with a man while I am naked and wet it isn’t going to be about dog food. If you want a naked and wet conversation, I’m ready.”

Friend 2: So what did he say?

Friend 1: I don’t know. The line went dead and I haven’t heard from him in two days.

Server: Come, my ladies-I have your beverages and it’s time to depart Munchkin Land.

I may not be your Wizard Du Jour, but I did just download the Yellow Brick Road app to your smartphones. 

Hit speed dial and your carriage will be outside in just a minute. First stop- the Red Shoe Store. Pay no attention to the driver behind the curtain and enjoy the evening.