"Who's Mr. Benton?" you ask yourself, rubbing your chin and wondering if this was maybe the last straw in my struggle for mental stability.

Mr. Benton is this kick-ass lawyer in town that my dad works for. Dealing in the eight digits, mind you, he has what we hip urbanites called "the hook up."

Of course, the man is in the seventies and has Parkinsons, so he's not the most organized or smartest person in the world. On some days, I wonder if the man is still fluent in English.

This is what his normal day would be like:

1. 10:35- Fetch the maid to help me out of bed.
2. Bitch at the maid for not having my slippers and smoking jacket at hand.
3. Call the valet from my bedroom telling him that I will be outside in approximately 16 seconds and he better damn well be there with my Z28.
4. Do a half-ass job driving across town to the law office. Almost hit a tree and a lady with a dog.
5. Inform everyone at the office to organize a file, then they can leave. The other lawyers become quite frustrated because they've been working their asses off all morning and when he finally arrives, he tells them to leave when they do something that they did three days ago.
6. Call the valet from the sofa the law office. I don't feel like driving home today.
7. It's been almost three minutes since I called. The valet finally shows up.
8. Shoot the valet.
9. Arrive home after having to call a limo to pick me up since my valet was lying face-down, bleeding in my Z28. Thanks a lot, now I'll have to revert to my one-year-old Miata for a few days.
10. Demand a cup of hot tea and dinner in bed.
11. Try to undress myself but fall face-down on the floor and scream for the maid.
12. The maid takes too long. Shoot the maid.
13. Finish getting dressed and reluctantly trudge off to sleep in my other master bedroom since the maid is lying face-down in a pool of her own blood in my room, and that might give me bad breath or something. Who knows.
14. Wake up in the middle of the night and scream for the maid.
15. Realize I shot the maid. Shit.

There was a point to this, I promise.

This man may have no value for human life but he pays the ones he lets live very well. Like, interns for instance.

Let's just pretend that he gave me a job. What would I have to do?

Well, I would fix him tea, organize files, make trips to other law offices to get them to sign shit, and do homework and watch TV the other three hours.

And let's just say that he said one of my best friends going to NYU in three years could intern with me. Hell, we could even work the same hours. Plus he promises to let us live for at least two weeks.

And if he gave this proposition, what would I say?

Hmm, let me think: NOT.

Two words: YES!

Wait....never mind.

But anyway, Mr. Benton...rock the fuck on.

© alexa

The counter keeps breaking and pissing me off, so NO MORE COUNTER! Mwahaha!