/ggFTW STAFF GAG FIC! rofl/lol/etc

Prologue


He should have known.

The moment that scruffy slip of a girl had stepped into his immaculate office wearing that impish smile on her face, he should have known.

She was the kind of woman that brought men low.

As the stainless steel doors slid open, he took in the sight that used to be the dignified and conservatively-decorated corridor that led to his office. What had been ivory walls and arched ceilings were now awash with garish candy cane stripes of red and white. The oak panels covering the lower half of the walls had been painted grassy green, decorated with child-like doodles of flowers, butterflies, and… Teletubbies?!

The pale-faced young executive in the pin-striped navy blue suit slowly stepped off the elevator and allowed his bewildered gaze to fall to the floor. As icing on the cake, the plush cream wall-to-wall carpeting had been dyed in stripes of all seven rainbow colors. Both briefcase and laptop dropped simultaneously on either side of his black leather loafers.

He swallowed thickly and glanced at his Rolex. 8:44AM, exactly 16 minutes before the board of directors arrived for their monthly meeting, which incidentally always took place at the Executive Boardroom – that would be the door to his left, now painted with a sloppy imitation of Winnie the Pooh humping a ‘hunny’ jar.

“I love you! You love me! We’re a happy family! With a great big hug and kiss from me to you--”

Pure, unadulterated horror rendered him stone-still for a few seconds too many. In one fluid motion, Paul fished the phone out of his pocket, flipped it open one-handed, and growled at the receiver.

“I see you’ve discovered my surprise.” That blasted girl’s annoying chuckling ensued. “Did you skip over the rainbow? Did you check to see if there’s a pot of gold at the end? Don’t bother, because the rainbow leads to the men’s toilet.”

“You—”

“Yes, Mr. Stout?”

“You—”

“…Are a Master of the Arts? Gorgeous and sexy? The love of your life?”

“Bob…” He hissed her name with all the gravity of impending apocalypse. “You…”

“…changed your ring tone to Barney’s song? Yeaaaah. That was pretty cool, huh?” She actually sounded proud about it.

Paul could only choke, desperately fighting the scream crawling up his throat by sheer force of will. He refused to die of apoplectic stroke here. No, not until he had his hands around her slender little neck, squeezing the life out of her as she trashed and begged and supplicated for forgiveness, but he would not relent, oh no…

“Mr. Stout? Mr. Stout? Hello? Paul? Are you there? Jesus, are you having another seizure?! Paul, dammit don’t die, I’m not yet through with you, you goddamn surly bastard! I still have to get you back for being such an ass to me! PAUL!”

Vaguely, Paul could hear the telltale squeaks of sneakers skidding across marble floors, the sound growing louder as it approached. Bob was starting to pant from exertion on the phone, repeatedly calling out his name alternating with “bastard”, “*******”, and the more creative “jerkalator”.

He took a deep breath. And then another. Finally, voice cool and collected, he murmured silkily, “Bob?”

The squeaks skidded to a stop, then paused, followed by a tentative and breathy, “Y-Yes?”

“Turn around.” Paul loosened his silk tie with a finger, blank eyes lifting forward. There, at the end of the hall, stood the petrified form of a petite Asian girl in oversized denim over-alls and ponytail messy as a bird’s nest. She held a rhinestone-studded mobile phone to her ear even as her wide eyes stared at Paul’s increasingly malevolent smile in fright. “…And run for your life.”

The platinum-plated mobile phone dropped to the Technicolor rug followed by a suit jacket before Business Week’s Executive of the Year and Lifestyle Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor sprinted down the candy-and-rainbow-decked halls clutching a Macbook like a weapon.