1st chapter of my novella

Alimonyby Otis the SweatyOtis the Sweaty Publications 2007Chapter 1: Working LateThe Schumacher's were a pair of cum stains. Tom supposed he could have said the same about a large portion of his clients but these two managed to take their douche baggery to a whole new level.Tom Phillips had been doing financial planning for 17 years, and had never once had a customer be dissatisfied with his performance. He knew what he was doing and did not need idiot clients looking over his shoulder telling him how to do his job; Kelly and Rick Schumacher, however, apparently did not understand that.

Kelly could best be described as a trophy wife of Rick's. Rick was a pudgy, balding and decidely Jewish looking man who could never have landed a knockout like Kelly without his millions of dollars. The problem with Kelly was that she didn't know she was a trophy wife, or if she did know she tried to be more than that. One of the ways she tried to show off her own intellectual prowness was to micro manage their finances. In the three monthes that Tom had the Schumacher's as clients he had put up with more bullshit from Kelly Scumsucker than from all of his other clients over the previous 17 years.

It had been at around 4 in the afternoon when Kelly had called up to do some of her signature meddling. She wanted Tom to make some "adjustments" to her and Rick's stock portfolio. Like most of her other ideas, these adjustments she wanted would not necessarily be wrong to make, but they were unnecessary and promised to waste a great deal of Tom's time.Tom spent over an hour on the phone with Kelly in what he knew to be a futile attempt to make her see reason. Finally he gave up and agreed to do what she wanted. Since the account involved the joint assets of Rick as well as Kelly, he could have tried going over her head to Rick but assuming he could even get in touch with Mr. Shmuckheader the chances that he would overrule his wife's latest idiocy were approximately nil. Might as well not waste any more time.

Tom briefly toyed with the idea of calling up Kelly and telling her to go to hell, but he literally could not afford to lose their multi million dollar account, plus the valuable other clients they might refer to him in the future. Money was tight, and Tom's wife Courtney's propensity to spend the money he earned like a drunken sailor certainly didn't help matters much. The reality is that he was stuck with Mr. and Mrs. Jizzbag. Reality sucks.

After around 6 hours of endless paperwork and other such bullshit Tom still didn't feel he was that much closer to turning Kelly's inspired vision into reality. He never had liked Kelly, other than her looks she had no redeeming features. But now he was actually starting to hate her. She was a bitch.

This whole situation was just so unfair. While he was trapped in his office busting his ass in the service of two wealthy morons his worthless bitch of a wife was at home watching TV, or eating, or sleeping, or "caring" for the children. In short, she was doing basically anything but actually working. Freeloading bitch.

The single biggest mistake Tom Phillips had ever made was Courtney McKinney. Actually, had he married another woman instead of Courtney than that woman would probably have been the biggest mistake of his life. Marriage and children are what turn a man into a wage slave; or atleast that is what Courtney and his two kids Harold and Samantha had made him into. It never occurred to Tom that many of his male coworkers were married with children and yet seemed very happy.

Deciding he wanted his 10th cup of coffee of the day he stood up and walked into the dark hallway towards the kitchen. Overwhelmed by the general lousiness of his life he punched the wall in an act of frustration. He looked blankly at his knuckles but couldn't see them very well in the dark. Still he could feel them starting to swell, he hadn't meant to hit the wall that hard. Shit."Fuck this," Tom said out loud.Indeed. Fuck this shit. Fuck the Schumacher's and fuck this job, it wasn't as if both of them wouldn't still be present in the morning (although that was hardly a comforting thought). For now atleast, he had had enough. He was done for the night. Time to go home.