Right.
But you haven't heard the best one yet.
Apparently, I'm a spy sent over from the fucking Russians. That's right. So I guess I work for the Russians now and my job is to corrupt American values. Apparently I'm doing that by having hot fucking sex with my stepdaughter and flaunting it everywhere. Somewhere along the line, my goal was apparently to build the Equinox Towers and then flaunt my lack of morals from there. I have no idea how they drew that leap but it's clear that whoever was writing that piece was writing something they didn't really believe and were doing halfheartedly.
It doesn't take a genius to guess who is pushing the buttons at the New York Daily Journal.
I mean, come on. Anyone else in the city you know that can arrange that many media elites together and herd them in the same direction?
It's like the New York Daily Journal comes up with a story and then the other newspapers run it. And shortly after the newspaper comes up with the story and the other newspapers copy it, the cable news channels and local news pick it up and run with it and before you know it the whole fucking thing is a story by itself.
What else is there? Aside from being a Russian spy with a tendency to fuck stepdaughters, I've apparently been cheating my business associates. I've been stealing from my company and shortchanging my fucking employees.
I've also been allegedly constructing buildings with cheap and shoddy materials. That's a new one. So the fact that they withstood earthquakes while everything around them collapsed is just too much of a coincidence, huh?
Don't worry; I'm not angry at you. I'm just pissed the fuck off at the situation.
If it were just me, I would tell the fucking press to go fuck themselves. I could care less and I'd just weather it by pulling out my cock and taking a piss on their fucking shoes.
That's what I do. That's how I roll.
But I can't do that.
Because for the first time, I care about someone more than I care about myself.
I have to worry about Penny.
I have to worry how this shit is going to affect her.
So I can't just beat the shit out of the people who are hissing at me on the street. I can't just ignore what people say, and do more of it to piss them off even more. I have to figure out a way through this.
"Morning," I tell Joyce as I get to my office. "Just how bad is the shit storm that's going on?" I ask.
Joyce looks at me and she purses her lips.
Fuck.
I can already tell it's going to be pretty fucking terrible.
"You're going to need to make some decisions quick," she says after a pause.
"What kind of decisions?" I ask.
"Whether you want to retain me as counsel in the event you get indicted on felony charges," Joyce replies back to me without even batting an eye.
Holy fucking shit.
"What are you fucking talking about, Joyce?" I ask her and sit down. I don't know how much more I can take of this.
Joyce throws a newspaper on my desk.
It's a picture of Penny and I. We're walking down Fifth Avenue. She's looking into a window and I'm holding her from the back.
We look very much in love, which we fucking are.
The headline above it reads, "Just How Much Did The Father Pay To Have Sex With His Daughter?"
Jesus fucking Christ.