Screw Kinsey

I drove all the way to Indiana to meet with Dr. Alfred Kinsey. It took me three days. Perhaps that sounds impressive to you, but it certainly didn't bowl them over at the institute. In fact, I was denied an audience with His Sexual Majesty several times over the course of the next two days. And it's all because of Lisabet and her big mouth.

I'm so furious right now, I can't even write any smut.

And if I can't write it and Lisabet isn't allowed to write it, Amalgamated is about to fall behind in order fulfillment. Plus, when I got back to the office, I learned that Jen Cross is going through another one of her dry spells, and has fled to her mountain cabin for two weeks. She usually comes back fairly rejuvenated but who the hell has two weeks to wait for that to happen? I've either got to hire a new writer -- or give in to Marilyn's persistent pleading and finally allow her to pen a story.

No. I won't do it. She's not going to win me over with that relentless niceness. If she wants to write so bad, why doesn't she have her daddy buy off some editor at a big publishing house?

Chris reminded me that Liz Coldwell is available. She's finished her Burlesque of Yesteryear Tour and can give us some time. Well, hot dog! Liz is a hoot -- just a great gal who's been around the block a few times, and loves to weave her own wild past into the stories she writes. She once fucked the living daylights out of Dwight Eisenhower and Winston Churchill simultaneously while they were backstage at some ceremony where she was to pop out of a cake. Can you believe it? She claims Churchill is hung like a horse.

I just called her and she's on her way now. Thank goodness. She'll be just the infusion of life Amalgamated needs at the moment, although I'll really have to make sure she doesn't regale the staff too much with all her old stories. Although if she's got one or two about Dr. Kinsey, I'm all ears. Voyeuristic bastard.

More interruptions

Well, just before I was about to show you another room here at the plant, a cat fight broke out in the middle of the Penis Room. Quelle surprise: Marcy and Penelope were at it again.

This happens often enough for me to be getting tired of it. I don't care if they rip one another's hair out, but cat fights like this are seriously disruptive to the rest of the staff. Sometimes I think I'm the only one around here who gives a damn about productivity. Tenille is running a bit behind on her threesome in an elevator tale, while Jen and Gwen are in that stage where they're outlining and researching their next stories. M. Christian, of course, can write through anything, and didn't even seem to notice that Marcy and Penelope were rolling around on the floor leaving claw marks on each other.

Greg certainly wasn't going to step in and break things up because, as he once told me, "When girls fight, there's always a possibility that clothes will come off, and I'm sure not getting in the way of that." Why I don't fire his lecherous ass, I don't know. But that's another story.

And what are these ladies fighting about? I didn't have to ask -- it's always the same. They were fighting over Cate Shea, the femme fatale with a penchant for butchy babes.

Marcy and Penelope may not look like butches in the above photo (it was taken last year by Greg), but let me just say that if you met either of them, they'd leave you cowering. I employ them both and vouch for their writing skills, but I wouldn't want to run into either of them in a dark alley. Or a biker bar. But hey, that's just me. I'm more the smart-cocktails-at-a-swanky-bar-with-a-sophisticated-stud-on-my-arm type.

And will Cate give either of them the time of day? Therein lies the problem, not only will she, but she has on several occasions. She lets Marcy give her massages here at the office, and more than once she's allowed Penelope to test a sex toy out on her. I don't know if she's formally dated either of them outside of work, but I suspect she has. Today's fight, according to Lisabet, resulted when Marcy offered to give her a ride home, as well as a "pussy licking you'll never forget."

Cate is playing them both, if you ask me. She loves the attention, though she plays the victim beautifully. She never tries to break up these fights -- she just looks on with this smug yet helpless expression on her face.

I called out for Jonny's help to break up the scuffle, which is ironic considering I hired him primarily to keep the riff-raff out, not settle internal disputes. In the ensuing jostling, however, Marcy and Penelope knocked me off my sensible pumps and I landed on my backside.

"Marcy and Penelope, go home and cool off!" I yelled from the floor. "And don't come back until you can behave like grown-ups!"

Lisabet was writing something down in a notebook while Jonny escorted them both out the door. Greg was still salivating. I shot Cate a menacing look and told her to get back to work. As punishment, I'm going to stop giving her lesbian stories to write.