[ WP ] Faking Your Demise ( replies must be 1,000 words or more )

I hate work. I love hot dogs. In that order. No joke. I could eat about a thousand hot dogs if they'd let me. 
 
 I got myself into sort of a problem, and it ended up in my leaving my beloved town. I faked my own death. 
 
 It actually started with salmon. My shit heel boss took me and Ross Jacobs out to lunch. I was pissed enough that I went to lunch with a guy who was WAY better looking than me, and also had a last name for a first name. Ross. 
 
 Ross is a fucking last name, sir. 
 
 We get to lunch. Ross is doing everything the exact same way as my poop filled boss, Mr. Golin. Mr. Golin likes riesling, which tastes like sweet baby piss. So of course, Ross has to order the baby piss too to impress El Capitano. I order a vodka gimlet, because fuck everyone at the table. So while they're sipping on their `` apple juice'' the waiter tells us he has a special of North Atlantic Salmon. Mr. Golin asks the waiter if the fish is wild, because that of course is a matter of life and death. The waiter confidently tells us it's wild. This is where shit-fart Ross jumps in. 
 
 `` No I know it's farm-raised.'' The waiter just stares at Ross. `` Would you care for a fresh riesling?'' the waiter wisely asks. `` I know that fish is farm raised, and I want your chef out here right now!'' Mr. Golin nods appreciably towards Ross, while I try and order the filet. The chef comes out with two uncooked fish, politely but firmly explaining to these numb nuts the difference between farm raised and wild fish. 
 
 After the performance, the waiter comes back. Ross orders the chicken, Mr. Golin- the pork chop. 
 
 Fuckers. 
 
 While these two HJ's debate which driver is better on hole 3 I decide I ca n't be there anymore. But just leaving is n't good enough. So I bide my time. 
 
 We get back to the office, and I decide to fire Ross' secretary. They're having an affair, and it's time to cash in on it. I accuse her of stealing office properties, and fire her. She cries and I admit, it sort of turns me on. But then again, watching a commercial for Baskin Robbins sort of turns me on. Then I head on down to the garage. Ross will want to know where I am, because he'll want to challenge my authority on firing his portable sperm bank. I give Ernie, the Valet Superintendent, a hundred dollar bill to lie for me. He tells Ross I hit one of the valet guys in a drunken rage and drove away. Ross sullenly goes back to his office. I'm not sure if I hurt Ross in any way, but I hope I at least inconvenienced him really hard. 
 
 I get home, even though it's in the afternoon, and on a whim I book a cruise to Bermuda. Yeah. Bermuda. That's when I realize....it's time for me to disappear. I'm tired of going to my shitty job. I'm tired of being stuck in traffic, and I'm tired of not living. I do n't care if I get to eat in nice restaurants, I'm tired of being me. So I left. 
 
 I just never put the pieces together that now people treat me like a missing persons. So I now realize I can *never* go back, cause then, I have to talk to people like Mr. Golin and turd throats like Ross. So I stay away. 
 
 No one finds me, that's sort of weird, because I'm not sure anyone is actually looking for me. So I go to Europe, and become an international man of mystery. Until I started working as a stripper in Moscow. I was n't really planning on that. 
 
 They say I have well developed legs, and a dancer's spirit. I think I'm grateful for that. I think of Ross sitting in a restaurant arguing with whatever unfortunate waiter is stuck debating with him; as I gyrate over old women and tell them they're my dream come true. And I realized, I'd rather have Olga giving me paper cuts with her rubles than having to endure another vacant conversation of whether or not tuna has too much mercury. I never even wanted an expensive lunch, I would have been happy with a hot dog. 
 
 Man a hot dog... I could eat a thousand of them. Too bad.
