Butt Plug is a fastidious little man with small white hands, a pot belly, and a fake smile. To say he’s uptight is an understatement. He can only be described as having a butt plug so far up his ass he can’t see straight. Hence, his name.
BettySue also has a fake smile. Occasionally she appears to have a heart, but it’s a tiny little heart that beats slowly (if at all). She’s always offending or pissing someone off.
Butt Plug and BettySue are cohorts, coconspirators in making people’s lives miserable. They work together and spend most of their day stroking each other’s ego and blaming everyone else for their stupidity.
I know Butt Plug and BettySue and have been forced to spend time with them. It’s been a lesson in life, a lesson in patience, and a lesson in foolery.
One night I was the last person to leave the office before Butt Plug. I waved good night being certain to conceal my middle finger that wanted so badly to thrust itself forward as the final gesture of my goodnight wave. Luckily I was able force my finger from going fully erect. It was hard.
Not ten minutes later my iPhone rang. When I saw Butt Plug’s name I almost didn’t pick it up, but I did.
His normally squeaky wimpy voice was in a high-pitched rage. I’m certain all the dogs in the neighborhood started howling.
Why the commotion? Butt Plug was in a fit because he was the last to leave the parking lot and had to slide the parking lot chain link gate closed. He screeched about his bad back and how it was too hard to pull the gate.
I feigned concern, told him to leave the gate open, and hung up. Then I laughed all the way home.
The next day BettySue announced that if Butt Plug was staying later than everyone else someone would have to move his car out of the parking lot and park it in front of the building for him.
Did I ever move his car? No fucking way.
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