“Sir,” the butler said, as he handed the senator a towel, “Your meeting is in an hour.”
“You think I don’t know that!” Butch Holloway shouted, as he kicked the porcelain tub. He yanked the knobs on the faucet. He slammed his fist into the mirror, as he watched the water drip from the faucet. “I’ve been waiting 45 minutes for the tub to fill up, and I’ve barely got two inches of water! What the fuck?!”
“Sir, I suggest you hurry up,” the butler handed Butch a charcoal grey suit, and a red tie. “Might I suggest you wear this.”
“I don’t give a fuck what I wear!” Butch shouted, as he wiped his bloody hands on the suit. He hurled it back at the butler. “What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Jerking off? The plumbing doesn’t work for shit around here!”
He slicked his hair back with hair gel, and combed his tiny mustache, that he grew to divert attention from his double-chin. Then he sprayed himself with cologne several times.
As he marched across the living room, the downstairs neighbor shouted through the vent. “Don’t walk so heavy you fat fuck! It sounds like you’re dropping bowling balls!”
Butch stormed out the door, and stomped down the steps as loudly as he could.
“Sir, I hardly think I’m qualified to fix the plumbing,” the butler said.
Butch threw the toolbox into the butler’s lap. “Just fix it! I’m not paying some fat guy with a grinning asscrack to fix my plumbing.”
The butler swung the sledgehammer into the bathroom wall, and a sandwich bag full of cocaine fell out.
Butch grabbed the sledgehammer, and busted holes in the kitchen, living room, and bedroom. He found more bags of cocaine, and even some weed. “Maybe this place isn’t so bad!”
The smell of urine drifted through the vents. The downstairs neighbor was a one-legged drug addict, who only bathed when he had enough money to hire a prostitute. The upstairs apartment smelled like a nursing home, but Mr. Holloway was too stoned to notice.