Journal entry dated 03.16.17
Today I slapped my secretary’s butt.
I’ll see my 79th year in February, but my heart feels like 1952, back when I was an executive prim at the cuff and the ladies melted at my condescending smile. How I miss the old days when women accepted their role in the workplace. Today it’s all “please don’t look at me like that” and “this is making me feel uncomfortable” and “I’m suing you for sexual harassment”. My droopy ears tire of feminist propaganda. If I want to touch a tush I will touch that tush, so help me God.
And another thing: modern youngsters be damned!
I slapped my secretary’s butt and the office fell silent. Philip that little twerp dared engage me in a staring contest of men. I had to “drop trou” as his generation says, and flick it around a bit before he finally continued on his way. A little came out but that will happen at my age and most had already looked away.
America is built on freedom. I identify as a stoic American man, filled with sexual drive and brawn, brave against invaders both foreign, domestic, and in-house. National Oil Up the CEO Day has not taken off like I thought it would, but the vat of fat they used to smear on my body is a ready reminder in the lobby that a man is a man is a man.
I slapped my secretary’s butt. At once soft and firm against my caress, the buttocks needed it. She’s gone now, and I received a summons, but what is a summons if not a request for my awesome presence? Sometimes I feel like my company is babying up to the PC crowd. Well I’ve sent all the men care packages of Marlboros, Hustler, and baseball cards; and to the women perfume, razors, and The Joy of Cooking.
They will get the message. Butt-slapping is coming back, so help me Jesus.