And One Last Thing... Read Online Free PDF

stared into the dark depths of her eyes, I saw the smallest flicker of fear. Shame or embarrassment would have disappointed me. But fear I could work with.
    A clarifying sense of purpose seemed to still everything in my head. I focused my gaze on Beebee’s face, her beautiful, troubled, guilt-clenched face. A sharp, sweet smile curved my lips. “So Beebee, tell me every little thing about yourself.”

4 • Hell Hath No Fury … Like a Woman with a Mailing List
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    It’s that time of the month again…
    As we head into those dog days of July, Mike would like to thank those who helped him get the toys he needs to enjoy his summer.
    Thanks to you, he bought a new bass boat, which we don’t need; a condo in Florida, where we don’t spend any time, and a $2,000 set of golf clubs … which he has been using as an alibi to cover the fact that he has been remorselessly banging his secretary, Beebee, for the last six months.
    Tragically, I didn’t suspect a thing. Right up until the moment Cherry Glick inadvertently delivered a lovely floral arrangement to our house, apparently intended to celebrate the anniversary of the first time Beebee provided Mike with her special brand of administrative support. Sadly, even after this damning evidence and seeing Mike ram his tongue down Beebee’s throat - I didn’t quite grasp the depth of his deception. It took reading the contents of his secret e-mail account before I was convinced. I learned that cheap motel rooms have been christened. Office equipment has been sullied. And you should think twice before calling Mike’s work number during his lunch hour, because there’s a good chance that Beebee will be under his desk “assisting” him.
    I must confess that I was disappointed by Mike’s overwrought prose, but I now understand why he insisted that I write this newsletter every month. I would say this is a case of those who can write, do; and those who can’t, do taxes.
    And since seeing is believing, I could have included a Hustler-ready pictorial layout of photos of Mike’s work wife. However, I believe distributing these photos would be a felony. The camera work isn’t half-bad, though. It’s good to see that Mike has some skill in the bedroom, even if it’s just photography.
    And what does Beebee have to say for herself? Not much. In fact, attempts to interview her for this issue were met with spaced-out indifference. I’ve had a hard time not blaming the conniving, store-bought-cleavage-baring-Oompa-Loompa-skinned adulteress for her part in the destruction of my marriage. But considering what she’s getting, Beebee has my sympathies.
    I blame Mike. I blame Mike for not honoring the vows he made to me. I blame Mike for not being strong enough to pass up the temptation of readily available extramarital sex. And I blame Mike for not being enough of a man to tell me he was having an affair, instead letting me find out via a misdirected floral delivery.
    I hope you enjoyed this new digital version of the Terwilliger and Associates Newsletter. Next month’s newsletter will not be written by me as I will be divorcing Mike’s cheating ass. As soon as I press send on this e-mail, I’m hiring Sammy “the Shark” Shackleton. I don’t know why they call him “the Shark,” but I did hear about a case where Sammy got a woman her soon-to-be ex-husband’s house, his car, his boat and his manhood in a mayonnaise jar.
    And one last thing, believe me when I say I will not be letting
    Mike get off with “irreconcilable differences” in divorce court.
    Mike Terwilliger will own up to being the faithless, loveless, spineless, shiftless, useless, dickless wonder he is.
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    I still couldn’t believe I’d written it. I’d opened a new document in E-mail Expo, selected the pathologically patriotic Independence Day template and written the first thing that popped into my head: