Congratulations on Sleeping With the Mail Clerk Who Has Downes’ Syndrome!

Just to start this off, you’re a terrible person. I thought you should know that.

It all started three months ago, when you found work temping for a small, but high profile, law firm. The firm, run by a young professional named Margaret Samson, is called Samson and Sons. There are no male members of any litigious education, which Margaret finds hilarious. They specialize primarily in civil rights and liberties cases. You were a low-level male employee, brought in to balance out workplace diversity.

After a few weeks, you developed a rapport with the mail clerk, a young woman named Dolly. Dolly isn’t short for anything, and to the best of your knowledge she doesn’t have a last name. Whenever you asked her what it was she simply shouted “french fries,” so its possibly McDonald or Wendy’s or Burger King or whatever. Who knows. The point is that Dolly is profoundly retarded.

She isn’t terribly attractive or charming, but she has a staggeringly large forehead (which is totally your thing) so you’ve found her utterly irresistible. Each time her glazed, dull eyes meet yours when you gather up Ms. Samson’s mail you smile and your heart flutters. This would be adorable if your intentions were honorable and you wanted to offer this young woman a better life. But as we’ve established earlier, you’re a terrible person.

You have no desire to marry Dolly, something you know well in your heart. You simply want to, as you like to tell your friends (none of whom really like you, by the way) , “put that drool to good use.” You want to fuck the retard. If possible you want to bend her over the mail bins and ruin her life by impregnating her with a child she’ll have neither the wherewithal or the financial standing to deal with.

After two months of coy looks and “accidental” hand touches, you’ll finally luck out. Dolly will be working late one night and you’ll have her all to yourself as you help Ms. Samson compile a brief. One thing will lead to another, she’ll have no idea what you’re doing, and you’ll fuck the retarded mail clerk on a conference room table while your boss talks to a client who is currently fighting extradition in Myanmar. The entire affair will last fifteen minutes, including the brief and unsatisfactory foreplay, and will leave Dolly confused and sexually frustrated as you will fail to bring her to orgasm, as you so frequently do.

Dolly will stare at you, puzzled, her face dripping with semen, eyes burning with the question why to which her mouth cannot give appropriate form to.

“Randolf?” she’ll manage. Your name is Scott.

If you weren’t a terrible person, it would be enough to break your heart. Instead you simply throw her underwear at her and tell her you’re going to find some paper towels.

In your absence, Ms. Samson will find Dolly in the conference room where you were supposed to be compiling briefs. She’ll immediately know what transpired and when you attempt to deceive her with stories of a “rape monster” she’ll break your nose with one good, well placed punch. You’ll tumble to the ground, blood streaming from your ruined face, and black out.

To make a long story short you’re going to be convicted of rape in about three months. Then you’ll be going to prison where your life will be brief and horrible as men who have had their worlds stripped from them destroy you physically and mentally in order to feel powerful. Then you’ll be killed in an altercation over your tater tots.

Congratulations on fucking the retarded mail clerk, though. Consider killing yourself.