Its All Too Much

"Mr. Emory will see you now," the receptionist told me. "He's in the second office on the left."

I nodded to the young woman and proceeded down the hall to the door she had indicated. I knocked once and opened the door. A rather plain looking man in his early forties sat behind what appeared to be a mahogany desk.

"Mr. Jackson? I'm Mark Emory, the attorney you so recently hired. Please take a seat and we'll go over your rather unusual situation."

I pulled the indicated chair away from the desk, sat down and waited for him to continue.

"I've been studying the information you gave us. I'll need to go over it and ask some questions to make certain that I have everything I need to successfully pursue your case."

I nodded and he continued. "You were awarded $3.6 million from Ajax International on March 10 of this year. That sum was a result of negotiations between Ajax International and your attorney, Belinda Beckwith, Esquire. Miss Beckwith is employed by Logan and Logan, the largest personal injury law firm in the country. Is that all correct so far?"

"I can't state unequivocally that Logan and Logan is the largest bunch of shysters in the country, but they do make that claim," I replied.

"Understood," Emory replied. "Of that amount, Logan and Logan received $1.2 million, which is their standard fee of 33%. That left you with $2.4 million to alleviate the pain and suffering you endured because of the irresponsible actions of Ajax International. Were you satisfied with the settlement Miss Beckwith negotiated as your representative at the time?"

"Actually, I was pissed about my wife of six years cheating on me with a coworker, but the money did help soothe my ruffled feathers," I admitted. "Maybe Ajax will learn to enforce their rules."

"Mr. Jackson, did you have a contract with Ajax International? Were you in their employ at the time of your wife's affair, or at the time you were awarded the settlement?"

"No, I work at the Ford dealership on Main Street. I'm one of their top techs. I do okay," I added quickly in case the guy thought I was some kind of loser.

"You're telling me that you had no written, or verbal, understanding with Ajax International, yet you and your rather buxom lawyer insisted that they should pay you in excess of three and a half million dollars because two of their employees enjoyed carnal relations one weekend while you were fishing at Silver Lake?" Emory asked bluntly.

"I'm not willing to agree that my wife actually enjoyed having sex with that asshole, although she did walk around with a big smile for the next week," I admitted reluctantly.

"You're a lawyer! You know Ajax had to settle with me for not enforcing their company policy, which clearly stated there was to be no fraternization between managers and subordinates. End of story."

"Did the company policy state that spouses of cheating employees would receive large cash settlements?" Emory asked in a rather annoying fashion.

"Of course not," I replied in exasperation. "That would be quite stupid to put in writing, wouldn't it? Everyone knows that it's an unwritten part of every employment contract."

"I understand," Emory replied as I began to realize that he clearly didn't. "According to my information, you told Miss Beckwith that you absolutely believed that you didn't have to be a part of the agreement between two parties to have an interest in said agreement.

"In fact, you told her that as an interested and affected third party, you had the right to demand compensation from the company with whom you had no agreement. Is that correct?"

"Yes, you know it's correct. It's the key unwritten section in every company's employment policy. I didn't have to have a copy of the policy, know exactly what the policy stated or be a part and party to the agreement. They had a policy and they didn't enforce it properly. As the injured interested third party, I was entitled to compensation," I insisted. "Every lawyer must learn that the first fucking day of law school!"

"To be honest, that's never an actual part of the curriculum at law school. It is more of an aside law students discuss between classes and at keg parties," Emory informed me.

"It's become common knowledge that companies large and small always pay injured third parties for something that never involved said third party," Emory finally agreed. "Do you think these huge multinational companies intentionally hire lawyers who draw up policies which will make them liable for unfaithful spouses in their employ? Wouldn't that be incredibly, unbelievably stupid?"

"Yes, it's dumber than hell," I conceded. "You would think they'd figure out how to keep from paying for this very situation. If they can't find a lawyer who could write a policy that eliminates paying third parties, they should simply not have a policy. It would save companies tons of money."

"Bingo!" proclaimed my less than bright barrister. "You just opened up the real can of worms. Did you ever watch the movie called The Matrix?"

"I think you're getting sidetracked here," I suggested. "That movie presented an interesting concept, but it has nothing to do with my situation."

"Don't you wonder why a company would award you, and thousands of other pissed off husbands, million and millions of dollars every year because of an "unwritten section" of the employment policy?"

"Because they must!" I shouted. "It's the way it is. That's all we need to know. Don't try to confuse me with logic or facts. I know my rights."

"Your mindless insistence that third parties are actually part of the contract is why you're having this problem today," Emory revealed calmly.

"Miss Beckwith is a very attractive woman, isn't she? She dresses to maximize her allure, doesn't she?" Emory asked.

I was beginning to question the abilities of my new legal beagle. "Yes, she's hot as hell, but that doesn't give her company any further claim to my part of the settlement. We were consenting adults."

"Please humor me on this," Emory insisted more than requested. "According to my information, the second time you met with her to discuss your case, her left breast accidently fell out of her dress. You stared at it in amazement for 23 seconds before she placed it back in her rather low top. Is that correct?"

"Are you asking me if it is correct that you were given that information, or is it correct that is what actually happened?" I countered cleverly.

"Touché!" Emory replied with a big grin. "Is that what actually happened?"

"I didn't time the tit bit, but I would guess that it's pretty accurate," I answered.

"We received a copy of the video and that's exactly what happened," countered Emory. "I can understand why you were speechless. It's a fine looking breast.

"Did you know that Logan and Logan now has a company policy which states that if a female employee's breast should inadvertently fall out of its confines and into plain sight, that employee has thirty seconds to get it covered back up?"

"That's the dumbest thing I ever heard. How many employees could possibly have had that problem to make it necessary to create policy covering that rare occurrence?" I questioned.

"Exactly! You're starting to catch on, if somewhat belatedly. Oddly, it has become a rather common issue for the females in that firm, all of whom are well endowed. They often have wardrobe malfunctions while meeting with clients, especially since that new policy went into effect."

"Well that just seems weird as hell to me. Do you think it's a coincidence or some sort of conspiracy?" I wondered out loud.

"Let me ask you this," Emory said. "Did both of her boobs fall out on your next visit? Did you reach out and manhandle those lovely orbs before she could tuck them back in? Were they as amazing as they appear to be?"

"Nicer than any video you could ever watch!" I answered with enthusiasm. "She was a handful and then some. They were natural, full and firm as hell. I wanted to..."

"I get the picture. In fact, I have the video," Emory informed me. "The problem is simply this. It is against Logan and Logan's new policy for clients to feel the breasts of their employees when and if they accidently pop out of their tops for less than thirty seconds."

"That's another odd bit of information," I conceded. "I didn't know that, but why would that give them the right to sue me? I didn't know the rule and certainly never agreed to anything even remotely close to that. I assumed that since they were making so much money off my case, and I knew her tits didn't fall out by accident the second time, I'd be within my rights as a client to fondle those puppies a little bit."

"Don't you see? You gave them written statements and were even videoed stating that you firmly believed that company policies definitely affect third parties. In fact you received a $3.6 million settlement for that very belief. Logan and Logan is now insisting that you are a third party who violated their rules. Sauce for the goose and all of that. They want compensation for your actions which violated their policy."

"That's why they're suing me for $4 million? I never knew the policy existed. I never agreed to it! They can't expect to win anything from me."

"Remember when I asked you about the Matrix movie? This situation is the reason," Emory explained. "Our world seems to have more than a few glitches, for lack of a better term. Unexplainable things are happening all around us.

"I'm involved with a think tank that's studying these strange occurrences and we've developed an interesting theory about them. I'd like to run it by you."

Now I was becoming very concerned. It seemed to me that my lawyer was some kind of conspiracy theorist. I decided to shut him down with sound logic.

"Are you fucking nuts?" I demanded. "I don't even know what you're talking about. That's how crazy you sound."

"Crazy? I think not. Just listen to my explanation and consider it with an open mind," Emory stated with a strange cackle.

"No company has fraternization policies that even remotely suggest they will pay third parties with whom they have no contractual agreements. They have well paid and highly trained legal staffs who draw up their policies to prevent exactly that."

"Yeah? Then why in hell did I get a $3.6 million payday when my skank wife banged her manager? Answer that one," I responded with some anger.

"That's what I'm getting at," Emory practically chortled. "There is no reasonable explanation, except..."

"Except what? We're in a fucking Matrix where the code writers make the rules and we blindly and stupidly follow them?" I stated with a mirthless laugh. "We aren't even real?"

I was on a roll. "You think Beckwith's boobs are the work of a brilliant code writer who was able to create those gravity defying DDs with those perfect puffy nipples perched so delicately on those glorious mounds of tit flesh?"

Emory looked like the cat that got the cream as he smiled knowingly at me and nodded his head. "You're beginning to catch on. Let me ask you a few questions. Your answers will help clarify our theory.

"By any chance, did your wife's lover wind up with his nuts crushed? Did the cops question you? If so, did you have the alibi that you were playing poker with some buddies the very night of the nut crushing? Did all of your pals vouch for you? Are they all divorced, too?

"Did all of them catch their wives cheating in the past, and by a strange coincidence, have poker games the nights their wives' lovers had their nuts crushed in a dark parking lot? Were all of these nuts crushed in the unlit parking lot of "The Rusty Spoon" bar between the hours of midnight and two AM?"

"I guess it does sound a little fishy when you put it like that," I admitted. "But the cops never pursued it. None of us ever got blamed for the ball busting. We were all innocent, of course."

"Do you find it at all curious that last year alone, 47 men who had been caught banging a married woman had their nuts crushed in that bar's unlit parking lot in the small hours of the morning? Oddly, the bar has never been sued, lights have not been installed, and not one ball buster has been charged in connection with a neutering. Strangely, men who bang married women still frequent that dive."

"There sure are a lot of dumb fuckers out there," I surmised. "Are you trying to make a point of some kind with these coincidences?"

"Did you and all of your divorced friends own your homes before you married your wives? Did you all maintain ownership after the divorce? Do you own a software company? Do you have a secret off-shore account? Do you drive a Mustang, or are you possibly rebuilding an old GTO?

"Were you in special forces of some kind? If so, are you still in contact with your old comrades-in-arms?"

"What's the big deal?" I asked. "You just described me and most of my friends. We're all good men who worked hard to get where we are. All we asked of our wives was respect. Lacking that, we demand justice."

I tried to sound confident, but the damn guy was getting to me. I consider myself a pretty sharp guy, but I never noticed all of these coincidences before. The laws of physics still applied, but I began to wonder about the laws of the land and how so many similar situations, solutions and issues happened to me and my friends.

Could we all be the puppets of some nerd code writers working from their parents' basements in what might actually be the real world?

"Let's skip the bullshit," I insisted. "I want to know how in hell Logan and Logan can sue me for millions just for playing with Beckwith's big tits. The same tits she flopped out in front of me without any indication from me that I wanted to see them. Why did they even fall out of her top? What's going on?"

"In spite of everything I learned in law school, it seems that third parties are somehow automatically paid if company policy is not followed by someone, even without knowledge of the policy and never agreeing to it," Emory explained. "Logan and Logan simply carried the established, but unwritten, rule that if two parties agree to something, a third party who is indirectly involved is somehow part of the policy. If the third party can be awarded money when the parties who agreed to the policy break a rule, it follows that the third party can be sued for breaking company rules with someone within the company who agreed to the policy. It's that simple. You're totally fucked."

"Who the hell ever dreamed this bullshit up?" I demanded angrily. "This is not the way the world works."

"You were happy enough when you could stash money in offshore accounts, crush a guy's nuts, keep the house, maintain ownership of your software company and squeeze Beckwith's big tits," Emory pointed out. "This is simply the natural progression of unwritten rules we wish were real. Logan and Logan apparently have some clout. This situation you find yourself in is about to become as common as crushed nuts of lovers, dark parking lots, incompetent police, ridiculous alibis and suing a company because two of its employees bump bellies."

"Is there any way we can stop this sort of thing from snowballing," I asked Emory. "Is there no hope?"

"I'm glad you asked. Even as we speak, some of our greatest minds are working on solutions to this glitch in our system," Emory assured me.

"We want to divide each state into districts determined by personality traits and life styles. We are going to campaign to have all the men who not only accept their wives having lovers, but encourage it along with the humiliation that it entails dwell in 'Cuckland'. This is a surprisingly large cross section of the population.

"I predict it will be a very popular vacation destination for single men, as well as married men who like a little pussy on the side. The sex for these male visitors will be safe, free and quite welcomed."

"I guess it will!" I agreed enthusiastically. "I'll be making a few trips to Cuckland as soon as I find out where it is. It sounds perfect for guys like me."

"The next second division will be called 'Hotland'. It will be populated by a unique, but surprisingly large part of the population. The residents of this section will be comprised of folks who enjoy swapping spouses, hot wives, vixens, stags and bulls," Emory revealed.

"Deal me out of that shit," I stated emphatically. "I like the idea of tapping some prime married pussy in Cuckland. That sounds so much simpler, very enjoyable and more rewarding."

"The third district would be where guys like you and me would live until we marry some lucky little bitch. 'Singleville' will be comprised of single people, naturally. They will move out when they get married and move back when they are widowed or divorced.

"We'll have 'Gayland'. It'll be obvious, and to be honest, nobody will give a shit what goes on there as long as it remains within the designated area."

"That makes sense to me," was my astute observation.

"Last but not least is 'Justice'. That will be the best place by far for married men to live. Cheaters who try to cuck real men will suffer greatly. It will be much like where we live now, except the scales will always be tipped toward justice. By definition, justice is what real men always seek. We work hard and provide for the lucky women we marry. We'll be able to discard sluts and whores like bad habits."

"Damn straight!" I declared. "This should be called Utopia by us married men. We'll finally have the world we so richly deserve."

Then a sudden concern crossed my mind. "Is this going to be for real? By that, I'm asking you if the code writers will cooperate and create this perfect world?"

"Seriously? The writers seem to want this even more than you do. Rest assured that crushed nuts will continue to be administered by the real men who truly love Justice."