“The Non-Binding Employment Discussion,” by Thomas Mundt

Apr 20th, 2012 | By | Category: Fiction, Prose

The Dad was tired of Baby Boy. Tired of his face. Really tired of his face, actually.


That’s what Baby Boy would say in the morning, when he saw The Dad emerge from his Slumbernator. (This is as good a time as any to tell you that The Dad never wore shirts when he emerged from his Slumbernator. You should also know his chest was the color Burnt Sienna, after spending too many hours in the Pigmentation Alterer at his work.)

“I’m tired of your face, Baby Boy. Really tired of it.” Baby Boy would just be sitting there in his Consumption Nook and that’s what The Dad would say to him.

“You’re funny!” That’s how Baby Boy would reply, right before he spooned up a huge plate of Body-Invigorating Oats With (Extra) Lime Crystals. His favorite!

“That’s right. I’m tired of your face. I’m tired of the way your face is all up in my Personal Habitat. And I’ve had it up to here with your face’s inability to secure Gainful Employment.”

The Dad pointed at the Designated Sustenance Quadrant’s ceiling, to show Baby Boy where he’d had it. Baby Boy looked up and saw there was a hole in the ceiling. Then he saw a badger poke its nose through the hole. The badger lived in the Marginalized Goods Sector above the Quadrant and would occasionally poke its nose through the hole in the ceiling if she heard The Dad and Baby Boy talking.

“You’re funny!” When Baby Boy said these words, The Dad noticed that Baby Boy’s teeth were emerald-colored from all the Lime Crystals.

“I could eviscerate the fuck out of you right now, Baby Boy.”


Baby Boy’s thirty-third birthday gift from The Dad was a Non-Binding Employment Discussion. The Non-Binding Employment Discussion was with Holdings Holdings, a family-owned-and-operated Swag Distributor in the City of Brandnewtownburg Sponsored by Cherry Vanilla Tonk With Ginseng. The Dad was able to arrange for the Non-Binding Employment Discussion because he told a very-important Rainmaking Executive at Holdings Holdings that he would pummel the not-so-living Jesus of Nazareth out of him if he didn’t make The Dad’s wish for Baby Boy’s thirty-third birthday come true. (I should tell you that the original Holdings family died in a Partyboarding accident off of Hilton Head Island in 2008. There are new Holdings and they’re Guatemalan.)

“Rise ‘n shine, Taint Taster.” That’s the Sleep Interference Communication The Dad typed into the interface on Baby Boy’s Slumbernator to wake him up. The Dad also played an electric guitar, the same one he bought Baby Boy hoping he would one day kick ass, which is something The Dad always wanted to do. Baby Boy just wanted to breathe.

“Is it my thirty-third birthday already?” Baby Boy had a gigantic boner as he said these words to The Dad.

“It’s your day to ride your dreams raw, Baby Boy. A chance to chafe your thighs with success. An opportunity to skullfuck the stratosphere with everything your neighbor’s got.”

“My neighbor?”

“You’re gonna boogie on out of my Personal Habitat once and for all, Baby Boy. Then you’re gonna dip your wick into all kinds of crazy shit, all over the world.” (The Dad was talking about Planet Earth, where he and Baby Boy lived.)

“Oh, fuck yeah!”

Baby Boy heard The Dad say those words time and time again, so he said them so that The Dad would know how excited he was to dip his wick. (Baby Boy wasn’t entirely sure what dip your wick meant but he suspected it meant something incredible. He used context clues to get there.)

“That’s right. You’re goddamn right, Baby Boy.”

“Goddamn right!”


The Dad helped Baby Boy look hot as hell for his Non-Binding Employment Discussion. He rubbed Pussymagnet-brand Follicle Organizer into his hair until his scalp bled. Then he presented Baby Boy with a Suit Conducive to Discussing Important Business.

“This was your Granddad’s. Buried in it for twenty-six years. Now he isn’t wearing anything. Now Granddad isn’t anything. He’s a bunch of atoms.”

The Dad said these things to Baby Boy but Baby Boy wasn’t paying attention. Baby Boy was flirting with the image of Baby Boy in Granddad’s Suit on the Reflectivationizer.

“Holy shit!” That’s how hot Baby Boy thought he looked in the Reflectivationizer.

“I know.” The Dad would’ve tried not to cry if he felt emotions related to how hot Baby Boy looked in Granddad’s Suit. But he didn’t. The Dad felt emotions related to The Dad inviting females over to his Personal Habitat and filling them to the brim with cock.

“Holy shit!”

After Baby Boy said those words, The Dad hit Baby Boy in the face with Holdings Holdings’ 21 Pillars of Unimpeachable Excellence, a pretty thick-ass book, so that its unimpeachably-excellent content would find its way into Baby Boy’s face and, hopefully, his brain before the Non-Binding Employment Discussion. The Dad made sure to hit the side of Baby Boy’s face that already looked like shit, the side Holdings Holdings would write off as a total loss from word one. (The way The Dad saw it, no harm, no foul. That was a line in a movie The Dad saw once, called No Harm, No Foul IV: Eventful Happenings.)

Baby Boy tried to say holy shit again because the Pillars was so powerful but he was too busy barfing up barf. Baby Boy could still see himself in the Reflectivationizer, though. He still looked hot in Granddad’s Suit.


Mr. Alejandro Holdings offered Baby Boy a Hard Drugs before the Non-Binding Employment discussion began but Baby Boy told him that he wasn’t thirsty.

“I don’t want a Hard Drugs, Mr. Alejandro Holdings. What I want is-”

Baby Boy really did want a Hard Drugs because it was his favorite soft drink and it made him feel like prancing but his head was too busy trying to remember what The Dad told him to say to Mr. Alejandro Holdings so that Mr. Alejandro Holdings would take Baby Boy away from The Dad and give Baby Boy a shitload of Job-Related Happiness. Eureka!

“What I want, Mr. Alejandro Holdings, is a shitload of Job-Related Happiness.”

Mr. Alejandro Holdings was pleased by the words Baby Boy was saying. So pleased that he holstered his antique Uzbek Killgun instead of using it to shoot Baby Boy in the brain.

“Baby Boy, I’ll be blunt.”

Mr. Alejandro Holdings settled into his throne and started Virtuatexting a bunch of dudes with whom he played Games of Chance and attended Local Competitive Athletic Events. He wanted to see if any of them had a strong interest in partying after Baby Boy’s Non-Binding Employment Discussion. (Several of the dudes showed strong, immediate interest.)

“Baby Boy, I’ll be even blunter.”

Baby Boy thought Mr. Alejandro Holdings was being perfectly blunt when he started Virtuatexting all those dudes, so it came as quite a shock to hear him say he’d be even blunter.

“Please be blunt as fuck, Mr. Alejandro Holdings.” (Baby Boy knew The Dad would be extra proud that he remembered to say as fuck, which is Proper As Fuck Business Etiquette.)

“Baby Boy, let me be the Bluntest Motherfucker in the Galaxy. You’re First Mate on a Chinese Shit-Ship, sans GPS.”

“That sounds serious!”

“Oh, but it is. Do you know what sans means, you Wanderin’-Ass, Shit-Ship-Clingin’ Butt-Toucher?”


“It means without as fuck.”


While Baby Boy tried to pronounce the word that stood for the words without as fuck, Mr. Alejandro Holdings touched himself as he browsed images on his Pleasurescreen. The images were of extinct-as-fuck Beluga whales jumping onto vintage sailboats and Mr. Alejandro Holdings was very aroused by the Belugas’ power and sailboat-shattering abilities. When he finished ravishing himself, Mr. Alejandro Holdings ordered his Senior Subordinate to rid his Achievement Station of sperm. Then Mr. Alejandro Holdings shared with Baby Boy some Absolutely Terrific News.

“Baby Boy, I’d like to share with you some Absolutely Terrific News. The News is, I’ve decided that I hate you. I hate you, Baby Boy, and I never want you to work for Holdings Holdings.”

Baby Boy knew The Dad would not be happy to hear that Mr. Alejandro Holdings hated him, that Baby Boy would never work for Holdings Holdings. He knew it so hard that he barfed.


Baby Boy kept barfing and soon Mr. Alejandro Holdings’ Career Objective Attainment Pod smelled of Chocolate-Ensconced Turnip Crisps, which are what Baby Boy ate for energy before the Non-Binding Employment Discussion. Mr. Alejandro Holdings and the Senior Subordinate exchanged an Approval Slap when they saw just how many Crisps Baby Boy had eaten and turned into barf. Then Mr. Alejandro Holdings unholstered his antique Uzbek Killgun and shot the Senior Subordinate in the brain.


The morning after the day of the Non-Binding Employment Discussion, Baby Boy did not receive a Sleep Interference Communication from The Dad on his Slumbernator’s interface. Baby Boy had slept for-fucking-ever, had a shitload of dreams where Baby Boy took his Gnarlyscooter off jumps and pleasured his peers in an Underground Intercourse Dwelling. Baby Boy felt great!

When Baby Boy took a seat at his Consumption Nook he noticed there was an Urgent Tidings from The Dad on the Dispatch Display. The message said:

Baby Boy,

I’ve abandoned the fuck out of you. My intention is to sire an ass-ton of sons, all infinitely better-suited for Gainful Employment and Life Activities in general, with a new, unbelievably-sultry Domestic Partner. To do so, I’ve gone to Macon in the State of Georgia in the Formerly-United But Currently-Disheveled States of America.

Don’t try to find me in Macon in the State of Georgia in the Formerly-United But Currently-Disheveled States of America.

You have been well-compensated for the abandonment. You won’t have to do shit. If that manner of living sounds familiar to you, it should.

You won,

The Dad

P.S. You are hereby denied use of my Pleasurescreen. I may ask you to Expedited Express that to me at a later date.

When Baby Boy finished reading the Urgent Tidings he powered on the Nourishment Preparer and pushed the Special Requests button three times to add extra Lime Crystals to his Oats, just like he always did. After twelve nanoseconds his Oats With (Extra) Lime Crystals were ready, but this time he didn’t spoon them. Baby Boy slapped his face, the same face The Dad was so tired of, really tired of, into his Oats and sucked. He sucked and sucked and let the scorching Oats With (Extra) Lime slide down his throat and into his stomach.

Baby Boy didn’t realize that the Oats With (Extra) Lime were setting the skin of his face on fire and that’s why The Dad had always insisted that he spoon them. The Dad wasn’t there to tell Baby Boy important things like that anymore but Baby Boy didn’t think about that. Not once.


Thomas Mundt is the author of the short-story collection, You Have Until Noon to Unlock the Secrets of the Universe (Lady Lazarus Press, 2011). He lives in Chicago, but not the one you’re thinking about. Read more at www.dontdissthewizard.blogspot.com.

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