No one was harmed in the typing of this story, although I did strain my left-hand pinkie finger a few times when hitting the “q” key.

As part of my 12-Step program, my Anger Management Therapist says I need to write about why I am stressed before I can release it ... so here goes...

Hi! My name is Chuck! (Yes, I heard all the freak in’ jokes in school... “what’s up Chuck?” ... get it ... UP CHUCK!) Real mature guys ... but it gives you a peek into my formative years. I was a super nerd in high school. Back in the day, you could actually play with the chemicals in Chem Lab and have access to all those 1940’s science books in the library.

I was not a jock or a greaser or a motorhead but I was allowed to hang around the edges of the cliques. I didn’t have a real job in high School, but I had a pony car that could make the drive to Montreal and back overnight and I knew not to ask questions about what was put in the trunk.

Anyway ... graduated High School, went into the service, got out, went to college, got a job ... boooooooriiiiinng! Yup, the all American Average Joe. Then I met Becky. Actually, she backed her car into mine while I was in the store. I came out and this really, really, really cute girl was crying while trying to tuck a sheet of paper under one of my wiper blades.

Using my native charm (OK, mostly HER guilt), I got her to sit with me for a coffee. The coffee led to a date which led to more dates, then I proposed and finally we got married! Life was great and I had it by the short and curlies!

Fast-forward 3 years; I was working as the Office Manager for the local branch of an office furniture manufacturer. Yah, we sold all that metal crap, but our real spot was top end executive desks and such. Hell, a full up office set was worth more than the equity in my house!

“THAT” morning, Phil, the Branch Manager, came into my office holding a coffee mug in one hand and a, I shit you not, 5 inch thick stack of folders in the other. He sat in the guest chair as he laid that ominous pile of paper on my desk. “Sorry, Chuck,” he said as he looked down at the pile. He then looked up at me and said, “You have been doing a really good job here and I think it is time to get you familiar with some of the Home Office reports ... sorta groom you for bigger and better things.” He grinned at me and continued, “Our branch numbers since you joined us have been excellent. The Home Office is talking about poaching someone from here for a new satellite branch over in Raccoon City. I’m thinking, why not Chuck!” I was grinning back at him, my heart was pounding. What a chance! A promotion meant money which meant Becky and I could finally get our family started. WOW!

Phil stood up and chucked me on the shoulder. “You’re a good guy Chuck. Glad I can count on you. These reports need to be finalized and on my desk by tomorrow noon. OK?” I nodded my head, still with the silly grin on my face.

Phil said he was taking the Sales Team out on a team building exercise for the rest of the day. He reminded me of the deadline and walked out of my office.

So, with Phil and the Sales Team out of the office, I was left on my own in my little corner of the office. I reached out for the stack Phil had dumped onto my desk and with a sigh, opened the first folder. What a load of crap! This report was not even due to the Home Office for another 3 weeks! With another sigh, I started to look through all the folders. I soon realized that these reports were left over from the 50’s if not earlier; they each asked for much of the same data from report to report and ALL the data being asked for was already in the SAP system.

I turned to my computer and opened up my RGP (Report Generator Program, for those of you who don’t remember COBOL) client. In a couple hours, I set up automated forms for the reports Phil, and the Home Office, demanded.

I entered the RGP taskings into the system and saw that it was going to take a few hours to grind through the database. So there I was; it was 2:30 with nothing to do ‘til tomorrow. I looked out through my window and said to myself, screw it! If everyone else can take time away, so can I! I locked up the office and headed for home.

As I was pulling up to my house, I was a bit shocked to see the driveway filled with cars; maybe Becky was having some friends over or something.

I opened the door and was starting to say, “Surprise, Becky, I’m home” when the smell hit me; Reefer, Pot, Mary Jane, call it what you will but nothing smells like burning cannabis does. I stumbled a bit further into the entryway and looked into my living room. God what a sight! Becky was standing there with her back to me, wearing nothing but a black bustier, stockings and heels. She held a stripper pose, hip kicked to the side, hand on hip. There on the couch was Phil and two of the salesmen from the office. Standing next to Becky were the other salesmen and two strangers. The only things all these people in my house had in common was they were naked and had erections.

Becky looked over her shoulder at me; or at least towards the noise of the door opening. She didn’t look scared or upset or anything other than determined. She walked towards me with that exaggerated hip swing that only a woman can do. I saw cum dripping from her pussy and running down her thighs.

With a smirk on her lips, Becky placed her hand on my chest and said that I should go out for a bit and come back late in the evening. She said she would explain how things were then, but right now, she was going to fuck my boss, the sales team and a bunch of the company’s clients. She pushed me back until she could close the door; with me on the outside.

I stood there as it all became clear to me. Becky was the company whore. She was the “Team Building exercise.” The improvement in the branch numbers was not because of my work but due to Becky’s fucking the clients. Shit! My head dropped to my chest, my eyes filled with tears and I turned away from the door and began to leave.

As I walked away from my house, I realized that everyone in my life had lied to me. Becky of course. Her vows to me, to us, meant nothing. My boss; saying “good job” while knowing he was going to fuck my wife later that day. My co-workers; backstabbing bastards! Even me; she loves me, do the right thing, work hard, make a life for her. All liars.

Then it felt that time slowed down. Everything stood still. Sounds went away. I could see a leaf caught in midair as it fell from a tree; it just hung there. My life WAS a lie! There was no right or wrong, good or bad. I was free to do what I wanted and that was OK! In a snap, time started again. Things stood out in sharp clarity. Colors were vivid, sounds, crisp and clear. My body surged with life.

My keys were in my hand and my body running across the lawn to my car before my mind was done glorying in this new-found wonder. Starting my car, I sped down the road, making plans; formulating actions, refining alternatives. There! A “Big Box Store” (You know, food at one end, clothes, housewares and stuff at the other). I grabbed a cart and began collecting my supplies; five large plastic gas cans, a pump-up garden sprayer and a few household products.

Next, a quick stop out front of the store for gas (see, they have EVERYTHING you need) and I was off again. Pulling up in front of my house, I had to park even further away as two more cars were added to the previous bunch.

I unloaded my purchases and began to assemble what I needed. I added my household product to the gas in the cans and shook the cans vigorously. Abracadabra! A poor man’s NAPALM! (God, the things you remember from High School Chem Lab when your mind finally wakes up). I had to hustle now; I didn’t want to spoil the surprise for all the people in my life! I filled my sprayer and pumped like mad. When I had maximum pressure, I grabbed it and one of the full cans and ran to the parked cars.

I poured the contents of the can over the first car and under its rear end (where the car’s gas tank most likely was). Letting the can dribble a trail on the ground, I ran to the next car and then the next; repeating my actions at each and every car. I left my sprayer up next to the house and ran back for another two cans. Setting one can down by my front door, I took the other around back. At the back door, I emptied about half the can through the doggy door and the rest on the porch. I ran back to the front and repeated my actions, this time using the mail slot built into the elegant wood door my wife insisted I install last summer.

Now, I grabbed my last two cans! Using my sprayer, I began coating the walls of my house. The improvised NAPALM sticking to the siding like thick snot! I needed to stop periodically to refill my sprayer and I was getting anxious that someone inside would smell the gas. I guess they were too busy fucking my wife, and the smell of all that sex and pot masked the smell of my surprise.

Finally, I had sprayed the entire house. Everything was coated; the roof, the walls, the windows ... especially the windows. I moved my sprayer and the last, partly full can back from the house and pulled my car’s emergency kit road flare from my waistband. A sharp tug on the cap and I struck it into life. The red color was lost in the daylight, but the sizzling sound and heat were obvious to my heightened senses. I rolled my wrist to look at my watch and was shocked to see that only a bit over an hour had passed since I had woken up to the real world.

Standing there, listening to the sounds of the neighborhood, I savored the moment. I could hear kids playing. An ice cream truck was playing “The Maple Leaf Rag” somewhere off in distance. Cicadas buzzed in the trees and the flare buzzed in my hand. With an underhand toss, I threw the flare at the nearest car. With a “woof” the car ignited, the flame followed the NAPALM to the next and the next, daisy-chaining all the cars and then to the house. When the flame reached the house, there was a huge “WHUMP”! The wall of heat and pressure almost blew me back.