Donatella

Apparently my little diary was linked to the other day by a women's book club from Publisher's Weekly. Amazing! Women can do anything, including blog and read. But this made me think, "hey, I have yet to work for a woman!" Hard to believe, considering that a whopping ten Fortune 500 companies are run by women CEOs, which when broken down into a percentage is actually pathetic. Well, once word gets out about them being able to read now with this Publisher's Weekly thing, I'm sure work will pick up.

I asked the girl at the temp agency if I could be employed by a woman on my next job. She inquired as to why, and I told her that if there was ever going to be an evolution in gender relations in this country vis a vis the role of leadership in a corporate environment, then it must begin with a sea change of enlightenment at the ground level. Then I made up some other junk and tried not to mention boobies. The girl at the temp agency smells like flowers.

So, next stop London! Blogs can be used as grounds for termination, so to protect myself I'll call my new employer "Donatella". She's terrifyingly thin, has badly dyed hair and cheekbones that could cut glass. All she thinks about is fashion and her only pleasure seems to derive from the misery of others. In other words, she's exactly like every girl in Los Angeles.

Her diabolical plan? To steal some puppies. No, seriously, that's her plan. Not holding a city hostage, not world domination, puppy theft. On second thought, I'm thinking that male/female CEO ratio might be just about right after all.

And not just any puppies, they must be dalmatians. Why she wants this breed specifically, I'm not sure. Dalmatians are just about the dumbest animals on Earth, so inbred they'll willingly run into fires, which of course inspired people to invent "Firemen". She's going to make a big coat out of them, which will surely impress the common-dog-coat owning hoi polloi you always hear so much about. Look, we've all got some article of clothing made out of dogs hidden in the back of the closet-I myself have a delightfully rakish tri-corner hat made out of basset hounds-but dalmatians?? Tacky.

Together with my fellow minions Jasper and Horace, we manage to steal the puppies and get them back to Donatella. What happens next I hesitate to mention as it may be the most embarrassing moment for villain-kind ever. The helpless, adorable puppies escape with the aid of another dog, a cat and a horse. They covered the dalmatians with soot to make them look all black, and this baffled us.

Horace: Where are those blasted dalmatian puppies?

Jasper: Dunno. I keep looking for a writhing pile of precocious dalmatian puppies, but instead all I see are a writhing pile of precocious black lab puppies. It's bewildering.

Me: God, I hate you people.

In the end we wound up chasing the dalmatians in a madcap car race that ended with us crashing our minion-car into Donatella's car while the freshly newborn, inbred animals outsmarted us and escaped. If our little scheme was a boat, it'd be the titanic. If it were a war it would be Iraq. If it was a dog it would be a dalmatian, but even stupider, hard as that may be to imagine.

Still, this escapade hasn't soured me on evil women masterminds. I know that someday there will come a woman who'll lay scourge to the land, who will drive her legions across battlefields and conquer all that lays before her. My money's on Oprah.