Instead of staring down his two closest advisors, both poised to tell him that he was a nut job for the third time today, Michael Garcia very much wished he was getting his dick sucked. Nothing like a blow job to clear things up—whether they be testicles or business objectives. He’d celebrated his first angel fund investment by getting a blow job from a random hipster bartender in the Tenderloin. The triumph of knowing that he was actually going to make something of himself was in perfect symmetry with the sensation of shooting down the guy’s throat.

And last year, he’d nearly ruined his longest-running friendship by getting blown by his best friend’s ex-boyfriend. Skylar had been thoroughly done with said ex-boyfriend, but the guy had been out to hurt her, and Michael had lent aid and comfort to the enemy in that pursuit.

Luckily, Skylar had a short memory when it came to Michael’s fuckery. She’d forgiven him on the condition that he start seeing a therapist, which was a real hoot.

Not.

The therapist had suggested that he might benefit from cutting down on blow jobs from random strangers, and the new limitation made him feel like his balls were constantly being pinched. And it wasn’t like he could just clear the pipes himself whenever the spirit moved him. He had a billion-dollar business to run, and he couldn’t jack off every time he got stressed out.

Like now.

“You can’t serve on an advisory panel,” his COO, Valerie, yelled, making a cutting motion with her hands. “His approval rating is in the low thirties, and people will think you’re a fascist.”

Aidan, his CFO, nodded. “But with the rollback on net neutrality, there will be a cataclysm.”

Michael rubbed the rapidly wrinkling patch of skin between his eyebrows. His chest tightened at the idea that everything he’d worked for—everything he’d done to prove to his parents that he wasn’t worthless—would disappear if he couldn’t keep the government from allowing ISPs to—essentially—determine what people could access on the internet.

“None of our lobbyists made any headway?”

Valerie shook her head. “Apparently, our lobbyists are no friends to the folks over at the FCC. Once upon a time, they all worked for the ISPs, not the content providers like us.”

“If the ISPs start holding access to the app ransom, forget about growth.” Aidan leaned on Michael’s desk. “We’re done for.”

This was truly a clusterfuck. Could backed-up semen cause a heart attack when combined with extreme stress? His skin was too tight and the glass walls were suddenly claustrophobic. On a clear day, he could see all the way to the San Francisco Bay from the window of his office. Today, the atmosphere was clogged with smoke from fires in the hills.

God, maybe he was going to puke. “Is there any other way to get to the chairman?”

“No.” Valerie was emphatic.

After hesitating, Aidan shook his head.

“Do I really have to call the fucking president?”

“Welcome back to the pod. This is Jake Lieberman, and today I’m going to take a minute to talk about something that matters to all of us—net neutrality.

“Now, I can hear you groaning all the way from the studio. Like, the world is ending, who the fuck cares about what evil plot your internet service provider is up to now? Just think about how upset you’ll be when your favorite porn is buffering while you’re on the precipice of climax.

“Yes, I talk about porn when my business partners are on vacation. Because I can!”

Jake paused for the laughter he knew would come from listeners. His timing had gotten better since he and his colleagues had started their burgeoning media empire. Usually, his partners were there to play the straight men—in more ways than one. Jake was the resident comedian and also the resident homosexual among the group of former White House speechwriters who had formed Wayward Media after the 2016 election.

Today, without the co-founders, Teddy and Jason, he could rant with impunity. “And you’ll never guess who’s joined in on the plan to slow down your porn—” Another pause for effect. “Michael Garcia, your least favorite tech entrepreneur, the one who got dinged by the last FCC head for data mining in 2012.” Jake slapped the table and hoped the sound engineer could remove the noise. “He’s now serving on a technology presidential advisory council. Fucking traitor.”

Jake couldn’t wait for the comments on whatever that smug Garcia fuck would post about his involvement on the council. His mealy-mouthed response would get savaged by podcast listeners.

In the year following the election, his podcast had become the antidote to right-wing media on the left. Sometimes, like when they and their army of listeners were able to influence special elections, he felt drunk with power. The podcast he and his two best friends had started after the election had become a phenomenon. They’d gone from Teddy’s kitchen table to the boardroom, and they could get any progressive politician they wanted on the pod.

After leaving the White House, they’d all floundered a bit. Jake had gone into television writing, only to see his show canceled after a few episodes. Teddy and Jason had tried screenwriting and political consulting, but they’d missed being at the center of power. Sure, they had genuine concerns about the direction of the country, but they liked having a seat at the table almost as much. And mobilizing podcast fans against assholes who spouted progressive values and then worked with the fucking evil empire at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was just frosting on what was turning out to be a lucrative cupcake.

Taking down hypocrites like Garcia was a very nice bonus. The man was damned attractive. And, according to rumors, a demon in the sack. Not that Jake would ever find out. He wasn’t about to get into a high-profile relationship with a guy who couldn’t even stand up for basic human values. A guy who was likely going to be pocketing billions of dollars from the tax plan just passed by Congress.

That would just make him a hypocrite, too, wouldn’t it?