"Who would get a waitress pregnant?" He asked as the waitress waddled nearby. Wasn't the point of procreation to better the genes? Getting a waitress pregnant meant a life of paying child support to a woman who would never be able to provide the outlets and avenues a boy needed to be successful. What would be the purpose?

The men at the table chuckled like he was joking, but he wasn't joking at all. The men he worked with were a bunch of sods anyway. He wondered why he kept working for the company when it was run by idiots who couldn't cut a deal with a five-year-old if they tried. He stuck around hoping he'd bypass all the stupid bullshit projects and squeeze into a cushy managerial position so he could make something out of the company, but with all the small minds around him he wasn't getting the attention he knew he deserved.

It was lunchtime Friday and he hadn't made any weekend plans yet. His girlfriend had moved out earlier in the week telling him he was a jackass. He'd already known that and wondered why it took her a whole six months to figure it out. He was pretty sure he had made it very clear when they hooked up on the yacht the first time. Honestly he hadn't even been looking for a full-time girlfriend, but she always seemed to show up when he needed her to, so it fit. It didn't hurt that she was all legs and had large breasts. He never found a single stretch mark on her perfect body. But six months of anything would get boring, plus he was tired of her whining all the time.