Simpsons Porn Story: That Damned Letter Chapter 1

Montgomery Burns wandered into the large office that had once been his father’s. He had inherited the Atom Mill, and half of his father’s money, the other half being given to Burn’s mother and brother. Wonderful. Burns always knew he had been the favorite.

The office was simply amazing. It was austere, which the young Monty Burns loved. The walls were an off-white, and the floor was plain, polished wood. There was one large window, and a huge desk in front of it, facing the over-sized door he had just come through. Even the chair was quite large. The sun shone into the window brilliantly, making the chair dark. If he were sitting in it, and someone came to see him…

Monty Burns grinned. The perfect way to strike fear into his fellow man. His father had the right idea. It was certainly a shame that his mother’s affair with Taft had ruined it all. Turned the man into a simpering goon! Disgusting.

Ignoring the memories of his broken father, Monty walked around the desk, trailing his long fingers across the smooth surface, and carefully sat himself in the chair. Tenting his fingers, Monty Burns leaned forward and imagined people coming in to see him. Light would be cast perfectly over their faces, but they wouldn’t be able to see him at all!

Brilliance. Sheer brilliance.

Burns knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that all of his future offices would be like this one in one way or another.

The door opened. An older man, probably around fifty or so, peeked inside.

Mr. Burns? He asked, looking directly at the chair.

What is it? Burns asked. He was annoyed with this interruption; he wanted to fantasize about scaring all who entered. This man wasn’t even scared! What use was that?

There’s a phone call. For you.

Mr. Burns stood up, and crossed the long office. Pulling the door from the older man, Burns realized that he was easily a whole foot taller than his father’s old assistant. With a wicked smile, Burns pushed the man aside and went to where the phones were.

We must upgrade these things; see to it that there’s a modern telephone machine in my office by morning. He called over his shoulder.

Montgomery made sure to get to his office early the next morning. Either he had a wonderful new device to learn to use, or he had an assistant to replace. Either way, the day promised to be a good one.

With a slight push, the door swung in. Burns paused to take the doorknob and pull the door shut again. It clicked slightly when it shut.

He turned around. The fifty-something assistant was sitting at his desk, right outside Burns’ office door. He was asleep; his grey hair laying messily over his face. Monty Burns looked at the nameplate to learn the man’s name.

Davies! Monty Burns barked. The man awoke so violently that he nearly fell out of his seat. It took all Monty’s will to not smile at the pathetic sight. Davies looked up at Burns.

You have a working phone in your office, sir. I saw to it personally.

Good. Burns said, a little let down at the didn’t get to fire the man. Ah, well. The day would be better spent making is office look more threatening than mocking those who make their feeble attempts at taking Davies position anyway.

Burns motioned at his door. However, this will not do. The door opens at the slightest touch, Burns demonstrated. The door swung open with only a tiny squeak. And it closes silently. Again, he demonstrated. The door wasn’t silent, however. There was a click as it shut.

The door needs to be heavier, and it needs to slam shut suddenly. Also, the door should squeak more. Burns said.

A squeaky door would be a perfect excuse for insulting anyone who came into his office. Oh, Monty Burns would do it, squeak or no, but the more reasons, the better.

Davies stared at Burns for a moment. Although they didn’t look anything alike, Monty Burns was exactly like his father. Mostly. Monty’s father had preferred a silent door because he felt that the quiet was unsettling to any visitors he had. So, the child wasn’t a complete copy of his father. That couldn’t be bad.

I’ll get right on it. Do you want a new door, or do you want this one weighed down?

Monty Burns turned to look at the door. It had his father’s name carved onto it, and it was painted white. A new one. With my full name on it. No… Just C. M. Burns. Make sure it’s carved in at about six foot on the door, so it’s above most people’s eye-lines. And the letters should be large. He paused thoughtfully. Or should they be small? He pressed a finger to his lips and gazed thoughtfully in Davies’ direction.

Smaller is more difficult to read. It may make some of your guests uneasy. On the other hand, large letters insinuates that you’re powerful. Although, they may think you’re compensating. Smaller letters would be more subtle. As if you don’t need to announce yourself.

Burns nodded. Small letters it is. And it should be a dark wooden door.

Your father liked the white one. He checked it for fingerprints after every guest left.

Monty Burns looked confused for a moment. And?

And, Davies shrugged, if they left fingerprints or dirt on the door, he called them back later that day to yell at them and make them clean the door.

Hmm… Burns looked thoughtfully at the door. It was spotless. In fact, he hadn’t noticed the shine coming from it before. I think a white door would be best. Now, get on it. Burns clapped his hands twice, and disappeared into his office.