The sidewalk was cluttered with suits and undergrads with their backpacks and hats turned backwards. Most of them milled peacefully around the entrance to the Arnold Vickman Administration Building at Forton University, it being the pulse and hub and brain of all decisions made at Forton. Their conversations were quiet and dignified, reflecting the quiet dignity that a tier-one institute of higher learning demands from its students and faculty. The spring breeze rested their nerves as all chatted about the dilemmas of categorizing the Kingdom Protista or the upward shift in tuition across the nation and how it correlates to FU.

Ronald Vickman crawled his Bentley along the sidewalk, shattering the harmony of academia with each explosion of sound from his horn. "Get out of the fuckin way!" He shouted out the window at the peasants who imposed upon his path. He rolled to a stop and shifted into park in front of the massive administration building composed of marble and the finest Pennsylvanian red brick. He swung open the driver’s side door, almost blasting an unobservant Asian girl. The affluent crowd gawked as Ronald strenuously pushed his overweight frame out of the car and sucked the air into his filthy rich lungs.

"Top of the fuckin’ morning to ya!" Ronald said to everyone, his arms outstretched with his palms to the sky. His bathrobe blew open revealing his Egyptian cotton pajamas. "Here sport, make sure nobody fucks with the paint job," he said to a visibly timid middle-aged man in a tailored suit. Ronald handed him the keys to his car and a one-hundred dollar bill for his charge.

The automatic doors parted in fear of Ronald. He marched up the impressive center staircase in the lobby en route to the boardroom on the second floor. The veteran secretary outside the boardroom made no attempts to stop Ronald as he strolled past, giving her as much notice as the plain coffee mug on her desk. Ronald cast the boardroom doors open and asserted himself in the room, much to the horror of the eleven specimens of experience and fortitude.

"Where’s my fuckin chair?" Ronald asked rhetorically as he scanned the occupied chairs around the table. "I don’t see it. Why can’t I find my chair?"

"Mr. Vickman-," the brave Fortson president attempted.

"Doctor Vickman," Ronald corrected.

"Yes, Dr. Vickman. We didn’t expect you at this meeting," the president tried to explain. "This is just a simple meeting. No matters of importance. Informal really." He scanned the room sheepishly, looking for support.

"Yes…informal…nothing," a few murmured.

"I see where my chair is Gumpy! You’re sitting in my chair. Oh Gumpy, always the fucking funnyman!" Ronald said smiling as he replaced president Gumpy at the head of the table. Ronald leaned back, removed his slippers and put his bare feet up on the table.

"Well, this is what I’ve been thinking," Ronald dictated to all carelessly. "In two weeks we are going to have the first Vickman family remembrance day at Fortson. Classes will be cancelled. During the day they’ll be a petting zoo in the main quad, firemen giving a live demonstration, and a speech, by me, expounding on the importance of the sandwedge in any proper golf set."

"But Dr. Vickman, I don’t see how we can get all this arranged in two weeks? We don’t have the right personnel here and-." Gumpy’s efforts were always futile.

"Gumpy, is your father’s name on the outside of this building?" Gumpy held his words on his mouth. "Is your father’s name on the gymnasium? Is your grandfather’s name on the library? Is your fucking grandmother’s name on any fucking residence hall?"

"No, sir."

‘That’s right, Gumpy! But do you know what your name is on?" Ronald asked. He learned in, his eyes wide, begging Gumpy to be foolish enough to venture a guess. "Your name is on a fucking pink slip!"

Gumpy sighed, gravity allying his battle with frustration. He stood and slowly walked out of the room, having been fired by Ronald for the 39^th time.

"Now people, I want results. I didn’t go to college like you hopeless examples of mental retardation. I can’t be asked to do any of the leg work on this deal. I am merely the brain. I am Oz behind the curtain." Ronald paused and turned to the man on his right, hiding behind his gray hair and bifocals. "You there, go find me a java. We may be here all day."