"Fuck!"

Schlatt swore as he tripped over his own shoes, knocking him to the floor and spilling the rest of his whiskey in the process.

Motherfucker...

He grunted as he slowly sat up, his vision spinning and his mouth loose. He rambled and complained under his breath as moved to a goal he didn't quite know yet.

He was still in his office, paperwork scattered and the smell of cigars thick in the air.

Fucking Quackity had been nagging his ear off all day. Now he's in a permanent bad mood.