[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Special thanks to two users who sent me a PM review for being here for me. You guys rock! Once more, I do not own GMW, Dirt, the song from where the chapter title is derived, references which you may catch, nor anything associated with such. Please read, review, and refrain from telling me what I can and cannot change. Thank you, I am Taylor!]

Hey, it's me, Farkle Minkus, resident scientist and part-time photographer for a magazine called Dirty Deeds. My best friend, Riley Matthews, got promoted to editor-in-chief. First off, she had an appointment with actor Matt Truskin to reveal to him that his girlfriend, Evani Farrow, is a two-timer despite her good-girl persona. Farrow's other man in the video evidence is Wade Capra, Truskin's friendly rival in the movie business.

"I'm calling it 'Fapra.'"

In lieu of keeping Evani Farrow's video affair a secret, Riley gave me her first assignment to find out what comedian Connie Haley is hiding. Truskin was right. Connie's full of fury. I found out in the middle of the night that she has been physically and verbally abusing her ex-boyfriend, actor/model Dominic J. Dean, and I took the pics for proof.

"Dominic's being abused."

"I'm leaving you, Dominic!"

*CLICK*

Lucas is my right-hand partner who helps me with my pap outings. He's seeing Maya Hunter. She's an artist of many styles. She's seeing Lucas while still in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Riley's uncle, Josh Matthews. Maya also has a steady in Lucas's best friend, Zay Babineaux. That's a lotta guys to go around.

None of that mattered when she and I had a rendezvous like a "voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir" kind of thing before work last week. She went ape shit and had her way with me.

"Farkle, what do you really want from me?"

"Do it."

*CLICK*

It was a wonderful first week with Riley as the EIC of Dirty Deeds. I cannot wait to see what else she has in store for me. See how dumb these celebrities would be to give into our demands. Hah, dumb.

*CLICK*

(excerpt from Maya Hunter, Maya Hunter)

I know I've been rejected before, but I'm okay with it now. I've become numb to rejection. This rejection, however, was for good intention. It's called work, and there are no greater men dedicated to their jobs than Dr. Farklestein, Ranger Rick, and Uncle Boing. I had all the faith in the world that they were going to meet the deadlines that Riley had set for them. This deadline was killer.

During my conversation with Farkle, he told me that Riley assigned him to snap some photos of the home life regarding one of the power couples in show business: Dominic J. Dean (Lord, have mercy) and Connie Haley (Please, God, do NOT get me started on her). Everyone who reads magazines knows that Connie is a party animal, and Dominic is more reserved. That's what we all love about Dominic. Now, magazines are looking for answers to Connie's reckless behavior.

I'm working on a sketch right now. It's a depiction of a woman slapping a man. I found a fresh sketch pad underneath Farkle's care package. I began working on the sketch right after Farkle left. This sketch, called "No such thing as a double standard," is nothing, really. If a man slapped a woman, he'd get arrested. Why can't a violent woman get charged for domestic violence on a man for once? I'm not violent, I swear. Those days are over.

I should've mentioned: I just fucked Farkle Minkus. Again. That's how I know my life is going all over the place, and I kinda like it that way.

(and now, we return to Dirty Deeds)

It was Riley's day off, but her mind was still on work, so I invited her to my place to show her the process in developing photos from film. I stick with the old-fashioned photography because it's too easy to photoshop and manipulate scenarios these days. Film photography makes it more fun to capture the candid moments. And, based on what I had captured that night at Connie Haley's house, Riley is going to love what I snapped.

I reacquainted Riley with my bachelor pad. I recently invested in an outdoor shed for my photo laboratory. One of my old flames, a Smackle who shall not be named, whoops, took notice of the intoxicating fumes from the chemicals in the house. Naturally, I had to air out the house for a few days. Anyhow, as Riley familiarized herself with my place, I planned to show her where I develop my photos.

Riley stopped at the French patio doors that led to my backyard. In the northeast corner of the yard stood my laboratory. She was surprised that I would buy something like a tiny eight-by-ten barn. I later explained to her that I didn't know where to put a work station, so I bought a shed. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. Anyway, Riley complimented the place and wanted to see my lab. I had strict rules for the lab. Always wear your personal protective equipment. Time is valuable. Results may vary. My least strict rule was that I developed photographs my way.

"...and P.S., you may want to pull your hair into a bun. The rubber bands are in the second desk drawer in the den if you need them. Meet me at the lab when you're ready."

"Will do, Farkle. Hey, Farkle?"

I turned around as I tied my apron and looked at her.

"Have you ever shown anyone your lab before?" she asked.

"You're the first," I answered.

"Funny," was all she spat out as she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and awe.

Funny? What's funny about being the first person, let alone girl, other than myself, to see photographic Farkle in his natural habitat?

I walked out the double doors to my lab. I had the doors to my shed padlocked for safety purposes. As I unlocked and opened the door, I turned on the light. Riley was right behind me, looking beautiful in that messy bun tied together with a red rubber band. I couldn't help but look at how the blue apron hugged her curves, and how her hands looked the same after being covered with red latex gloves. Remember, Farkle, you have to show her the shot.

I already had my sheet trays prepared for development. As soon as Riley stepped inside, I turned off the lights, so we saw red. Riley always asked questions, and I was more than happy to answer them. I grabbed the sheet containing Connie's slap from the tray and placed it in the developer. Why did developing the sheet take the longest minute of my life? Riley's touch can't have that kind of effect on me, can it? After a long minute, I transferred the sheet to the stopper for another minute. Then came the fixer. Lastly, the water rinse. Riley didn't sneak a peek at the final shot. I explained to Riley that rinsing the photo clean of the chemicals will finally reveal what happened at Connie's house. She will love it when I hang it dry. As I pinned the photo to the line above the water tray, Riley reminded me of my deadline. I hate deadlines, especially if I'm the one who had to give them.

"It takes time and patience to go through this. Most times, it takes me a whole day to get a roll of film developed. I can't make this my job forever, Riley."

"I know that. It'll be bumming to know that you'll have to retire 50 years from now."

"A lot of us will be lucky to be alive 50 years from now. Dirty Deeds will still be around with one of your proteges at the helm," I said, turning on the light.

Riley stood there in silence, looking at the picture of Connie slapping Dominic. She looked like she wanted to cry, and she did.

"It's... it's..." Riley couldn't say anything.

"Let it out, Riley. Tell me. Do you not like it? Or should I plan for another night? Because I'm open until the issue after this comes out," I said because I never know.

Riley had her hallelujah moment. Her debts were paid off. She had just purchased her Porsche. She bought an expensive Victorian mansion. She had reached her own damn promised land. She fell in love with the shot. And I fell in love with her.

"I might have a new permanent photographer for Dirty Deeds. How did you get this?" Riley asked, still looking at the picture.

"It was easy once I situated myself in the sycamore," I answered.

"I think I just came a little," Riley murmured, followed by many sobs and a head-desk into her arms.

"Wow, uhm, why don't we let this picture dry, and we'll go back in the house, okay? I'll fax you a copy if you'd like," I nervously dragged her out of the lab because honestly, I was excited, and I use the term loosely.

"Farkle, it's the perfect picture. It was exactly what I had in mind, right down to the angle of impact on Dominic's body! Why so nervous?" she asked as she stopped me outside the French doors of my house.

Don't let her see your excitement in your pants, Farkle. Don't let her see.

"I, uh," I stammered as I used my free hand to cover my "problem."

"Farkle, are you okay?" Riley's starting to notice something wrong with me now.

I just looked her brown eyes in the face and opened the door, making a beeline for the bathroom. On the way, I hit play on my loudspeaker to break the silence. I don't know what kind of look she had on her face, and I don't care. I am not ready for this. I love this woman, but why?

I shut the bathroom door, pushed my pants to my knees, and began to stroke myself over the bathtub. I used the wall on the opposite side as my leverage. I hated that I sprung an erection at the wrong time, and the only way to make it go away is to fucking take care of it. This kind of feeling was for one woman who had my heart since I was six. I was nearing my orgasm when I felt a tear stream down my face. That's how I knew I was in love. Love hurts, and it gives me that kind of ache that never leaves. I had these visions of Riley going down on me, and that was it. I let out a breathy grunt as I bit my lower lip, and three ropes of cum spurt onto the marble of the tub's floor. I looked down at the sperm that graced the bathtub. Goodness. Riley Matthews. Why Riley? Why not?

I pulled up my pants, cleaned up my mess, and washed my hands. As I dried my hands, I walked out the bathroom door and returned to Riley, who was lounging on my couch. She heard my footsteps and asked me what happened in the bathroom. Was I out of breath or something?

"Farkle, are you okay? Did you need to go to the bathroom that bad?"

"No, I'm fine, Riley. I just... lost myself for a moment there."

"Oh, I see," she said, realizing that I needed a brief private time.

It's only been a few days since I had sex with Maya. I wanted to get the blonde off my mind before I can do anything with Riley. I just don't want her to know that.

"Farkle, is there something you did that I don't know about?" Riley asked out of the blue.

Shit. Busted. She caught me. Deny, deny, deny.

"It was on a whim," I answered.

GOD DAMN IT! Now the rest of the story needs to come out.

"What was on a whim? Did you fuck some girl?" I didn't answer. "You fucked some girl. I knew it." She shouted, "Farkle Minkus fucked some girl, and he liked it!" with happiness as she tickled my sides. Is she really proud of me?

"Riley, it wasn't just some girl."

"No?" she pondered with a guessing face. "Did you and the Doctor get back together for old time's sake?" She's referring to Isadora. "Or how about Sarah? She's one of the most observant women I know, which is why I hired her as a second-in-command investigator. Or Darby? She's a screamer! Why wouldn't she come to me first? She's always telling everybody on everyone..."

"Riley, stop," I interrupted her. She stopped talking. "I need you to not freak out when I tell you who I might've done the deed with, okay?"

"Farkle, please, if you're gonna preface the reveal with that," she's onto something. I think she already figured it out.

"I had sex with Maya." Whew.

"Farkle, you didn't."

"I gave her a care package one night before the guys and I were out, and then we talked, and one thing led to another, and..."

"Farkle, stop," she covered my mouth with her hand. "I've heard enough. I hope you used a Trojan."

"Magnum," I muffled into her hand.

"Oh, thank God," she sighed as she released me. She spoke again, "Farkle, as heartbreaking as that is, I can't stop you from making love to anybody who isn't me unless you want me to."

I looked away from her because now I regret banging Maya. No, you don't, you nit-wit! Riley was my first true love and first time, even though we both decided to break up during college. I wonder what she meant by "unless you want me to." Does she want to reconcile our relationship? She can't do it to spite the single life. We must have it made before we can. So far, neither of us are where we want to be. I'm a bachelor photographer who makes his bank from Minkus International shares. She's a bachelorette on the verge of ruling the entertainment world in New York City. One would think a journalist climbing her way to the top of the ladder would be married by now. We're nearing the 2030s for crying out loud!

"Riley, I–"

"Farkle, can we forget about Maya for a second? You got the shot! Have it on my desk by tomorrow morning. Okay?" She snapped me out of my daze again by hugging me. "I love you, Farkle. Don't damage yourself too much to get one shot."

The beautiful brunette kissed the corner of my mouth and peppered a line to the skin of my mandible (the corner of my jaw) before pulling away. She got up from the couch and offered her hand, asking for a dance. Riley Amy Matthews, what am I gonna do with you?

(excerpt from Riley's Rebellion)

Ever since I took that editor-in-chief position at Dirty Deeds, I knew what kind of headline I wanted to publish. I had assigned my friends and colleagues different tasks revolving around the hottest story I came up with. This story I picked up from Matt Truskin, God bless him, is his "shut up and remain anonymous" payment. I won't go into detail, but Truskin's soon-to-be ex-girlfriend is in a sex tape that someone sent me. It's the ultimate blackmail weapon until I find something better.

Blackmail doesn't come easy in my life. Now that I know how it works, I just use that as a motivation to be the ultimate journalist of the New York tabloid business. What matters is that I make this world mine. Mine!

I invited Maya over to my apartment for a lunch. I ordered pizza to be delivered at 1:30 on the dot. Maya showed up with her briefcase (for her laptop and sketches) as I was placing the order on the phone. I motioned for her to sit at the kitchen counter. I then pressed END on my phone to go sit with Maya and talk about business and the goings-on in life.

"Farkle told me you got promoted to Editor in Chief at Dirty Deeds. How's that going for you?"

"It's wonderful. Farkle invited me to his place yesterday to show me the developing process in photography. Photography is a beautiful thing, Maya."

"I know," she smiled at me. "Did he show you the shot he said he was going to get?"

"Oh yeah," I answered, emphasizing the 'oh.'

"No way!"

"Yeah way! It was exactly how I imagined it to a T!"

"Riley, you are unstoppable. Is he gonna fax you the photo for the cover?"

I pulled the photo from my manila folder and showed Maya. Her jaw dropped to the floor.

"This is just the fax copy, not the original. Do you have a mock-up sketch?" I asked.

She opened her briefcase and ran her fingers through a couple of papers before pulling out one of a mock-up cover of Dirty Deeds, now under a new chief editor. I couldn't believe my eyes when she showed me a pencil sketch of a woman slapping a man. The logo was sketched out perfectly. The blurb in an exploding box in front of the man's torso read, "No such thing as a double standard!" I am amazed. I found my Porsche. This is my Ferrari. Everything is falling into place. My jaw dropped, and I felt my mouth drool from my chin to the floor within a half second.

"MAYA!" I screamed as if I were looking for her, but I already knew where she was.

She just laughed at me. That's expected.

"I'm right here, Riley. What's wrong? Do you not like the mock-up?" Maya asked.

"I. Love it," I said with honesty. "I want to know how you thought of this. Did Farkle show you the shot before me?" I then asked curiously.

"Farkle stopped by my house that night with a care package as an apology for stealing my dates. He then made it up to me by letting me have my way with him," she murmured to a mute with that last sentence.

"Maya, if you had sex with Farkle, you can tell me, you know," I reassured her, no matter how much it hurt me.

"I know. He and I were just so vulnerable over petty things, so I thought, 'why not be vulnerable together?' Stupid thought of the night. After he left, I found a sketch pad underneath the toys. I started drawing everything Farkle told me," she paused as she sipped her seltzer water. "Mm, paper after paper. Scenario after scenario. I felt like I predicted it. You become editor-in-chief. You assign Farkle to capture a shot of Connie Haley and Dominic J. Dean. I drew a picture to answer the question 'what if Dominic really is being abused?' That's the outcome. The mock-up, that you see before you, is the original sketch. Do not lose this, Riley. This will launch you to the top."

Maya showed me every sketch in a timeline of that day's events. I thought it was kinda cute when I was sitting on my desk, talking to Farkle, and hearts were blooming from his head. I then fixated my eyes on a sketch where Maya and Farkle were having clothed doggy-style sex, and both had weirdly worried looks on their faces as if she were in pain or something from her bun being yanked. That's an image that's going into the Rileytown Naughty Files. Next picture was one of Lucas and Josh eating donuts in the car. Their eyes were focused in the center, possibly keeping an eye on Farkle. Then there was Farkle in a bird's nest, taking a picture with a giant camera. Finally, the shot! The lady, representing Connie Haley, had her mouth wide open and her hand firm on her man's face from the slap. The man, Dominic J. Dean, just took the blow with the skin of his face absorbing the shock.

I heard the two notes of the doorbell, the first note followed by a minor third. It's the ring that never ages. I walked over to open the door, and there's my other gal-pal, Isadora... ahem, Doctor Isadora Smackle, with the pizza that I ordered a half hour ago. That was sweet of her to cover the tab from the delivery guy. Awh, I was hoping the delivery guy would be cute!

"Dr. Smackle, just in time for lunch!" I greeted as I took the pizza box from her to welcome her.

I heard her pull up a chair next to Maya. As I set the large pepperoni pineapple pizza down on the island, Smackle looked at Maya's sketches. If there were a single trait or ability that Smackle had picked up over the years, it would be her gift of being observant. Her observations were then turned into research papers that got published in all the good psychology magazines and periodicals. She rightfully earned her degrees in all the major sciences.

Smackle saw the final drawing where the female abuses the male. She asked permission to give input, and we let her.

"The surprising thing about this is, there aren't that many domestic abuse shelters for male victims. The society has pressured the woman into always playing the victim. For the last ten years, men have finally stepped forward. Some were laughed at. Some were taken seriously. I should know. Farkle's mother was the same way; only, she was more verbally abusive. Some women out there do not want to admit the truth. They've become compulsive liars to their own victimization, and it's sickening. I've valued my life too much to listen to their bullshit during therapy sessions."

"What does that mean, doc?" Maya asked with her mouth full of pizza.

"It sounds low, and it sounds rather hypocritical, but these women in question keep paying for therapy sessions. In laymen's terms, mo' money, mo' problems!" Isadora explained.

Maya and I giggled at that line because it just sounded funny. Doctor Smackle hates her practice with patients who fail to realize that they are the root of their own problems, but if she makes money off it, more power to her!

"There has to be an underlying cause to this woman's anger and why she takes it out on this man. Is this supposed to represent something here?" the doctor asked, confused about what these pictures mean.

"Dr. Smackle, these are actual events that happened," I explained.

"Yeah, last week," Maya noted.

"You know, the slapper looks an awful lot like that comedian, Connie Haley. She's one of my patients in my psychology practice," Smackle observed.

"You know Connie Haley?" Maya asked.

They continued to discuss how much Connie was a "whiner" and a "classic sob story." I just watched and listened as I ate my slice of pizza and drank my lemon water. Everything I needed to know for the final draft of my headline is right in front of me. Of course, I won't use their names, but I still need permission.

"I hate to interrupt, but I have this deadline for my headline. Dr. Smackle, if you don't mind, I'd like to take what you said about Connie Haley into consideration for my article. I won't use your name," I said.

"Of course, Riley. I won't be mad," Smackle said.

"But someone will," Maya said.

"I know, but this is the kind of story that will knock Slutville off the charts," I said.

"Slutville as in Missy Bradford Slutville?" Maya asked with her mouth full.

I only nodded.

Slutville is the rival tabloid magazine run by Melissa Suarez. At least, that's what the credits in the table of contents says. My friends and I once knew her as Missy Bradford. Ugh, I still shudder at that name. She grew up to marry Nigel, God bless him. For the last five years, she has dominated the tabloid world. None of the stories she published turned out to be true, but people still read them because she stretches the truth. Now, it's my turn. Missy couldn't get the truth of this story if she tried.

Maya, Isadora, and I wrapped up our lunch. I stored the leftover pizza in my fridge. I didn't care what the other two were talking about. Ever since I mentioned Slutville, my blood began to boil. Maya was the first to notice.

"Riley, you seem tense. Something wrong?"

I didn't want to speak about it.

"I'm okay, Maya. I just..." I stuttered and stammered.

"Let it out, honey," she interrupted.

"I can only hope that this issue flies off the shelves."

Honesty. Brutal honesty. That's how I plan to get by in this world. Because, the truth shall set you free.

(we now return to Dirty Deeds)

I received a text from Riley's brother. I guess the little guy wanted me to stop by his apartment in Greenwich Village. What does he know?! More importantly, what did I do?

I buzzed Auggie's apartment, and he told me to come on up. The elevator was broken, and I took the stairs. He lives on the fifth floor! Then again, I'm still in shape, so it's not a big deal.

I knocked on Auggie's door three times. Then another three times. And another three times... I give up.

I was about to take the first step of walking away when Auggie answered the door.

"Farkle, hey, let's go to the stairs at the entryway."

"Fine by me," I said.

So, we trekked down the many flights of stairs. He didn't want to say anything until we sat down on the stairs of the porch. I guess he wanted to confide in me about something important.

"Did you know that Ava's pushing me to marry her?"

"I'm aware. What about it?"

"I want to wait until I had a steady job. We're still living in that apartment, paycheck to paycheck. It's complicated. I am still looking for a ring."

"There's nothing complicated about living check to check. It's life. We all have our difficulties. I trust that you know what you want to do. Your sister always brags about how much you and Ava love each other. She's also confident that you'll be the one to follow in your mother's footsteps. How's that going, by the way?"

"Awesome. I have three more semesters left of my undergrad, and I'll be on my way to law school."

"Any law school of choice?"

"NYU is still number one, man."

"Awesome."

"What made you decide that you wanted to pursue photography as a career?"

"I didn't. My love of science and the study of chemicals pushed me all sorts of directions. Photography just fell into my lap, and I've been doing it since I turned 20. I've shown major magazines my works, and they paid me top dollar for more. Dirty Deeds wanted me as a photographer before Riley was promoted to Editor-in-Chief. Now, your sister wants me as the photographer. Her go-to guy."

"Maybe it's because she's in love with you."

"Riley is not in love with me like she used to be, Auggie."

"How do you know if she really is in love with you? Farkle, my big sister loves you. You and Maya are her best friends. I mean, you love both girls. Hell, you even bragged about banging them when you were drunk a couple years ago."

"Don't remind me," I said, realizing that we're going off base. "So, what else is new? You're still seeing Ava..."

"Yes, but I'm stuck. I feel like I've hit a crossroads in my life. I need some direction. Before, it was 'Where's our next payment gonna go?' Now, based on our work schedules, it's 'When's our next night to be intimate?' Do you know what I mean?"

"Yes, unfortunately. You can only work so much. If you really love her, I suggest you propose to her."

"With what money? I told you, I'm still in the hunt for a ring."

"You could do some internship for my father's company. Lots of cute girls and money. These cute girls are already in relationships, but that doesn't stop them from talking to you. It's strictly business. Ava's got her Greek business, and you're now part of Minkus International."

"I'll take you up on that offer, Farkle. Thanks for stopping by. I love you, man," Auggie cried into my shoulder, hugging me.

I knew Auggie was down in the dumps lately, but I didn't know his troubles were that huge. He was out of a job until I offered him an internship at Minkus International. I'll take a hug of gratitude any day.

(excerpt from Dr. Smackle's Boys)

Isadora Smackle is all about learning behaviors, even if she can't mimic them on her own. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm Isadora Smackle, Ph.D. That's right. I have a degree in just about everything. This chapter of my life, I'm focusing on a practice in couples' therapy and psychology. What two suckers do I have lined up for today? I check the schedule, and it's Connie and Dominic. I remember going over to Riley's for lunch, and the subject was brought up. I do not want to listen to these so-called "comedians" bicker about their hatred for each other. I thought couples were supposed to love each other.

"Constance, Dr. Smackle will see you now," the receptionist said to the couple in the waiting room.

The bitter blonde lady and the hunky-dory brunet walked into my office and shut the door behind them.

"Miss Cotton, Mr. Dean, how have things been since our last meeting?" I asked.

"Awful," Connie started. "Dominic doesn't trust me anymore, so I slammed the door in his face in the wee hours of Sunday morning!"

"You were losing your sanity after clubbing," Dominic angrily said.

"Oh, don't you get started with me. You knew what kind of relationship you were getting into with me..."

"No, I didn't!"

"Because guys don't normally go for party girls, but that's how I do, Dominic..."

"Party girls certainly don't take pills to hide their tracks, Connie..."

I was becoming irritated upon hearing these two arguing. It's as if that's all they do! I reached out my hand limply, rolled my eyes, and brought it back to my mouth, like I was thinking of something. Luckily, one of my skills came in handy when I realized that my hand was covering my mouth. I suddenly remembered that I can finger-whistle. So, I whistled through my fingers loud, long, and hard.

"That oughta get your attention, you two," I firmly said.

"Sorry, doc, but this girl is a lunatic," Dominic said.

"Lunatic?! You're the one who is a loony, you... Fucky McFuck Face!" Connie shot back.

They went at it again. My face looked like I was about to cry, but I just ran my hands through my face. I then took my candy bowl and hid under the desk while I listened to their quarrel.

Chocolate candy. Peanut butter cup. Caramel bite. Kit Kat. Gumdrop. Gummi Bear. Water. After about three rounds of candies and a gurgling stomach noise, Dominic said something that caught my attention.

"You haven't been the same since you started drinking!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it!" I exclaimed, raising my hand out of my desk.

I climbed back into my chair with my half-empty bowl of candies placed in the same corner of the desk. I think I may have found the root of the couple's problems. It's an aha! moment, but I found it rather concerning that Connie could be an alcoholic.

"Miss Cotton, is this true? Have you been drinking?" I asked, pen in hand.

"A little bit," she answered.

"Connie," Dominic drug out.

"Okay, I'm an alcoholic. I've been using half my money to binge drink. That's why I hired a driver to take me to and from the clubs. The girls, they miss me," Connie admitted.

"Is there another cause to your drinking, Miss Cotton?" I asked.

"I have this... tendency to... 'flare up,'" she said, using air quotes, "at the drop of a hat, if you know what I mean?"

I knew exactly what she meant.

"Knowing that alcohol is a good cover-up," she began...

Errrrp. No, it's not.

"I thought the alcohol would hide my anger. It turns out that it seeks it. I get angrier! As an alcoholic, my temper is hair-triggered, and if I don't get what I want, you pay the price," she confessed in a tell-all.

Wait till Riley gets a load of this!

"I will order this for you now, Miss Cotton, and you may not like it. Hell, you WILL not like it when I order you to attend meetings at Alcoholics Anonymous," I said, jotting down the order exactly.

"NO!" Connie cried into Dominic's arms. It's about time they showed signs of love with Dominic's gesture of hugging her crying, sobbing form.

(and now, back to Dirty Deeds)

The release of the first issue under new management was making us anxious, to say the least. Riley spent her weekends scrambling together articles and adding pictures to sell the stories. The mock-up that Maya gave showed exactly what Riley was looking for. The new logo, new management, and fresh-from-the-lab photograph helped make this issue perfect. Now, I can only hope that I don't get sued, harassed, and/or blackmailed at my own game.

I sat opposite Riley at the Dirty Deeds final draft meeting. She displayed the magazine cover on the projected screen, and everyone gasped. Does that mean they love it?

"That," Riley shouted as she pointed behind her from her laptop, "is going out to the press TONIGHT. You've all done a wonderful job in writing these stories, but this is only the beginning. I want these follow-ups to be bigger and better than the first! We'll have a brainstorming meeting on Monday afternoon, and everybody better be awake for that. We don't want a repeat of five months ago, do we?"

"No!" everyone answered.

"Somebody oughta tell the prank master that boggy water is not a good substitute for coffee," Sarah followed.

And yet, we still have to find this prank master who not only dirtied the coffee, but also put mayonnaise in everyone's lotion jars. I smiled as everyone was hooting over the new issue cover. I took that picture. I did. Me! Farkle Minkus took that picture! I'm feeling so giddy.

"Everyone, give your thanks and regards to Farkle. If it weren't for him, we'd be back at square one from the last editor-in-chief's first day," Riley said before concluding the meeting.

I was overwhelmed with a slew of thank yous, good jobs, and pats on the back. Farkle, you're the best! Farkle, awesome pics, dude. Farkle, I want you to have my babies!

Wait, what?!

If everyone is happy over this new issue, then the readers will want to know more once they buy from the stands or subscribe. I think whoever wants my babies is in charge of the subscription list. Where do we go from here? The lives of New York celebrities have prices, and we're willing to pay.

Victory, thy name is Farkle!