Death

I’ve got this friend who used to work for one of the tech billionaires not the one you’re thinking of, but probably the next most famous one. And he’s got this thing, right, the billionaire, not my mate, where every time he hears the word ‘death’ he gets a hard-on and shits himself. 

Everyone who works for him knows about it, and they all wind him up all the time, like in meetings and stuff; they’ll say things like “speak up, I’m a bit death” and up pops his little Duke and out comes the sewerage, like fucking clockwork. 

Anyway, he’s not really bothered about it. My mate reckons he takes it in his stride and just laughs it off. When it happens, he’ll cover his hard-on with whatever’s at hand, like a laptop or his phone or whatever. 

An old woman follows him round all the time with clean pants and trousers just in case he hears the word death. The soiled ones just go in the bin. He’s a billionaire, so you know, he can afford it, can’t he.