“He just sits there all day long reading the fine print. Your Rights and Responsibilities As a Utility Consumer. Hell, that’s a thirty three hundred page document. I’m telling you, the consumers don’t have any rights unless we give it to them. I am fed up to here with these blarney-eyed liberals trying to justify the ways of the superstore to the people or to their wounded conscience. I am telling you we have got to eradicate them; one here, ten there, like nasty weeds until they are all gone.”
“I hear you Billyblab, but you know we can use this type of literature for our ultimate gain. I mean we cover our asses on all the legalese, and throw in a little brotherly love and the customers think we actually care for them. It’s working for our secular competition like LAWMart. Call the employees brothers and sisters, act like you care about them, in fact, make codes of ethics that force them to think they are a family! Do you catch my drift Bobbywhacker?”
“But that damn R. Juna over at Bhagavad America, man he really gets my goat… Speaking on corporate time about universal brotherhood and love, it is so counterproductive. And everyone sees his warm eyes on their boxes of breakfast cereal and it’s like they are teenagers falling in love. I want to puke! Did you hear about that incentive plan, they are putting little icons and holy pictures of saints as a series of trading cards into boxes of chocolate cereal; Ghandi, Mother Theresa, they’ve even got Jesus! The kids can’t even get past the breakfast table before they suck up all this religion, and Bhagavad America grows by leaps and bounds… What are we going to do?”
Bobbywhacker’s lament was cut off in midstream by the startled gaze on the gnarly grey face of Manager Crinkleberry who evidently overheard the dialogue while he pored over and glutted on the The Rights and Responsibilities literature.
“Would you two stop yer blabbin fer chrissakes. I am gonna spell it out to youse asses in clear ink. There are two---count them--- one, two roads you can go by. Bhagavad America has taken the Higher Path ™ and decided to market spirituality, but we both know that it’s all about bottom line. The content of the market is delusion, hell I don’t care if we can sell war and hate and lust, we’re gonna do it. Hate versus love. Whatever it takes to be number one. My ancestors didn’t come to this country in order to piddle around in religion, man that’s what they were escapin’. Look give them their fairy chariots and incense and icons in the breakfast box, we have got the corner on man’s lower nature and that is what’s going to win out time after time. Look, I’m a Freudian. Religion is simply a cover up for our forefathers crimes. Look, didn’t you boys learn ANYTHING IN SCHOOL?” After shouting these last words Manager Crinkleberry gulped a can or two of sodapop. His face melted into a total nuclear meltdown, like somebody spilled a Coke on the control board at Three Mile Island.
Billyblab and Bobbywhacker muttered their apologies: “Yessir, no sir, I mean we didn’t know what you meant when… I mean if we knew then what we… you are boss, I believe in everything you said or left unsaid, we believe in the beginning, the middle and end of any corporate literature that you have written.”
The Manager chokes and spittles: “Get them out of here!!!”
Thus ends another typical lunch meeting at Rival Corps.
Manager Crinkleberry summons his secretary: “Miss Crinklecrinkle. Type the transcrip’ of this meetin’ wouldya? I don’t know what the hell I was just blatherin’ about.” Coke foam rolled out of the corner of his cheeks and his eyes blared as red as a corvette racing down the alleyway.
In a nearby office, Miss Crinklecrinkle chuckled into the telephone headset: “The manager is going to lose his egg if he don’t mellow down some. Why don’t he remember it’s only a job!"
“No, that is what I mean, no one has ever seen Celestial Sky ™ headquarters, most deny it even exists. The only evidence we have comes in the form of intercepted memos, telephone transcripts, Julie K.’s therapy sessions---it’s like that tape of Watergate where Richard Nixon erased over it 18 times!!”
“What?” “Oh, some people think that Celestial Sky was invented by Beemer to discredit Juna, and others think it is real and actual. As far as I know, Manager Crinkleberry is working for Beemer. Rival Corps. Was set up for that purpose. Wait here comes old donut tooth… I ‘ve got to go! By the way, who is calling anyway?”
In another part of town, Crimpett and Crunchkin, two precocious high schoolers, are in ecstasy with Secretary Crinklecrinkle’s phone call… “But can’t anyone, Crimpett, substantiate that evidence? I mean even with the voices on magnetic tape in the Watergate tapes erasing does not eradicate the message entirely, it merely scrambles the energy into shaken bits.”
“So let’s say we take and re-align these energy bits, we can restore the original message.”
“Pretty much. Very astute Crimpett! Now that is what we’ve got to do. We are going to straighten out those messages! And Boss Jr. is going to have something good for us. Yeehoo!”
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