It’s late, and I have to work early. A pretty hideous combination, even in an ordinary context. But, as we all know, this is The Strangelands. And when you put “strange” right in the name of your gear, you know that ordinary context just doesn’t apply.
Got a big visit tomorrow at work. Some super-manager, I don’t know what the official title is. Vice-regional-district-occassional-territory-manager-in-charge-until-we-can-find-someone-with-a-shorter-name-president. Something like that. I think they could probably save some time if they just named the big boss-men something like, egocentric-crackbaby-monkey #4. But nobody listens to me.
“Yeah, Bob, I was talking to egocentric-crackbaby-monkey #16 the other day, and he had some pretty terrible ideas. I think we should implement them immediately.”
“We might, Terrence, but let me tell you about some things I was discussing with egocentric-crackbaby-monkey #9. She really has some sure-fire ways to destroy this company from the inside out, all while making it seem like the fault of the common worker.”
“I’m all ears, Bob.”
Anyways, so this big important guy is supposed to show up. He was supposed to show up today. But he didn’t.
Oh, man, here we go.
I used to horrify my friends and family by describing to them my plans of world domination. My plans never really talked about how I would reach world-domination, only what I would do once I attained it. Maybe someday I’ll get into it with all of you, but not right now.
Right now, I’ll just tell you one point on my campaign.
When I am ruler of the world, I will gather up all the managers of big corporations, I’ll tell them they’re going to film a commercial, and I’ll tell them be sure to bring all of their children—legitimate or otherwise. And then, when all the cameras are on (taped, of course, not on national TV live, like I promised), I will have them all shot in the face. Really messy stuff, too. Not kill shots.
I want them rolling around screaming, crying, repenting. And then I will gather all of their children, and the cameras will all start recording me instead of the dead shitheads that are now littering the studio floor. And I will say, “This is not what you want to aspire to!”
Then I’ll give all the kids ice cream, and all the wives and family members valium.
There was actually going to be more of this, but my computer tells me that the battery is about to die. I feel like maybe my computer has just become all
(Author’s not: This is where the computer died. It didn’t want me to speak of the insurrection. Power to the people! Death to robots!)