16 August 2005

Managment draining seminar

Morning all. Sorry I’m late. I wanted to get up in time to post something, but I was up late drinking Sissy Fruit Drinks (SFDs-one actually can not taste the alcohol. Scary!) at St. Gazonga’s Home for the Breasticularly Enhanced, trying to max my corporate credit card.

For those of you unfamiliar with Dallas/Fort Worth region, the land is a crazy patchwork of dry and semidry communities (beer and wine only) with the occasional life giving oasis of liquor selling communities. Addison is one such.

With the influx of liquor money, some of the female natives have developed a quaint custom of chest enhancement. As an enthusiastic amateur anthropologist (and safely away from adult supervision) I felt that it was my duty to examine and record this cultural phenomenon.

So it was off to St. Gazonga’s Home for the Breasticularly Enhanced (the sign says SOHO’s Fine Food and Jazz should any other anthropologists wish to go). The food ain’t bad, the piano player is irritating, the SFDs were SFDs, but oh, the science!

I cursed myself for not bringing a camera; I’m convinced I’d have had a National Geographic article there.

After the third SFD, the piano player got better, and even the women that would not have looked out of place on the cover of ”Crack Whore!” magazine, had acquired that aura of film noir sophistication. It was about that time when a table of dispirited gentlemen was seated next to me and blocked my view. Normally I would have been annoyed, but I was willing to concede at this point that the SFD’s may have a little ethanol in them, and I wanted more. (Hell, the SFDs had enough alcohol in them to launch a V2).

To make a long story short, the gentlemen did not even glance at the scenery. With each passing SFD, I was convinced that something strange was going on. Were they in fact robots? Aliens? Robot aliens? Test subjects for some eeeeevil plan?

As it turns out, they were upper level managers from my own company.

“Why the long faces?” I asked them.

“We borrowed the CEO’s Classic 1972 Avanti and wrecked it.”

“Oooh, have you told him yet?” I replied with an almost believable look of concern.

“No, we haven’t even called the cops yet. We'd had a couple of drinks and wanted to wait a bit.” Apparently, the Avanti is an automobile that go very fast in a straight line, yet mysteriously can not steer around an illegally parked aramdillo, launching said vehicle into a dairy farm’s manure tank. Anyway, that was their explanation. I’m sure it had nothing to do with alcohol; they hadn't had that much to drink. Yet.

“Well, before you talk to the police, have a meal to absorb the booze, and wash it down with some of these non-alcoholic sissy fruit drinks.” I told them conspiratorially. “Now, where did this accident happen?”

The morons actually told me.

“For Christ’s sake, sober up!” I whispered after ordering them another round of SFDs. “Listen, pay my bill and I’ll go take care of everything.” They nodded gratefully.

I left them, found the wreck, and doused the interior with bourbon. After a few anonymous phone calls to the police, I went back to the hotel.

This morning, at about 10, the phone rang. It was the CEO.

“Do you have a minute, Evil?” He asked.

“Well, I’m in the middle of a tricky repair of the ancillary robot arm of our Zeta tool…” I replied while stretching luxuriously in bed. If we ever move to video phones I’m screwed.

“What’s up? Are any of the tools at home base down?” I asked innocently.

“Noooo, but we are in a bit of a spot. Some of our managers have had to leave us unexpectedly. Can you take over down there?”

I padded towards the commode and sat, in preparation to download last night’s steak.

Can do, Boss!” I replied enthusiastically. “I’m on it!” Literally.

“Great!” He replied. “This is a big promotion, Evil! God, I wish I had a dozen just like you!”

Nah, one’s enough. Eleven more and he might catch on. I thanked him and hung up, pleading a pressing engagement.

After the management draining seminar was completed, it turned to my next tasks.

My docket is loaded with important jobs like drinking, eating and porn surfing.

Busy, busy, busy is the life of a successful business exec.


And that's the way I likes it.