cemetery symmetry

Well, fellas, we’re gonna have to face the shareholders in a few minutes, and let’s face it, they’re gonna be pissed. The product rollout for spring only had one new item, and it was a complete disaster. Who could have guessed that a piece of plywood painted to look like the spines of the collected works of Albert Camus and Immanuel Kant, intended to fit onto a bookshelf to obscure one’s collection of pornographic VHS tapes, wouldn’t have been more popular? I’d fire our whole research division for their ignorance of the existence of internet pornography, but the fact of the matter is that this was a failure not of execution, but of vision. And for that I, as CEO, must shoulder the blame. I admit, don’t know how to run this company. And while I’m hoping that admission will somehow absolve me of any responsibility, I don’t expect it to.

As you all know, my father, a man whose name, Old Man Johnson, is still whispered with reverence in the Italian marble corridors of this building, built this firm into one of the last 800-pound gorillas in this business, with nothing more than a dream and a handful of buttons, which was the only loan he could secure from the bank. With single-minded acquisitiveness he amassed his empire, all in hopes of achieving one goal: to groom his only son as successor. Though he spared no expense in making sure I would be ready when the time came, there was nothing in the curriculum at Exeter that could prepare me for the impossibility of living up to his legacy. Of course, if anyone had consulted me about it, they would have known that I wanted more than anything else to follow my dream of being a tax code attorney. Oh, to be continually awash in my two great loves: complex mathematical problems and volumes of Byzantine, impenetrable statutes! But it was not to be. And now here I am, in the Fat Elvis stage of a career that was never all that distinguished to begin with, surrounded by his contemporaries, whose only discernible skill is sycophancy and whose facial features grow more pelican-like each day.

All right, I suppose it’s time to face the music. The only encouraging news I have to offer these bloodthirsty wolves is that we’re working on finding innovative new revenue streams, in the wake of our failure to build a cost-effective model for our latest product, a robotic prehensile tail for today’s mom on the go. All right, let’s get this meeting over with. We’ve got to be out of the office by six tonight, so the DJ can move his equipment and the margarita machine in here. By the way, guys, it probably wouldn’t be wise to mention that I’ve been renting the boardroom out to a weekly swingers party.


1 Response to “cemetery symmetry”

  1. June 29, 2011 at 11:22 pm

    Flarn filth is the best in the game

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June 2011
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