Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Freak of the Devil
Ah, examination time. Today the head honchos of Bensaki Co. (the name misleads people into thinking i own it) visit my lonely desk for the annual checkup on their sole outlet of production. (The remainder of their year consists of meetings, golf, meetings about golf, golf meetings, golfing while eating meat, meetings on the Gulf, meeting some golfers, golfing for meat, meeting for golf, hunting for meat on the Gulf, and the particularly smelly pastime of meatgolfing.) They generally don't care whether or not I do my job, since all their income is derived from the highly experimental and, for now, competition-free business of desert island vending machines. However, once a year, they must file a report on the doings and undoings of the corporation's eponymous day-freaker, as decreed by the CEO, joint minister of sheep spit collection, and Holy Roman Emperor of Bensaki Co., Gordon the Singing Wheelchair. So as I sit and clip my toenails over a spicy kettle of goulash (whoa - ambiguous sentence), I must make an effort to look productive. You'd think, after all, that one day out of the year i'd be able to -- oh no, here they come!
(Gordon the Singing Wheelchair enters, accompanied by the Electric Disco Fencepost and a Fabio action figure. The rest of the post suddenly takes the form of a dramatic dialogue.)
bensaki (springing to his feet): Hello! Hello, sirs, um, objects, er, your majesties. Here, I made some brand new Corvettes for you. Take a couple.
Fabio: I'm afraid we have to talk business, Mr. Saki. The fact is, things aren't looking so good. These numbers... I have literally pages full of numbers here... and none of them look good. They look downright unappealing to the eye.
The Electric Disco Fencepost: We printed them in several different fonts, too, and it didn't help at all.
bensaki: Well, there must be something we can do. Maybe if you added a bunch of them together, or translated them into binary code, or like made a song out of them or something...
Gordon: A song made of numbers? Please, that only worked for Tommy Tutone, and where is he today?
Fabio: I don't think you realize how serious this is, Bob-Soccer. We have it on good authority from the class tattletale that these numbers are mostly your fault, that you don't plan on doing anything to change them, and that you're a nose-picker-booger-licker. What do you have to say about that?
bensaki: Hmm, crap, it's been so long since my playground days. Let's see... I know you are rubber and I'm glue, but what am I? Something like that.
Gordon: Watch your step, son. You're living on a prayer.
TEDF: We'll give you one last chance to prove to us that you belong here, or else you'd better start filing the necessary paperwork to legally change your official name to Hasbensaki.
bensaki: All right... I didn't want to have to do this, but it's okay, because I secretly wanted to have to do this, despite how I dreaded this inevitable event while anxiously awaiting it and praying it would never come while preparing excitedly for its arrival and cowering in fear from the sheer delight of the terror of the joy of the sorrow of the intense pleasure of the shattering pain of -
Fabio: Now you're stalling, Sockbreath. Freak us up or get the freak out.
bensaki: OK! Fine, here. I was saving this for a real emergency, but i guess i can blow it on the likes of you. How do you tell the difference between a singing wheelchair and a no-good washed-up has-been wanna-be compound-word?
TEDF: How?
bensaki: You ask if his name is Gordon. (runs away)
Gordon (in something of a huff): That's it! School's out for summer, but you, my friend, are out FOREVER! (makes threatening movements of his adjustable seat)
And that's how I was fired from a corporation that didn't need me anyway. The last laugh was on them, though. On my way out, I switched around the letters in "Bensaki, Co." to spell "i, soCk Bane." Yeah, they didn't get it either. Whatever.
Ah, examination time. Today the head honchos of Bensaki Co. (the name misleads people into thinking i own it) visit my lonely desk for the annual checkup on their sole outlet of production. (The remainder of their year consists of meetings, golf, meetings about golf, golf meetings, golfing while eating meat, meetings on the Gulf, meeting some golfers, golfing for meat, meeting for golf, hunting for meat on the Gulf, and the particularly smelly pastime of meatgolfing.) They generally don't care whether or not I do my job, since all their income is derived from the highly experimental and, for now, competition-free business of desert island vending machines. However, once a year, they must file a report on the doings and undoings of the corporation's eponymous day-freaker, as decreed by the CEO, joint minister of sheep spit collection, and Holy Roman Emperor of Bensaki Co., Gordon the Singing Wheelchair. So as I sit and clip my toenails over a spicy kettle of goulash (whoa - ambiguous sentence), I must make an effort to look productive. You'd think, after all, that one day out of the year i'd be able to -- oh no, here they come!
(Gordon the Singing Wheelchair enters, accompanied by the Electric Disco Fencepost and a Fabio action figure. The rest of the post suddenly takes the form of a dramatic dialogue.)
bensaki (springing to his feet): Hello! Hello, sirs, um, objects, er, your majesties. Here, I made some brand new Corvettes for you. Take a couple.
Fabio: I'm afraid we have to talk business, Mr. Saki. The fact is, things aren't looking so good. These numbers... I have literally pages full of numbers here... and none of them look good. They look downright unappealing to the eye.
The Electric Disco Fencepost: We printed them in several different fonts, too, and it didn't help at all.
bensaki: Well, there must be something we can do. Maybe if you added a bunch of them together, or translated them into binary code, or like made a song out of them or something...
Gordon: A song made of numbers? Please, that only worked for Tommy Tutone, and where is he today?
Fabio: I don't think you realize how serious this is, Bob-Soccer. We have it on good authority from the class tattletale that these numbers are mostly your fault, that you don't plan on doing anything to change them, and that you're a nose-picker-booger-licker. What do you have to say about that?
bensaki: Hmm, crap, it's been so long since my playground days. Let's see... I know you are rubber and I'm glue, but what am I? Something like that.
Gordon: Watch your step, son. You're living on a prayer.
TEDF: We'll give you one last chance to prove to us that you belong here, or else you'd better start filing the necessary paperwork to legally change your official name to Hasbensaki.
bensaki: All right... I didn't want to have to do this, but it's okay, because I secretly wanted to have to do this, despite how I dreaded this inevitable event while anxiously awaiting it and praying it would never come while preparing excitedly for its arrival and cowering in fear from the sheer delight of the terror of the joy of the sorrow of the intense pleasure of the shattering pain of -
Fabio: Now you're stalling, Sockbreath. Freak us up or get the freak out.
bensaki: OK! Fine, here. I was saving this for a real emergency, but i guess i can blow it on the likes of you. How do you tell the difference between a singing wheelchair and a no-good washed-up has-been wanna-be compound-word?
TEDF: How?
bensaki: You ask if his name is Gordon. (runs away)
Gordon (in something of a huff): That's it! School's out for summer, but you, my friend, are out FOREVER! (makes threatening movements of his adjustable seat)
And that's how I was fired from a corporation that didn't need me anyway. The last laugh was on them, though. On my way out, I switched around the letters in "Bensaki, Co." to spell "i, soCk Bane." Yeah, they didn't get it either. Whatever.
