Diversity can make you rich, part two...
As I related in a previous post, the Amazing Ball Squeezer can motivate your telemarketing sales task force to greater cash flow. More revenue means more taxes, and more taxes means more social spending.
After my complete inventory of this labor saving device was sold out to fellow activists active in the illegal immigrant economy, it was brought to my attention that the Amazing Ball Squeezer is racist, sexist, and insensitive to the plight of extinct species. To wit, those of our village peoples who have male genitalia but wish they did not are cruelly reminded with each squeeze, freeze, or scald, that their hated gonads are present and unremoved by a hateful Federal government in Ottawa that refuses to pay for sex change operations. Likewise, those village peoples without male genitalia but wish that they did are also cruelly reminded with each gurgle or giggle of their co-workers that they do not have state funded sex re-assigment gonads. Two communities have their feelings hurt, and not enough social spending to give them a hug! I burst into tears, looking down at my desk covered with the money from sales of the device. I felt dirty. What to do?
That night, accompanied by the beautiful Sonjia DeSade and Maximinus Thrax (head of security at the Mitchieville Public Library), I journeyed to the warehouse where the inventory of the device was stored. Normally, as a responsible corporate citizen, I would just put a stop payment on the cheque I used to buy them with. Happy fortune! I had used one of the toy cheques that was from my son's game of Bolshevik Monopoly.
Completely insensitive to the culture of Nocturnal-Canadians, the warehouse was closed, locked up. There was no Customer Service staff on duty. It was 3:13 am. What sort of heteronormative capitalist pig-dogs were these? I was shocked. How could we seize all of the dangerous devices before they hurt the feelings of other village peoples?
Lucky for society, Sonjia DeSade (dressed in her trademark latex catsuit (link)), was able to find a way into the facility, without tripping any of the alarms (thanks to the courses she took in electronics at George Brown College, DuPont Campus). She let Maximinus and myself into the facility.
The only person there was a security guard. He was duct taped to a chair in the staff kitchen, celebrating diversity by sweating profusely and staring at a cylinder of propane that was placed on the stove. The stove was off. I immediately recognized that this man was celebrating his religious belief system. He was feeling closeness to the hereafter. From the duct tape over his mouth, I concluded that he was embracing a vow of silence.
I gave him a comradely salute and left him in privacy, as he contemplated Set-Ka-blam-Oh, the fire god aspect of Set, the Snake God. I felt better. I could almost smell the mud flats outside of Crocodiliopolis, where pious believers celebrate the worship of Set, the Snake God, by providing a food bank for the Nile River crocodile.
Maximinus supervised a crew of Sturm-Librarians as they liberated the complete inventory of devices, along with a few crates of cigarettes, single malt scotch, and series wound DC motors. Good thing I had brought along the three trucks from the Mitchieville Public Library. These goods would go a long way to pay for carbon credits and ballet shoes for Africa. Sonjia amused herself with practicing with her piano wire cheese slicer; I read The Toronto Star. Soon, everything we wanted was loaded up, and we could leave.
After a cheerful Toodle-Pip to the pious and sweaty security guard, Sonjia DeSade, Maximinus Thrax, and myself climbed into my Mercedes roadster (certainly the most environmently friendly car on the road today according to a conversation I overheard on the subway) to return to Supreme Headquarters.
Sadly, the warehouse burnt down later that night. Certainly the fault of faulty wiring done by a non-union 'electrical' contractor and his gang of non-union 'electricians'. As the merchant never contacted me (even though I left a caring note in a thoughtful Hallmark card taped to the propane cylinder), I can only assume that he feels bad about selling non-politically correct merchandise because he knows what he did was wrong and that the health and safety of his family comes first in his mind. Sometimes, even heteronormatives can get it right.
And the good news is that supplies of the Amazing Ball Squeezer are now available, at a Fire Sale price of only 285.99! What a deal! Included is a brochure addressing political correctness. Wow!
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.
cross posted at dustmybroom, what more can I say...
After my complete inventory of this labor saving device was sold out to fellow activists active in the illegal immigrant economy, it was brought to my attention that the Amazing Ball Squeezer is racist, sexist, and insensitive to the plight of extinct species. To wit, those of our village peoples who have male genitalia but wish they did not are cruelly reminded with each squeeze, freeze, or scald, that their hated gonads are present and unremoved by a hateful Federal government in Ottawa that refuses to pay for sex change operations. Likewise, those village peoples without male genitalia but wish that they did are also cruelly reminded with each gurgle or giggle of their co-workers that they do not have state funded sex re-assigment gonads. Two communities have their feelings hurt, and not enough social spending to give them a hug! I burst into tears, looking down at my desk covered with the money from sales of the device. I felt dirty. What to do?
That night, accompanied by the beautiful Sonjia DeSade and Maximinus Thrax (head of security at the Mitchieville Public Library), I journeyed to the warehouse where the inventory of the device was stored. Normally, as a responsible corporate citizen, I would just put a stop payment on the cheque I used to buy them with. Happy fortune! I had used one of the toy cheques that was from my son's game of Bolshevik Monopoly.
Completely insensitive to the culture of Nocturnal-Canadians, the warehouse was closed, locked up. There was no Customer Service staff on duty. It was 3:13 am. What sort of heteronormative capitalist pig-dogs were these? I was shocked. How could we seize all of the dangerous devices before they hurt the feelings of other village peoples?
Lucky for society, Sonjia DeSade (dressed in her trademark latex catsuit (link)), was able to find a way into the facility, without tripping any of the alarms (thanks to the courses she took in electronics at George Brown College, DuPont Campus). She let Maximinus and myself into the facility.
The only person there was a security guard. He was duct taped to a chair in the staff kitchen, celebrating diversity by sweating profusely and staring at a cylinder of propane that was placed on the stove. The stove was off. I immediately recognized that this man was celebrating his religious belief system. He was feeling closeness to the hereafter. From the duct tape over his mouth, I concluded that he was embracing a vow of silence.
I gave him a comradely salute and left him in privacy, as he contemplated Set-Ka-blam-Oh, the fire god aspect of Set, the Snake God. I felt better. I could almost smell the mud flats outside of Crocodiliopolis, where pious believers celebrate the worship of Set, the Snake God, by providing a food bank for the Nile River crocodile.
Maximinus supervised a crew of Sturm-Librarians as they liberated the complete inventory of devices, along with a few crates of cigarettes, single malt scotch, and series wound DC motors. Good thing I had brought along the three trucks from the Mitchieville Public Library. These goods would go a long way to pay for carbon credits and ballet shoes for Africa. Sonjia amused herself with practicing with her piano wire cheese slicer; I read The Toronto Star. Soon, everything we wanted was loaded up, and we could leave.
After a cheerful Toodle-Pip to the pious and sweaty security guard, Sonjia DeSade, Maximinus Thrax, and myself climbed into my Mercedes roadster (certainly the most environmently friendly car on the road today according to a conversation I overheard on the subway) to return to Supreme Headquarters.
Sadly, the warehouse burnt down later that night. Certainly the fault of faulty wiring done by a non-union 'electrical' contractor and his gang of non-union 'electricians'. As the merchant never contacted me (even though I left a caring note in a thoughtful Hallmark card taped to the propane cylinder), I can only assume that he feels bad about selling non-politically correct merchandise because he knows what he did was wrong and that the health and safety of his family comes first in his mind. Sometimes, even heteronormatives can get it right.
And the good news is that supplies of the Amazing Ball Squeezer are now available, at a Fire Sale price of only 285.99! What a deal! Included is a brochure addressing political correctness. Wow!
I, Fenris Badwulf, wrote this.
cross posted at dustmybroom, what more can I say...
posted by The Mayor at 7:03 PM
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