Saturday, May 17, 2003
Frequenters of CEO Lisa’s joint may have wondered why she changed her storefront all of a sudden. Well, I’m here to you what happened and I’m here to tell it precisely so, I might add.
As I sat in my office this past Friday, gentle reader, fiddling with my executive toys and looking forward to a weekend filled with wild boar hunting, I asked myself one of those life-changing questions.
“Self, how exactly does your company edify the community at large?”
I began to answer this question–honestly, fully, seriously–when my attention was suddenly diverted by a platter of sweetmeats and capers. I promptly proceeded to eat and polished off the entire platter.
Late afternoon rolled around and my doorman announced a visitor. Within moments, my faithful workers buzzed her up, and as soon as she stepped foot into my office, I nearly tasted my sweetmeats and capers for a second time.
“You’ve got to help me!” she wailed.
“And you are…?” I queried, fully cognizant of our last ill-fated meeting. CEO’s must feign unfamiliarity, you see.
“Don’t you remember me? Geneva? Bread? My problem?”
And I did remember, dear reader. I also remembered that Secondhand Rants dispatched a team of snipers to take care of her elfish problem.
“Well, my problem’s dead!”
“There, there gentle CEO,” I replied, pity in my eyes. “I’m sure he’s happier wherever he is.”
This was a patent lie, of course, as her blonde-headed elf actually resides in my Trophy Room–stuffed by my personal taxidermist, thank you very much.
“Have some refreshment,” I said as I handed her some fine wine laced with Forget-Me-Now™, a special drug formulated by our pharmaceutical division.
The moment I handed her the wine, a moral battle exploded within me.
“Should I hand her the drug? It’s not exactly approved by the FDA.”
“But it’s Friday afternoon!”
“What? It’s a potent drug, you know. She’ll forget everything. I’ve got to stop her.”
“Too late.”
Indeed, the foolish CEO had already downed the drink.
“I’m…I’m…” she started.
“What’s that?”
“I want…I want to–” she stumbled.
“–remodel your storefront circa late 2001, early 2002.”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s it. Well, I’m off! Thanks for everything. You’ve really helped…I think. Why am I here again?” she exclaimed as my doorman escorted her out.
And that, gentle reader, is why this company is important.
“Because you drug people?” you ask sassily.
“Talk to the sniping hand, biznatch.” Snipe.
Oh, one other thing. Per another CEO’s advice dispensed on May 12, 2003 at 11:07:18 PM, I let the wind re-style my hair. That part went well, but I lost about $60.00 in tips because my money kept flying away. If you’re reading this, my legal department will be in touch with you shortly.