It sounds like you're starting to get a festive atmosphere then! Can't you just dress one of the boys up as a Christmas tree instead (maybe bribe them with sweets)? Cheaper, fewer needles to drop off and have to clean up, and you can keep reminding them that trees don't move or talk :)
I saw you saw my November 1st post and while I'm still a little sorry about bringing it up, I am pleased that you've got other exciting things that you'd like to do and so are viewing it as an opportunity rather than a betrayal :) I do now feel slightly guilty that I've been keeping you from starting these exciting things sooner though....
Lights "It's just recycling," said Rupert. He was sitting behind a large pine desk with his elbows (pointy enough to have caused both of his divorces) resting on it and his chin (so pointless as to be circular) resting on his hands. His moustache, a tiny pencil thin line that reminded people of Terry Thomas, twitched of its own accord. "It's good for the environment, so people have to accept it." Marjorie, his personal assistant (this week; they had a strict rotation of four of them. The official word from HR was that this was to avoid any overwork of the assistants, who actually handled the entire C-suite between them; the semi-official line was that it was to avoid sexual harassment problems, and the actual reason was that no-one liked Rupert enough to work for him for longer than a week), simpered, wishing it weren't only Tuesday, and noted that down. Next to her a much fatter man who was sweating despite the coolness of the room mopped his brow with a handkerchief. "Yes Rupe," he said, ignoring the spasm of distaste that flickered on Rupert's face. "Sounds good and all, but you're really asking the elderly and the infirm to carry heavy weights about, aren't you? And charging them if they don't." "I don't know what you mean," said Rupert. "Empty bottle are light. Empty cans are light. I'm... I mean, we're saying that people should carry light things around. We're even calling the scheme Lights." "Very clever," said the fat man. He mopped his face again. "But if I have mobility problems--" "If?" asked Rupert. The man had waddled into the room practically gasping and he'd only walked a hundred metres. "Haha, if I have mobility problems then I'm not going to the shops every day, or even twice a week. So when I do go, I have to carry, what? Maybe twenty uncrushed two litre plastic bottles, and a bag of tin cans? That's heavier than the shopping I'm going to try and bring home!" "So give it to a neighbour," said Rupert. "They all have neighbours, don't they? Or grandchildren? The poor people are always reproducing. Like vermin." Marjorie carefully omitted the last two words from the minutes. "So... you're trying to get them to fight more?" asked the fat man. He wrang his handkerchief out and a stream of filtered sweat pattered onto the carpet. "They'll get distrustful over if they're getting their money back from the recycling or not?" "Yes," said Rupert. "More of them will end up dead from domestic violence, or they'll starve themselves out of paranoia, or they'll stop breeding because they cut themselves off. But the population of poors will reduce." Marjorie sighed very quietly and stopped writing. "Hmm," said the fat man. "I see. Socially appropriate, I suppose. At least, the Ministers will approve. What are you calling the scheme again?" "Lights," said Rupert. "As in, my name in."
Greg - if only, if only that tree thing would actually work.
It's all good, seriously. And there's no need to feel guilty about my inability to see something until you pointed at it with both hands and both feet and a neon blinking sign.
Another angle on the reducing population thing, huh? Very well crafted. I do feel sorry for Marjorie, which is an accomplishment considering the only other person that name brings to mind is... you know what? I don't even want to think of the right word to describe her.
2 comments:
It sounds like you're starting to get a festive atmosphere then! Can't you just dress one of the boys up as a Christmas tree instead (maybe bribe them with sweets)? Cheaper, fewer needles to drop off and have to clean up, and you can keep reminding them that trees don't move or talk :)
I saw you saw my November 1st post and while I'm still a little sorry about bringing it up, I am pleased that you've got other exciting things that you'd like to do and so are viewing it as an opportunity rather than a betrayal :) I do now feel slightly guilty that I've been keeping you from starting these exciting things sooner though....
Lights
"It's just recycling," said Rupert. He was sitting behind a large pine desk with his elbows (pointy enough to have caused both of his divorces) resting on it and his chin (so pointless as to be circular) resting on his hands. His moustache, a tiny pencil thin line that reminded people of Terry Thomas, twitched of its own accord. "It's good for the environment, so people have to accept it."
Marjorie, his personal assistant (this week; they had a strict rotation of four of them. The official word from HR was that this was to avoid any overwork of the assistants, who actually handled the entire C-suite between them; the semi-official line was that it was to avoid sexual harassment problems, and the actual reason was that no-one liked Rupert enough to work for him for longer than a week), simpered, wishing it weren't only Tuesday, and noted that down. Next to her a much fatter man who was sweating despite the coolness of the room mopped his brow with a handkerchief.
"Yes Rupe," he said, ignoring the spasm of distaste that flickered on Rupert's face. "Sounds good and all, but you're really asking the elderly and the infirm to carry heavy weights about, aren't you? And charging them if they don't."
"I don't know what you mean," said Rupert. "Empty bottle are light. Empty cans are light. I'm... I mean, we're saying that people should carry light things around. We're even calling the scheme Lights."
"Very clever," said the fat man. He mopped his face again. "But if I have mobility problems--"
"If?" asked Rupert. The man had waddled into the room practically gasping and he'd only walked a hundred metres.
"Haha, if I have mobility problems then I'm not going to the shops every day, or even twice a week. So when I do go, I have to carry, what? Maybe twenty uncrushed two litre plastic bottles, and a bag of tin cans? That's heavier than the shopping I'm going to try and bring home!"
"So give it to a neighbour," said Rupert. "They all have neighbours, don't they? Or grandchildren? The poor people are always reproducing. Like vermin."
Marjorie carefully omitted the last two words from the minutes.
"So... you're trying to get them to fight more?" asked the fat man. He wrang his handkerchief out and a stream of filtered sweat pattered onto the carpet. "They'll get distrustful over if they're getting their money back from the recycling or not?"
"Yes," said Rupert. "More of them will end up dead from domestic violence, or they'll starve themselves out of paranoia, or they'll stop breeding because they cut themselves off. But the population of poors will reduce."
Marjorie sighed very quietly and stopped writing.
"Hmm," said the fat man. "I see. Socially appropriate, I suppose. At least, the Ministers will approve. What are you calling the scheme again?"
"Lights," said Rupert. "As in, my name in."
Greg - if only, if only that tree thing would actually work.
It's all good, seriously. And there's no need to feel guilty about my inability to see something until you pointed at it with both hands and both feet and a neon blinking sign.
Another angle on the reducing population thing, huh? Very well crafted. I do feel sorry for Marjorie, which is an accomplishment considering the only other person that name brings to mind is... you know what? I don't even want to think of the right word to describe her.
Onward!
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