Showing posts with label book parody. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book parody. Show all posts

Monday, December 28, 2015

Your Daily Dose of HR Doings: Insectual Harassment


Your Daily Dose of HR Doings: 
 Insectual Harassment

Human Resources professionals may soon be girding themselves for one of the most difficult challenges HR has faced since the question of whether to allow tank tops at the company picnic.

That challenge?  A new cause of action against your company known as "Insectual Harassment."

A hotly contested legal case is now wending its way through the courts and if it continues wending, it'll soon be wending your way. It began last August when a 37 year old man named Gregor Samsa awoke from uneasy dreams and found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.  In his own words: 

"I was lying on my hard back and when I lifted my head a little I could see my dome-like brown belly divided into stiff arched segments and my numerous legs, which were pitifully thin, waving helplessly before my eyes.  'What is happening to me?' I wondered.  And I must remember to cancel the exterminator for Thursday." 

Mr. Samsa's day did not improve when he went in to work and encountered a number of his co-workers attempting to step on him.  Mr. Samsa was shortly called in to see the HR Manager who told Mr. Samsa that he was being terminated on the spot but at least offered him healthy severance in the form of not squashing him on the way out.

Practice Pointers:  Do not act hastily when an employee comes into work one morning and has been turned overnight into an enormous bug. Take time to speak with the bug.  Offer the bug a cup of smaller insects and remember to banish the word "eeek" from your vocabulary. Do not swat the bug. Try to determine if the bug can still perform his or her job effectively.  If you run a hand modeling agency, well, that may be a problem.

Protected classes of employees under the federal anti-discrimination laws are race, religion, gender, age, nationality, military status, and disability but not being transformed overnight into a giant bug.  Some states have recognized additional classes such as sexual preference, transgender status, and having an innee rather than an outtee.

Samsa v. Shearson Lehman is now poised to add Insectual Harassment to the list. In an analogous case, Lot v. Morton's Salt, Mr. Lot’s wife underwent a similar spontaneous transformation as Mr. Samsa although instead of being transformed into a bug she was transformed into a pillar of salt.  Her anti-discrimination claim was rejected, however, because although Mrs. Lot was tasty, being granules of salt as opposed to a whole person prohibited her from performing her job duties as a spot welder.

Practice Pointers: Being transformed overnight into a bug may well be considered a disability similar to being turned into a pillar of salt, although salt is generally more welcome at your dinner table.  If the disabled bug can yet perform his essential job duties, described as those duties a worker cannot shirk no matter how many times he can convince you his grandmother died, you might have to provide the bug reasonable accommodation such as getting him an ergonomic chair, affording him special hours, or providing him human blood to suck on at breaks. 
            
  As the case nears trial, Mr. Samsa is sanguine about its prospects although it's hard to tell if he is truly sanguine since he is kind of a mottled brown.  A positive determination would make all Insectual Harassment illegal including the most insidious kind of Insectual Harassment of them all, Quid Pro Quo Insectual Harassment. This is the type of harassment in which  a supervisor or manager offers a promotion, raise or other job benefits to a bug in exchange for the bug agreeing never to have sex with him.

Practice Pointers:  Now is the time to make your workplace "Employee-Turned-Overnight-Into-A-Bug Friendly."  Do not require a human being turned into a bug to sit on the venetian blinds in a meeting instead of in a regular seat. Don't tell a joke such as "What has 18 legs and six boobs?" even if the answer is the Supreme Court. Promise that complaints of Insectual Harassment will be investigated promptly and thoroughly with appropriate discipline imposed for any offenders up to and including stinging the shit out of them.

As the Samsa litigation wends forward, Your Daily Dose of HR Doings will continue to keep you fully informed, provided you continue paying the $49.99 a year subscription price. With careful planning, sensitivity, and training, you too can handle Insectual Harassment like a Human Resources pro!

Even though HR still won’t get no respect.

Tomorrow: The case of Gilligan v. Skipper   ---   It was supposed to be only a three hour tour.  Is Mr. Gilligan entitled to overtime for all time spent on that dopey island?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday, July 31, 2015

Write It Down! (FF)

 © G.L. MacMillan

"Henry!  Henry Jekyll!  I'm coming down the hall to see you!"

"Just a minute, Charles," called Hyde. "I'm ... uh ... dressing."

"OMG!" thought Hyde in desperation. "It's such a complicated formula. Why didn't I write it down?!"

"Let's see … yes, half a beaker of the blue bottle, third from the left, bottom shelf. Then 25 milligrams from the yellow bottle, top shelf.... no, no, that's middle shelf!"

"Henry, got to come in now!"

"Why didn't I write it down?!! Okay, a swig of this green bottle, hope for the best!"

"Hello, Henry.  Just wanted to return this Robert Louis Stevenson book I borrowed."

"Thank you, Charles."

"Oh, and Henry?"

"Yes, Charles?"

"I'd humbly suggest you either get your hair cut eight feet shorter or learn to WRITE IT DOWN!" 
~~~~~~~~~~~

Let's hope you're a bit better at extricating yourself from hairy situations than our friend Hyde. In any event, here's a lesson we all should learn: Always write it down! Especially when there's going to be a quiz later that goes on your permanent record.  

To check out the permanent records of the other Friday Fictioneers when it comes to the picture prompt above, please remember to click here. It would be a strange case indeed if you're not fully entertained.

Oh, and one more important thing to remember --- www.perryblock.com. 
I'd humbly suggest you WRITE IT DOWN!

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Dracula 2015 - An Epistolary Novel

Yes, it will be my pleasure to poke you!

An epistolary novel is a novel written as a series of documents such as letters, diary entries, and newspaper clippings.  Printed in 1897, Dracula by Bram Stoker is one of most well-known epistolary novels, compiled entirely of letters, diary entries, newspaper clippings, telegrams, doctor's notes, ship's logs, and the like.

But what if Dracula were written today?


Jonathan Harker's Twitter
                  
Jonathan Harker @HarkMan
WOOT!  Transylvania will be awesome! Dude named Dracula texted me &      I'm off!  Luv u, @Mina_HotChick! ♥ ♥ ♥!!!!  

Jonathan Harker @HarkMan
On train thru Carpathian Mts.  Peasant women here look pretty except when u get near them, they all look like actor Jonah Hill in a babushka! 


 Jonathan Harker @HarkMan
 Frightened old lady in hotel heard me talk of Dracula and put crucifix  around my  neck!    WTF?  #DontTellRabbiMishkin


 Jonathan Harker @HarkMan
 On coach to Borgo Pass.  Odd; other passengers outdoing one another  pointing at me, clutching throats, & making gagging sounds!    Woohoo!


 Jonathan Harker @HarkMan
 Have arrived at crumbling old Castle Dracula. Place could use work.    Nothing that a coat of paint & 6 wrecking balls couldn't  cure! #WhataDump  

Jonathan Harker @HarkMan
Starting to think visiting Dracula may turn out to be as much fun as attending same-sex wedding w/ Justice Scalia!  :-(    :-(    :-(   


Dracula's Twitter


Dracula@Fangsalot46
I am @Fangsalot46.   I tweet you welcome, @HarkMan! #SpidertotheFly


Dracula@Fangsalot46
Woohoo, I luv Twitter!  I have over 17,000 followers. Of course, most of them follow me with torches, pitchforks, and pickaxes!  LOL!!!  :-)



Dracula@Fangsalot46
How about giving me a retweet on that one, @HarkMan?  I get more RTs than Kim Kardashian's bare ass ever did!  #AskTheNearestZombie


Dracula@Fangsalot46
WOOT! The Childen of the Night; What music they make!  Wait,  I'm sensing a boy band here ....  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Backstreet_Boys


Dracula@Fangsalot46
Make yourself at home,@HarkMan! Tomorrow there will be breakfast, and since this is Twitter, with bacon & copious amounts of coffee!    
             

Dracula@Fangsalot46
No, I never drink .... coffee.  Just sayin' .   

            
Dracula@Fangsalot46
I bid you good night, @HarkMan.  Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite. That's my job!  LMFAO!  #WannaNeck?   


Jonathan Harker's Facebook


Jonathan Harker

Dearest Mina.  I must now communicate via Facebook because the Count is a Tweethead! What's worse, he LOLs his own jokes and insists I give him RTs! Dracula is a bizarre diseased creature who recoils at the sight of a crucifix, casts no reflection in a mirror, and roots for the Phillies!  Oh, Mina, please comfort me by posting a picture of Pedals, our adorable kitten! 



 Mina Murray's Facebook

Mina Murray

Of course, dearest Jonathan! Here is  our sweet Pedals, all dressed up like a vampire from last Halloween!


  


Jonathan Harker's Facebook


Jonathan Harker
Mina, remind me when I get back we have to talk about our relationship!


Dracula's  Facebook
 Dracula

So you are on Facebook too, my dear young sir?  Please friend me, then I will poke you.  Believe me, I will poke you!!!  (And Go, Phils!) 


Jonathan Harker's LinkedIn

 Jonathan Harker
Current Position:Solicitor (Living) 
Next Position: Solicitor (?)

Mina, the count is an ardent Facebooker too! I must now communicate through LinkedIn.  Nobody but nobody uses LinkedIn, especially people who want to get a job.



Dracula's LinkedIn
Dracula
Previous Position: Sucking the Blood of Crusaders
Current Position: Free Lance Blood Sucker (No, not an attorney)

Good Evening, Mr. Harker! Note that I have already endorsed you for European travel, real estate development, and Deliciousness! I am afraid you are out of luck now with social networks, unless you want to use JDate!




Jonathan Harker's Twitter   
               
   Jonathan Harker @HarkMan
 @Mina_HotChick! Had a tete a tete w/ the Count & all is fine. You will be a bite ... I mean, sight ... for sore eyes!  Luv u!  ♥ ♥ ♥!!!! #WannaNeck?

End.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Friday, February 13, 2015

I'll Never Be Hungry Again! (FF)

Copyright - Rochelle Wisoff Fields


Fade out, music plays, first part of movie is over.

Intermission

Fade In, music plays.

"Oh Rhett, how thoughtul .... Olive Garden!"

"Eat as many bread sticks as you like, Scarlett." 

"As God is my witness, I swear I'll never be hungry again! But what about the bill, Rhett?"


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Frankly, my friends, one would wonder whether Scarlett might have preferred to starve under this scenario.  However, at least I've cut to the chase and brought our protagonists together far more quickly then ever before and saved you an hour and a half of the more boring parts of this movie in the doing.

And yes, as my Valentines's Day Friday Fictioneers present to you, I have brought you Rhett and Scarlett and soggy breadsticks, which you'll find strikingly similar to your actual Valentine's Day except without Rhett and Scarlett. You can check out the Valentine's Day presents from the other Fictioneers by clicking here. 

You'll never be hungry for flash fiction again.

(Note: I just changed the name of this piece because everyone was focusing on bread sticks, not Gone with the Wind. This is a GWTW spoof with an ancillary joke about Olive Garden food.  I hope this is more clear.) 

Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Don't Bug Me! (FF)



As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed into a gigantic insect.

“Well, this isn’t going to do much to add to my popularity,” Gregor thought. He hoisted himself on his painfully thin spindly legs and wobbled out toward his family.

“Boy, I’m not very coordinated,” he thought. “I used to be able to fairly well fly through the air.”

“Gregor!” screamed his mother,”you’re a bug!”

“Tell me what I don’t know,” replied Gregor.

“We’ll have to get you to a specialist,” said Gregor’s father. “Maybe they can turn you back into bacteria like all the rest of us.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Poor Gregor’s plight is nothing to sneeze at. Turning a bug back into bacteria has got to be almost as difficult as being an executive at Sony Pictures these days.

My story based on the picture prompt above is just one of many such stories authored by the Friday Fictioneers which you can access by clicking here. I know you'll enjoy them.  

Now don't bug me!

Saturday, December 6, 2014

NaNoWriMo, More or Less


NaNoWriMo?  We wouldn't miss it!

National Novel Writing Month, also known as NaNoWriMo, is an annual internet-based writing project that takes place each year during November and has just wrapped up for another year.  NaNoWriMo challenges participants to write an entire novel during the period from November 1 through November 30. 

All of which freaks me the hell out. 

I have never taken part in NaNoWriMo because for me to write a complete novel within a month would require the Gregorian Calendar to include months with a minimum of 8500 days, and last time I checked November falls a bit short of that. However many people do rise to the challenge, and I understand even some of our greatest novelists have gotten their start the NaNoWriMo way ....


James Joyce: Fyodor!  How are you?  

Fyodor Dostoyevsky:  Jimmy!  Why, I haven't seen you since the last time we got together in Paris. 


Joyce: That was so fun!  I don't think I've ever seen you that wasted.


Dostoyevsky:  Tell me, Jimmy, how did you make out with NaNoWriMo?


Joyce:  Not great, Fyodor.  Writing a novel in one month is tough, especially when it's 800 pages long, mostly stream of consciousness, and steeped in allusions to practically every cultural, religious, and literary concept and event in all of history.


Dostoyevsky: So? Didja finish? 


Joyce: Umm ... no.


Dostoyevsky: How far did you get?


Joyce:  Well, I got me this title here.


Dostoyevsky:  "Ulysses."  Okay, what's it mean?


Joyce:  Still working on that.


Dostoyevsky:   Well, Jimmy, it's a very cool title. 


Joyce:  What did you write for NaNoWriMo?


Dostoyevsky: A sprawling novel focusing on the mental anguish and moral delimma springing from the commission of a crime and the implications of individual punishment vs spiritual redemption set against the backdrop and turmoil of Pre-Revolutionary Russia.  It's called Crime and Punishment.


Joyce: Cool!  How's it come out?


Dostoyevsky: Who knows? I'm only up to Crime, nowhere near Punishment. Right now the crime's just a small traffic violation, but I may pump it up to a misdemeanor.


Joyce: Oh shit!  Look who's coming!

Dostoyevsky: Fuck!  Hemingway! He always finishes his novel by Thanksgiving and then lords it over us.


Hemingway:  Hiya, boys!  How's NaNoWriMo treating you?


Dostoyevsky and Joyce: Fine, Ernie, fine ... copacetic....super peachy .... thanks for asking!


Hemingway: Sure. Me, I just tossed out a little cupcake called The Old Man and the Sea.  Wanna see it?


Joyce:  Yeah, I wouldn't mind  ... wait a minute!  This book isn't even 100 pages long! 


Dostoyevsky:  And it's big print too!

Joyce:  And look at all these lame little sentences: 
 "The old man loved the fish." "The fish loved the old man." "The old man and the fish moved in together."

Hemingway:  Can I help it that you guys are verbose?  

Dostoyevsky and Joyce:  What?!!

Hemingway: James, a reworking of the Odyssey in modern times? The Coen Brother did that in O Brother, Where Art Thou and wrapped it up in under two hours. Fyodor, the moral and societal implications of crime and punishment? Ever seen Law and Order? They do it every week!

Dostoyevsky: That's it!  Let me at him!  I'm going to hold him down and force him to watch Hemingway & Gelhorn!

Joyce:  Fyodor, Fyodor, stop it stop it!

Dostoyevsky: Why?

Joyce: For one, he's a boxer.  For two,  he's run with the bulls in Pamplona. For three, Alice  B. Toklas won't give us hash brownies 
any more!

Hemingway: C'mon, guys, let's all have a drink; tomorrow is another year. After all, The Sun Also Rises!  


Joyce:  Uh-oh.


Hemingway:  Which gets me thinking ....


Dostoyevsky: Oh, shit, Jimmy, I think we're screwed for next year too.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Monday, December 1, 2014

Sam Kane, Finder of Lost Holidays















LA is a city of some seven million people.  That's a lot of folks with a lot of different hopes, dreams, and aspirations. Me, I'm just another one of the seven million.  But my line of work is a bit different from most of the other suckers.

I'm Sam Kane, Finder of Lost Holidays!

How did I get into this racket? I used to be Sam Kane, Finder of Lost Cellphones. That was good money at $500 a day plus expenses until people caught on all they had to do was dial their own cellphone number and they'd find their phone under the bed or in their other pants pocket. 

So I'm working the holiday heist beat these days. I'd like to say it's a living, but with three ex-wives and enough alimony to sink Bill Gates, that it could never be!

Well, I was sitting in my office on a Thursday afternoon that was so slow Governor Christie could have beaten it in a foot race. I was boning up on the latest news in lost or missing holidays  --- North Dakota's Rock Salt Festival had just gone missing and in Indonesia someone had ripped off Kimono Dragon Entrails Day --- when she came in.

"Mr. Kane?"

"Yeah, doll?"

"I need your help."

The dame stood four foot three with a shape like a bassoon.  She had short tufts of red hair, a pushed in nose, and toenails you could use for mountain climbing. If you're looking for a story with a little romantic interlude later on, you better look elsewhere.  

"So what's your beef, sister?"


"Mr. Kane, I'm Angelica Who from Whoville."

I was familiar with Whoville. I'd spent two weeks there one night. 

"Mr. Kane," she went on, "someone has stolen Christmas!"


"Beg pardon?"


"Everythings gone. Decorations, presents, Santa, reindeer, elves ..."


"Baby Jesus too?"


"Yes, Baby Jesus too!  And every last bit of gold, frankincense, and myrrh."


And myrrh!  The words cut through me like a knife sold on a late night infomercial which dramatically cuts your time making julienne fries.  Only one man was devious enough to steal myrrh.  The same one man who actually knew what myrrh was!

"Sister, I already know who the culprit is," I told Ms. Who."It's Maximilian De Grinchford Jr., an international holiday thief of great renown, also known as the Grinch."

"How do you know it's him?" asked the Whoville doll.

"The Grinch is the only one who has the capability to pull off this job. Why, he's the one who stole St. Clorox Day!"  

"What's St. Clorox Day?"

"See that?  Stole it so cleanly you don't even remember it existed. It was the late March holiday for liquid bleach."


I knew that the Grinch had been seen in Eastern Europe trying to fence parts of Labor Day he'd stolen last September, specifically a load of barbecue equipment and one beer cooler. I bid Ms. Who goodbye after grabbing a retainer of $250 and credit for one shitload of candy canes once I got Christmas back, and headed for Prague in the Czech Republic.


Upon arrival I made a number of connections among the seamiest and most dangerous of local underworld types including guys with highly visible neck tattoos that read "I Savor Parsing the New Yorker" until I found a gentleman named Willie the Snitch who directed me to Cafe Praguelegs, where at long last at a corner table behind a vail of smoke seated next to a leggy blond was the green-hued gentleman I knew as the Grinch. 

"Hello, Grinch, it's been a while."

"Kane! Why, I haven't seen you since you tried to pin that St. Clorox Day job on me. Getting whiter whites these days, are you?"

I wasn't gonna rise to the bait.

"Grinch, I'm not going to screw around.  You've got Christmas, I want it back."

"I don't know anything about any Christmas, Kane,"  said the Grinch.

"Then why is Will Ferrell as Elf sticking out of your left pocket?"

"Um ... no, Kane, that's not Will Ferrell as Elf.  That's Will Ferrell as Anchorman. Totally different thing."

Sounded reasonable.  But then I remembered the Grinch thought Anchorman was overrated, just like I did. I leaped at the Grinch with a karate chop to the neck, but unfortunately I missed and killed Will Ferrell.  Kind of a shame but at least we're spared another Anchorman sequel.

And thus began a chase across the four corners of he world

I caught up with the Grinch in Istanbul, where we exchanged gunfire. I had to exchange mine because it was in the wrong color and size;  I don't why he took his back. Then I tracked him to Venezuela where 
we fought hand to hand, then Madrid where we fought hand to ankle and nose to elbow, and finally to Stockholm where we fought hair weave to hair weave and hand wave to hand wave at a distance of 25 feet. 

I knocked the Grinch to the ground with a hand wave nothing short of the way Granny waves at the end of The Beverly Hillbillies and was upon him.

"WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!"  I cried "WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!!"

  "Kane!  Kane! I give up," gasped the Grinch.



"WHERE'S CHRISTMAS?!!!" 


"You're not going to believe me, Kane," sputtered the Grinch, "but I gave it away!"

"You gave it away?  You gave it away? Well, excuse me, Mother Teresa!"

"I swear it, Kane! I gave it away."

"To whom?"

"I gave it to the people of Liberia, Sierra Leone, and everywhere in Western Africa struggling with Ebola. They need it."

I was stunned.

"I'll have to confirm that, Grinch.  But what possessed you?"

"For some reason this year, Kane, my heart grew three sizes."

"That's impressive, Grinch.  I'd like to duplicate that growth on myself, but on a different body part."

Well, it turned out the Grinch was telling the truth.  He'd given the nations of Western Africa a one year loaner of Christmas, to be returned to the folks of Whoville by next year. When I told them, the residents of Whoville were delighted to help out those less fortunate in this way.  Plus I'd still get all my promised candy canes next year and I had a pretty hot romantic interlude with Angelica Who after all.  

What are you gonna do?

As for me and the Grinch ...

"Well, Grinch, it looks like this could be the start of a beautiful friendship! Grinch?  Grinch?"

"Goddamit, Grinch, get your hands off Hanukkah!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Fahrenheit 451 Again & Again



Montag was aghast!   All his books were to be burned. 

"Please, Captain, no!  Don't destroy my books!"  

"Is this your favorite book?" sneered the Captain. "It's got to be burned with all the others!"

Montag lunged at the Captain to grab the book, but the Captain snatched it away and flung it on the fire!

"Curse you!" cried Montag.  All that he had loved, all that he prized, all that had ever warmed his soul was now a mass of flaming cinders. 

"But why, Captain?  Why?!!"

"Montag, you know burned books are better for barbecue than charcoal briquettes."

"But my favorite book!"

"It's just The Jennifer Lawrence Nudie Collection.  It's all over the Internet anyway."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is my third parody of Fahrenheit 451, which means two things:  (1) this is a heckuva good novel to parody, and (2) I better read some more novels. My favorite of the three parodies is here, the other one is here.  I wouldn't waste my time with either.

While there may not be quite 451 Friday Fictioneers yet, there are plenty of Fictioneers offering takes on the above picture prompt if you click here. I'd recommend you do it.

Oh, no, now they want to burn this post!    Pretty good idea, I'd say.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

If Albert Camus Wrote Colonial Penn Life Insurance Commercials













Mother died today.  Or maybe yesterday, I can't be sure. 

The Home for Aged Persons is at Marengo, some fifty miles from Algiers. It seemed to me absurd that in this empty God-less universe without any meaning or purpose it was necessary to shell out 15 dollars (30 bucks round trip!) just to ride a smelly and bumpy auto-bus to attend one's mother's funeral when I could just as well have stayed home and watched Django Unchained if I wanted to hang with dead people. 

Upon my arrival at the asylum I met with the director of the facility.

"I know how hard this must be for you," said Monsieur le Directeur. "Now I suppose you'd like to see your mother?"  

"Nah," I replied, "what ya got to eat here? You got cable?  Last season for True Blood, you know!"

The director seemed a bit surprised by my response, but not at all judgmental.

"Holy crap, Monsieur Meursault!  Mr. Touchy-Feely you ain't!  But there's something more I wish to tell you.  About your Mother's final expenses."

"I knew it. Mahjong losses! I should have known better than to put her in a Jewish retirement home."  

"No, that's not it at all, Monsieur Meursault!   You see, your mother had life insurance through the Colonial Penn Insurance Group. All her final expenses were paid."

"“How could Mother have secured life insurance?” I asked the director. “The way she huffed and puffed Gauloises, she had long ago been designated a Superfund Site by the EPA.”


"With Colonial Penn," explained the director, "your acceptance is guaranteed." 
                                                             
"There is nothing guaranteed in this cold soulless universe, Monsieur le Directeur, except death and rejection by cheerleaders."

"Not so, Monsieur Meursault.  With Colonial Penn, you cannot be turned down for any reason."

"What if you're on death row after having murdered an Arab?"

"I ... uh .... suppose that's okay.  And there's no health questions."

"Like are you a syphilitic pimp or a drug addict who'll turn tricks for a bottle of NyQuil?"

"Boy, you’re tough!  Who picked you for this commercial, the same guy who green lighted Gigli?"

"You see, Monsieur le Directeur," I explained, "we live in an absurd universe and our only option short of suicide is to seek to create within ourselves our own subjective and individual meaning, truth, and purpose. I've got the Cliff's Notes if you want to know more."

Suddenly I heard a voice.  It was familiar and reassuring.


"Hello, I'm Alex Trebek, compensated spokesperson for Colonial Penn Life Insurance. You know what that means: I'm Colonial Penn's bitch.

If you're between the ages of 50 and my age, now you can get life insurance for less than 35 cents a day. That's less than the cost of a newspaper, if anyone ever read one anymore.  And your rate will never go up and your paltry misleading benefit will never go down."  

Gazing up at the dark sky spangled with its signs and stars, I opened myself up for the first time to a universe throbbing with meaning and purpose.  I realized at last that the answer to the mystery of existence was life insurance from Colonial Penn Insurance Group. Who could ever doubt the venerable host of Jeopardy? Who could doubt the man who's been bringing us Potent Potables for over thirty years? 

"Y'know, Monsieur le Directeur," I said,  "I'm going to call Colonial Penn today!"  

"You'll be glad you did."

 "Or maybe tomorrow, I can't be sure."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~