The Tragic Death of Corporate
Man
a hero for
capitalism;
champion of the
working class
by Tom Landaluce
Section 1:
Pee Pee Pants, Deal
Breakers, and Well Dressed Presidents.
1.a.
A long strand
of spittle dangled from his gaping mouth, dancing like a marionette, its
movements a slave to his labored breathing.
He was quite fond of the spittle.
It was so sparkly and stretchy.
So bouncy and jiggly. It was his
friend. A constant companion. A partner in the daily operations of his
life.
If the spittle
was his friend, then it stood to reason that the urine was his lover. She didn’t visit often, not daily anyway, but
when she did come around, a sudden warmth would spread across a certain place
in his pants. The place where his
dormant happy parts lived.
It was
ecstasy.
It was also about
the only thing he felt anymore.
Everything
else was numb.
The day seemed
like every other day to the man, though he hardly recognized one day from the
next. Someone had turned the light on in
his room, approached his bed in a gait intended to avoid startling, spoke in
soothing tones, removed his diaper, and cleaned the feces from his ass and
crotch. The man did not feel
embarrassment, instead he felt pleased that the diaper, his night time helper,
had been removed since the gathering around his legs always felt pinchy.
Once he was
clean he was moved from his bed to a wheel chair and rolled to the common room
to await breakfast. It was here that Mr.
Spittle usually popped by for a visit.
Today had been no exception.
After about forty five minutes, when Mr. Spittle was good and dangly, an
orderly arrived to take the man to the cafeteria for breakfast.
“Boy, that’s a
good, long one, Mr. Smith,” the orderly said.
Mr. Smith did
not recognize his name, nor did he recognize what names were. The orderly wiped the drool from Mr. Smith’s
chin.
Ooh… bye bye, Mr. Smith thought.
The orderly
pushed the wheel chair towards the door and Mr. Smith felt a rush of warm
delight spread over his lap.
“Pee pee
Pants,” Mr. Smith said. He often thought
this when she came to visit, but did not know why. This was the first time he’d actually spoken
the thought aloud.
Two thoughts
went through the orderly’s mind in rapid-fire succession. The first one was, “Uggh! You dirty, sick vegetable.” The second was, “Holy hell. Mr. Smith just said something.”
The thrill of
being present at such a momentous event almost caused a lapse in the orderly’s
own bladder control. But, instead of
peeing his pants, he let out a few excited whoops and flailed his hands near
his face. Then he sprinted off toward
the administration office.
Mr. Smith was
left, sitting in the warmth of his lover, muttering away in a tone that may
have been considered sexy by some. But
not many.
“Pee pee…
pants.”
His vision
shifted and he no longer saw the hospital.
He saw two men talking. He didn’t
comprehend what he was seeing though, just that the colors were loud; neon and
fluorescent.