Corporate Man is called in to investigate reports of vile, unethical business practices at Great American Business Company. What he finds there just might destroy him (except we all know the ending to The Tragic Death of Corporate Man so it should be fairly obvious that it can't really destroy him, though it can come close).
Enslaved by the Bonus Whores is an all new Corporate Man Adventure Serial. Chapters will post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Friday, June 29, 2012
Tanya and Mr. Jones hadn’t had much luck finding a container for The Greed sausages. They’d tried kitchen storage, automotive, and even gardening. Still, nothing. Nothing that seemed suitable anyway. As they stood in the toy section, however, things began to look up. Various spaceships, swords, ray guns, and toy cars could easily house the leftovers of The Greed.
Mr. Jones was favoring the ray gun.
Tanya professed her admiration for a pink unicorn. Mr. Jones suspected her of putting him on, but on the contrary, Tanya really did like the bejeweled unicorn. Not because she admired its girly qualities, she simply loved the idea of befouling a stereotypical girl’s toy by cramming it full of nasty greed pieces. She also liked the idea of forcing Mr. Jones to carry around something so pretty and sparkly.
“That’s not the point, Wendel,” a woman’s voice barked from the next aisle. “The point is that your crew is slow and needs a little incentive.”
“My crew is not slow. Management is asking the impossible,” Wendel said.
“According to corporate, they are below the per-hour rate on number of cases thrown.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Someone, a panel or a group, from corporate researched it and came up with the figure.”
“Those numbers are either generated from asking an experienced freight worker to throw as fast as he can for fifteen minutes and then averaging his time across eight hours or by measuring a quantity of freight that is extremely easy and quick to throw and calling that the average.”
“So. What does that matter? It is still the average that corporate demands.”
There was an audible, exhausted sigh from Wendel before he continued. “Measuring fifteen minutes of work against eight hours is like apples to oranges. The human body can’t work at sprint speed for eight hours. It’s too much to ask.”
“Not according to this paperwork. And going forward everyone will be wearing one of these during their shift.”
Tanya and Mr. Jones shared a confused but intrigued look and then walked around the corner in time to see the black-haired manager slip a little collar over Wendel’s neck.
“This has to be illegal,” Wendel said.
“Why?” said the black haired manager as she checked the connections on the collar. “Everyone has given consent.”
“Yeah. Cause you said they could wear the collars or find another job.”
“Yes, voluntary. Like I said.”
“Not by my definition.”
“It’s simple. I see someone dragging their heals, I zap ‘em. I see someone chatting up a fellow worker. Zap. Checking out a hot piece of tail walking by. Zap, zap, zap. Just you watch, our productivity numbers will show positive change.”
Wendel shook his head. “How about you throw freight tonight and see if you can make those numbers and then we–”
Wendel went stiff; his eyes wide and bottom lip quivering. The sounds that came out of his throat were chortled and thick.
“Still disagree with me?” the black-haired manager asked.
Wendel shook his head, the gesture over exaggerated to leave no uncertainty in his response.
“Good,” she said. “But you and the crew better work while I’m zapping you. None of this freezing up, like you’re enjoying the pain, crap.”
She walked off, passing by Tanya and Mr. Jones without even noticing them. When she got to the end of the aisle she triggered the switch again and Wendel, who was standing there doing nothing, went rigid and chortley again. Then, at a noticeably quickened pace, he resumed his work.
“Are we gonna get her?” Tanya asked.
“No,” said Mr. Jones.
“Oh come on. She’s gotta be the one making your sausage thing twitch.”
Mr. Jones glared at her and said, “How about we make that the last time you phrase it that way? And no, not even a shudder. I think that woman’s just a sadist. All that performance efficiency crap must be a cover, an excuse to inflict pain.”
“You’re saying she’s probably wearing vinyl panties and has a cat-of-nine-tails in her locker?”
“Wouldn’t doubt it,” Mr. Jones said. “No, someone else is making The Greed remnants jump, but the movements are weakening, now.”
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
The tech boy wearing the blazer with the elbow pads held his hand up for silence. The standard issue tech boys ceased their whooping celebrations and looked to their leader with jubilant faces.
“We’ve come through hell,” said blazered tech boy and a chorus of cheers exploded from the standard techs. When the commotion settled he continued.
“Never have we faced such a beast as we encountered today.”
More cheers. This time, blazered tech boy raised his voice to speak over the uproar. “And never has one of our own confronted such an adversary. Met it… and triumphed!”
The cheers were deafening. Standard techs popped cans of soda and dumped them over each other’s heads, slamming the empty cans against the walls and the floors of the break room space.
Blazered tech held his hand aloft and silence, again, gripped the room. He paused for a long moment and then jerked a pair of black slacks over his head like a barbarian warrior hefting an enemy’s head over a crowd of blood thirsty followers.
The techs screamed and yelled and even managed to break a chair or two.
“Bring forth the conquering hero!” blazered tech boy called out.
A gap split the crowd of frenzied techs and shorty shorts tech boy was brought forward, held aloft by two standard techs. They set him at the feet of the blazered tech boy who lowered the slacks until they almost touched shorty shorts’s forehead.
The cheers were like thunder.
Monday, June 25, 2012
“We should find a… container of some sort. Something a little stronger maybe. And more opaque,” Mr. Jones said as they walked through the Shepley’s towards the electronics department.
“And why is that?” Tanya asked.
“Well… The Greed. He’s twitching.”
“I heard that part. I’m not deaf. What I didn’t understand was your statement. I thought we already dealt with The Greed,” Tanya said. She grabbed Mr. Jones by the shoulder, stopped him in the aisle, and took a good look at his face. His eyes were dancing back and forth. He was either hiding something or very embarrassed.
“Out with it,” she said.
“The Greed,” his said, shoulders slumping. Then he pulled a zippered freezer bag from beneath his shirt and held it in front of him.
Tanya leaned forward to get a closer look. “What’s that you got – Ah!” She jumped about four feet. “Is that what I–”
“Why the hell–”
“Cause, we’ll need it.”
“That, right there, is nasty.”
“There’s food in this place. It’s part of a grocery store.”
“Yeah. Got it.”
“You sure do. And the bag you’ve got it in… is clear.”
“Yep. And it’s twitching.”
Tanya froze. Her face was almost completely devoid of expression. Unless of course the expression was meant to convey that she had, in fact, heard the previous statement but was clearly choosing to ignore it and not believe it at the same time.
“Twitching?” she finally said, her teeth never quite unclenching.
“Yeah, I know. Nasty,” Mr. Jones said, mocking her tone.
“I think it senses someone really greedy in here.”
“Aw god, not this again,” Tanya said, turning away and putting her hands on her hips.
“No, not like that,” said Mr. Jones poking at the sausage-sized slug-lumps in the freezer bag. “In this de-powered state it only senses those that are truly connected to all of this.”
“All of what?”
“You know, the big guns. The corporations and the politicos that pull our economic strings. We can use these pieces to go on the offensive. To track the bastards down.”
Tanya sighed and shook her head.
“Yeah, okay, whatever. Just don’t ask me to hold, or touch, or even look at that bag.”
Friday, June 22, 2012
The woman with more teeth than the average person woke up in the back of an ambulance. The handsome
rushed over and examined her vital signs.
She tried to smile at him but her face hurt all over.
The sensation was more than familiar.
“I collected these for you,” the
EMS man said, holding up a baggy of
small, white, rock-looking items. “I
thought they were yours but you don’t seem to be missing any teeth.”
She touched the man’s thigh and took the bag of teeth from him gingerly. She would heal. She would heal and she would bed this man. Then she would make bullets from her lost teeth and shoot Corporate Man in the face.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
“So I thought you wanted your neck-cape-thing.”
“Yoohoo, Jonesy? Off in la la land again?” Tanya asked.
“Kind of. And call me Corporate Man,” Mr. Jones said.
“No thanks. I’ll stick with Jonesy.”
“No. You put on your costume and your special necktie and then I might call you Corporate Man,” Tanya said.
“Come on, Business Wo–”
“Ah ah ah. Tanya’s just fine for now.”
“Until you’re in your costume I suppose,” said Mr. Jones.
“Oh, hell no. You think I’m wearing that thing again? My boobs aren’t nearly as perky as they were in the nineties and there’s a bit more than muscle to my thighs these days.”
Mr. Jones thought for a moment and then he grinned.
“I see you recall it then.”
“Yeah. Wow. What an outfit.”
“Well, it was the nineties. Everything was skimpy-bad-girl garbage back then.”
“Hey, one man’s trash is another man’s–”
“No, no, trash is right. And that’s where that costume is staying,” Tanya said.
Mr. Jones looked out the window of the nondescript automobile and thought back to better times. It was dark outside. After Pricebusters and The Greed they had fled the superstore and made their way to a safe house, one of many that Tanya kept throughout the city. After some long deserved showers they’d picked up one of Tanya’s emergency cars at a local garage.
“So I thought you wanted to go get your special tie.”
“Yeah, I do, but without a current portfolio it won’t do me much good,” Mr. Jones said.
“And you can get this at a Shepley’s?”
“Well, no. But I know they’ve got a big electronics department there. I’ll need something high tech. Something… gadgety.
Monday, June 18, 2012
The Tragic Death of Corporate Man
a hero for capitalism;
champion of the working class
by Tom Landaluce
Breakroom meeting and the economic ills.
Everything was antique gold and soft sepia. His vision seemed scratchy, like an old film, and audio ambiance sounded as though it came from a record player; needle down on dusty vinyl.
A light breeze was on the air, bringing scents of freshly mown grass, apple pie, kettle corn, and crisp dollar bills. He was wearing a suit made of high quality linen which he found very comfortable in the warm summer sun. He stood on the roof’s edge of a small savings and loan in a great American town and adjusted his tie.
The breeze was picking up.
Corporate Man reached into his suit pocket and retrieved a gadgety device made of gears and levers, housed in a small glass tube. This miniature stock ticker produced a tiny tape which allowed him to monitor trading. He was waiting for his stocks to increase in value, as he knew they would. Should be in about four minutes from now.
He surveyed the landscape of the picturesque town and noted the malt shop across the street. Business there was booming these days. He’d have to stop by for a treat once he’d finished his business elsewhere.
His necktie lengthened and the breeze became a gust. The four minutes had passed. Stocks were up. They would remain up for the remainder of the week. This was good. He would need his special necktie in the coming days and it never seemed to work properly when the stocks were down.
He checked the ticker tape to confirm his portfolio’s peak and then stepped off the edge of the savings and loan, his necktie fluttering over his shoulder, stretched out behind him like a cape.
Corporate Man rose up into the sky amongst the puffy white clouds and disappeared in the circle of brilliant summer sunshine blazing over the small American town.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Tanya heard the strange screaming but did not dare risk a look over her shoulder to see what it was. A thudding sound, followed by gasps of pain, confirmed her suspicions that another of The Greed’s human fists had fallen to the floor.
“You touch me with that twenty and it will kill the boy,” The Greed-boy said, his host body still dribbling a nasty gel-paste where the charitable coins had lodged.
“Somehow I doubt that,” said Tanya.
“You’ll have to get close to me to use it,” said The Greed-boy. “You can’t pitch a bill like a coin.”
“That won’t be–” Tanya started, but a foul smelling, wild-eyed teen snatched the twenty from her hand as he screamed past her. He looked down at the money as if confused by its sudden appearance in his hand. When he looked back up he was only a step away from The Greed-boy.
Both boyish forms shrieked like girls and held their hands up in preparation for the imminent collision. Only one had a charitable twenty dollar bill in his hand. There was a noise that sounded like a bug zapper, a dry belch, and an M-80. Following this improbable noise was a burst of brown light, reddish dust, and sticky tendrils, as if someone set off charges in a rotten pumpkin full of iron rich dirt.
When the cloud of debris settled, Tanya could see the two boys lying on the ground, covered in dust and sticky strings. Three brownish slug creatures the size of large sausages slowly inched away from the point of impact. They looked like a mix of gelatin and fibrous ground beef.
Mr. Jones stepped forward with a freezer bag and captured the fleeing slug creatures. “Well, I guess these freezer bags of yours were an appropriate size after all,” he said.
“I think we need to get out of here, Jonsey. You okay to walk?”
“I’m fine,” said Mr. Jones. “In fact, I’m more than that. Everything’s so clear now. I think… I think I’m Corporate Man again. Let’s go get my necktie cape.”
Thursday, June 14, 2012
CHILDREN UNDER THREE AGREE!
CORPORATE MAN IS THE BUSINESS!
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Wednesday, June 13, 2012
In his blind panic shorty shorts tech boy could only process so much information. Most of his thoughts centered on a place called “away” and the quickest possible manner in which to get there. Was that a mannequin displaying a nice suit that he’d just run into? Since when do mannequins swear and cry out in pain?
Oooh. A dancing lady. And she’s giving out money.
It is scientifically proven that, even in a blind panic, most teenaged boys are genetically programmed to notice the female form above all else. With blood already speeding through the veins it is much easier for that adrenaline filled fluid to veer southward into the more erogenous zones.
Science has yet to realize that a woman dancing with money, showing intent to reallocate said funds, is the most fundamentally erotic image housed in the male psyche, dating back thousands of years to a common fantasy, shared by most men of the time, involving the employees of the oldest profession offering up a refund to a particularly gifted patron.
Monday, June 11, 2012
Mr. Jones held the package of freezer bags, but he was still unsure of their intended purpose. Tanya was nearby taunting an oozing boy with a twenty dollar bill. Somehow this seemed more comprehensible than his need for freezer bags. A screaming sound turned his attention for a moment and he swiveled just in time to see two people occupy the same space. One clad in shorty shorts, the other in an expensive looking suit.
Apparently the price of the suit did not matter in the end, offering up little protection against the flailing, unclothed legs. The suited man crumpled, gasping and clutching at his side. The shorty short boys barely stumbled and continued forward in a terrified panic.
He was headed right for Tanya.
Friday, June 8, 2012
The bossman held a flannel shirt he’d swiped from a discount bin over his face. He was not about to inhale this stuff. The dust stung his eyes and he contemplated a detour through the athletic department to check for swimming goggles, but it was taking far too long for him to locate codename: The Bull – aka Corporate Man – as it was. Think about what the possible composition of the brownish dust might really be seriously unnerved him.
And then he spotted his target.
The bossman’s eyes flared. This allowed more of the reddish-brown dust to land on his exposed eyeballs causing excessive blinking and tears. He should have narrowed his eyes. The desired effect would have been similar and far more appropriate considering the airborne circumstances.
Corporate Man was near the woman, subject: Ms. Adams. He was stooping, trying to pick up a box of, what looked like, freezer bags. She was waving around a twenty dollar bill in a manner that was quite tawdry.
Both had their backs turned toward him.
This should be easy.
There was a cessation of those strange exploding sounds, the ones that signaled the eruption of greed-tentacles, and released this dreadful dust. But then there was another sound. A deranged wailing, war cry of a sound.
The bossman turned and the last thing he saw before three of his ribs snapped was a terrifying image of a pasty, bare legs, pumping madly as a screaming man-boy wearing shorty shorts crashed into him.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The tech boys were still huddled in the bathroom, sitting in various corners, as far from the toilets as possible. A scout, venturing as far as the door whispered in a hiss, “Something’s happening. Those poopy worm things are popping.”
“Then let’s get out there,” the blazered tech boy yelled. The tech boys jumped to their feet, ready to charge the door.
“Wait,” said the scout, “there’s some kind of brown dust. When the things pop it leaves clouds of the stuff.”
The standard issue tech boys halted and looked around at each other, fairly certain that no one would be venturing out until the poop-dust had cleared.
They all returned to their various corners and took up brave, seated positions once more.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Mr. Jones had found his feet once again and was stumbling about the store. Sifts of red dust kept getting in his eyes and he coughed when he breathed it in.
He didn’t know why, but he desperately wanted to find a plastic bag.
Friday, June 1, 2012
“Greed!” Tanya called out when she was finally within sight of The Greed-boy’s body. She trudged forward. He didn’t seem to pay her any attention, but an increased flailing of his tentacle limbs advised her of the contrary.
She ducked and dodged and scooted and spun and dove and even cart-wheeled her way closer.
“Greed!” she yelled. When he ignored her again Tanya yelled another grunting scream, grabbed a handful of change from the jar, and pitched the coins at The Greed-boy.
She was hoping the minor nuisance would possibly gain his attention. What she didn’t expect was for the coins to sizzle and hiss, like holy water on a vampire, when they struck his body.
The Greed bellowed like an elephant as the coins embedded in his flesh and slowly burned their way deeper. His flailing tentacle limbs stiffened, flexing straight. A creamy, gelatinous, poopy ooze bubbled from the coin wounds.
Tanya hesitated for a moment and then flicked a dime at one of The Greed’s nearby tentacles. It struck, embedded, and hissed; melting the flesh like gasoline on a Styrofoam cup. She tossed a quarter at another tentacle and the effect was twice as violent.
A smile spread across Tanya’s lips and when spoke, her voice was loud and authoritative.
“You people should be disgusted with yourselves. Look how far The Greed has gotten into you. Literally. It’s sick. You’re overly concerned with material goods, possessions, and getting more, more, more. There are little girls like this out there who are in need.”
She hoisted the donation jar above her head and jittering vibrations pulsed through The Greed’s tentacle limbs.
“She needs a heart transplant, people. How many discount televisions and gallon-sized jugs of Muscle Fuel do you really think you need in comparison to that? Perhaps all of you need a new heart.”
There was a still moment in which Tanya doubted whether her words had produced any practical effect. And then one of the tentacle arms popped, vaporizing in a whiff of reddish, copper-scented dust. The bludgeoned woman at the end of the tentacle dropped twenty feet to the concrete floor of the Price Killers Wholesale Superstore where she writhed in both physical and emotional agony.
A series of similar metallic explosions, with a cadence not unlike a bag of popping corn, echoed throughout the store as The Greed’s limbs self-destructed.
“I’ve still got the boy,” The Greed-boy gurgled, his body spurting nasty fluids from the coin-sized wounds.
“I’ve got a whole jug of change here, Greed. I’m willing to bet it will drive you out. And there are a few bills in here too. If a quarter donation inflicts more damage than a dime, think of how severe the effects of a buck or a fiver will be. Oh. Look. Someone was charitable enough to donate a twenty.”
Tanya grabbed the twenty from the jar and waved it back and fourth, taunting The Greed like a matador teasing a bull.