Monday, August 11, 2014

The Sausage Clock's Many Hours

It's 3:00am again.

I sit up in my bed and slap the clock a few times.

I misread the clock. It's actually 4:36 am.

Few people have stolen the sheer volume Beanine Weenie stock that I have. Every hour on the hour I must check the clock. Corporate HQ smelled no whiff of my plan. They had no idea. 37% isn't quite majority, but it rivals the CEO.

I think back to all of the secretaries I had to screw. The big wigs I had to bush. Some of my finest work. God damn it, it's actually 2:36 am.

Why am I writing this? Am I confessing my crimes? Am I bragging? I know the feds are on my back. I'm too smart to be caught by their shit, which why I am here.

Oh where is here, exactly? Whoever finds this will be too stupid to understand. I'll leave directions anyway. Go to Raleigh Durham Airport. Find the sewer grate at the intersection of Franklin and 8th. Go in it at precisely 5:25 am. Too late and you'll miss him. Too early and the guide won't show himself. Plunge into the water. Good, now you're covered in chemical shit. The guide will blindfold you. Take it off immediately. He will be gone and you will be have cab fare and a slip of paper with a city name on. Figure it out.

Next burn down the Smiling Suns Orphanage. Do it. It's vacant so no one gives a fuck. In the ashes will be a fireproof safe. Open it however you can.

It's 4:13 am. I think I've been up too long. I would look at my stock, but it's too dark. Maybe it's grown... I cannot fathom why anyone would want to own off brand hot dog product stock, so I steal it. Is it really stealing if no one wants it? Is it arson if no one misses the building? Is it really murder if no one sees?

Excuse me while I fence off my area of grass I never touch. I box it all in. 90% of the law is ownership. I see nothing in here about sharing the wealth. I own everything from here to the horizon. Too bad it's pitch black. And cold. Not wet though. That'd be trite. I'm not in a fucking dungeon. Yeah its dark. Yeah its underground. It's more like a cubicle of darkness. I think there's walls here, but I quit checking around 1:41 am.

If a tree falls in the woods, does it's family hold a funeral praising the tree's life and accomplishments, assuaging it's ego in death more than in life? No they're fucking trees. They take note and go on with their day.

Beanie Weenie Corp is a fucking forest.

Fuck Chicago, I'm the faux sausage king of America, no, Earth. 

I always used every part of the corporate buffalo. Hence, I went into hot dogs. Everyone else went into money. I went into leftover pig products. I thought it was poetic. I hate poetry.

Seriously, what the fuck? It's now 12:12 am.

You want a point to all this? A moral?

Here's some power point bulletpoints, professor:

1) Fuck Beanie Weenie Corp

2)  Use all of the buffalo always

3) Fucking bring lamps or flashlight with you. God Fucking Damn it.

4) NEVER forget to check your clock, every hour on the hour.

Now if you'll excuse me I have a sausage empire to seize, then run, then run into the ground. I am my job because the fuck am I supposed to do? Sell out? Selling out is for nice guys. No, I'm supposed to roll in the trash.

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