Post by Neko Bazu on Sept 17, 2007 14:39:14 GMT -1
Title: Take On The World
Theme: Technology
Genre: Humour
Rating: PG
Feedback: Yes, public
Warnings: Implied animal abuse, one instance of bad language
Notes: I hate writing stories where any O/C (original characters) have ‘normal’ names, unless they’re based on real people – hence the main character’s name. Bit of a crackfic, but enjoy it anyway!
Take On The World
“Good afternoon, Acme Products’ Conquest Division; this is Julia speaking – how may I help you?”
Rave couldn’t help rolling his eyes as he ambled lazily back and forth across the front room floor. Right to form with everything else he’d encountered with the company, even Acme’s customer service department sounded a little ‘off’. It was surely impossible for someone to naturally sound that chirpy after half a day at work, especially in any field that involved dealing with the public. Heck, he’d encountered hyperactive budgies with less chirp than Julia had. Briefly. Before the little bastard had gone for his eyes.
“Hi – I have a query about a product I bought from you,” Rave replied to Julia’s question, speaking in his best neither-of-us-want-hassle-so-let’s-keep-it-simple voice.
“Right – and what would that query be?”
“Well, I’d first like to ensure there wasn’t a mix-up with the delivery, since my purchase isn’t quite what I had in mind. I ordered the ‘deluxe world domination’ package, which – if I remember correctly from your website – promises the latest in world conquest technology.”
“That’s correct sir,” Julia responded. In his mind’s eye, Rave could imagine budgie-Julia fluffing her feathers up in pride. “Could you please confirm what was in your package?”
“Well…”
Rave changed his amble’s direction and headed to his front window, eyeing the newest addition to his front lawn as he spoke. “I could be wrong, but it would seem that I have been sent a goat.”
“That’s correct sir. And a ballista?”
“Yes…” Rave remarked dryly, turning to regard the vast contraption currently occupying the majority of his living room. “And a ballista.”
“Then everything seems to be in order, sir.”
Rave ran a hand through his hair as he sighed in frustration. He supposed, briefly, that he should count his blessings – his father, at forty-eight years old, was already as bald as an eggshell, but that hair loss apparently wasn’t hereditary, which at least meant he actually had all his hair to run his hand through. At eighteen years old, that could only be a good thing.
Having hair didn’t contribute much toward global domination, though.
“Well, if you’ll pardon me for saying so,” the teen pressed on, “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I ordered ‘the latest technology’ – I was thinking more along the lines of missiles, lasers, mutated giant ants, that sort of thing. Not organic lawnmowers and oversized crossbows.”
“Have you read the instruction manual, sir?”
“Ye-es…”
He picked up said document almost disdainfully, holding it at arm’s length as though it were a soiled nappy and not the key to his plans. “I must admit that it wasn’t the most helpful item I’ve come across.”
“What seems to be the problem sir?”
“Well, far be it for me to tell your people how to do their jobs,” Rave began in a matter-of-fact manner. “But a diagram of a goat being launched through a house’s window doesn’t tell me much. Especially when there are no accompanying notes and the diagram appears to have been drawn by a five year-old.”
“But that’s all there is to it, sir!” Julia protested. “That’s all you need!”
Rave faltered mid-stride as he continued wandering back and forth along the length of the room (around the ballista’s various pointy bits), and almost terminated the call there and then. “Wait, let me get this right…” he retorted disbelievingly. “You’re telling me that by using this one-thousand year-old contraption to fire a creature that’s been around for several thousand years through a window, I’ll have conquered the world using the ‘latest technology’?”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
The teen sighed again, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “So how about we take the shell off this nut and you explain in a little more detail?”
“It really is very simple, sir,” Julia answered. Rave winced and held the phone away from his ear. Evidently, the woman had kept a lot of chirp in reserve. “The principle is that you use the goat and ballista to gain popular public support, and use that to usurp the leader of your nation. We call it sociomagnetic diversion – it’s so new, you can’t even find it on the internet!”
“And this really works?” he asked disbelievingly.
“Why, yes sir! Our last customer to purchase it is now in control of Thailand!”
“I see…” Rave mused, inwardly wondering whether that would have been because of or in spite of the technique in question. “So, just supposing, what happens if, say, you were to launch the goat and inadvertently hit the house itself, instead of firing him through the window?”
“It’s suggested you avoid that, sir,” Julia cautioned. “The results aren’t very pretty… Have you ever heard of Tiananmen Square?”
Yikes. Rave stared at his phone in mild horror, blinking owlishly before bringing it to his ear again. “Seriously? This managed to cause that?”
“That was the old model, sir. It involved a cow and a catapult, and was notably less successful.”
Rave’s eyes roamed over the ballista again, before drifting out to the goat on the front lawn. “Okay, so I’m beginning to see the potential power of this system…” he murmured disbelievingly, in truth wondering if he was actually beginning to see the power of whatever drug Julia must have been on. He wandered out into his kitchen to fetch a glass of water, wondering if dealing with all nutcases was such thirsty work. “But I’m still a little sketchy on the details. Could you give me some ideas to work with – you know, like the equivalent of a serving suggestion?”
“You could try Downing Street.”
And there went the glass of water. Rave was brought from his stunned stupor by the crash of glass shattering, and cursed under his breath as he stepped away from the shards. “But that’s terrorism!” he exclaimed.
“You did ask for world conquest, sir.”
Touché, Julia, Rave reflected as he bent down to pick the largest few shards up from the floor. He’d leave the rest to be cleaned later. Depositing the offending items in the bin, he resumed his phone conversation. “So what exactly would I do with the goat then?” he enquired. “Use it to assassinate the Prime Minister?”
“Good heavens, no!” a horrified Julia exclaimed. Rave made a mental note to have his ear examined once the phone call was done. “That would be murder!”
“I’m asking for world conquest.”
“And murder won’t help, sir.”
The teen sighed again. “Fine, fine. So how should I go about it?”
“Well, I personally would wait until the Prime Minister was entertaining global dignitaries, before tying the goat in a rainbow neck-ribbon and firing him through the window at such a trajectory that he landed on the table they were all sat around. The goat, of course, would be hideously embarrassed at being present in such company in such condition, and would die on the spot. Naturally, there would be public outcry at such a tragedy, and this is where I would-”
“Blame it on the Prime Minister?” Rave interjected helpfully.
“No. I would confess to my crime.”
Again, Rave found himself stunned into silence. “I’m… not quite sure I follow…” he eventually admitted.
“Well, sir, you would inevitably garner a lot of publicity by doing that,” Julia offered helpfully. “It’s then up to you how you would use that publicity to your advantage. I’d use meat pies.”
“…”
Rave’s silence somehow managed to be physically audible. He appreciated that such a feat broke various laws of physics, but it occurred never the less.
“Sir?”
“Look, is this a wind-up or something?” he challenged, feeling his usually cool demeanour almost slip away. “Meat pies?!”
“Meat pies are a surprisingly sensitive item in the general public’s eyes,” Julia informed him. “If you blame the ‘attack’ on the brain-bending influence of meat pies, you’ll garner public sympathy and immediately have the support of every militant vegan and vegetarian to hear the story, plus quite a few of the more peaceful ones. If you blame it on a specific type of meat, it gets even better – blame pork, and Jews will support you. Blame beef, and the Hindus will back you. Note that eating halal meat pies didn’t have any effect on you, and you’ll get Muslim support.”
Rave made an effort to bite back several comments that, if the call were being monitored, could well have seen him arrested for incitement to riot. Though, if it were being monitored, he supposed that’d be the least of his worries.
“I’d first go on a crusade to eliminate those pies. If you’re passionate enough, your followers will stay with you once you decide upon a new target. You could gradually work up, until you overthrow the government itself.”
“…”
Again, Rave broke the laws of physics.
“That is just a suggestion, of course. Sprouts are also a delicate issue, especially among children – some militant groups prefer to influence the young, in order to hold greater dominion over them when they’re older.”
“Julia?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m going to hang up now. Goodbye.”
A single ‘beep’ announced to the world that Rave had indeed disconnected the call, and the teen made his way to his sofa in a decidedly less spirited fashion than he had started the call in. In fact, he felt positively drained by the woman’s chirpiness and idiocy.
Heck, who was he to be calling anyone an idiot? Rave couldn’t help a groan as he eyed the ballista one last time, before letting his head flop back onto the couch limply.
“That must be the most expensive firewood I’ll ever buy…”
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Yeah, it's not fantastic - not my usual humour style or my usual writing style. It's at least an entry though!
[Edit: Went and fixed a typo. Whoops!]
Theme: Technology
Genre: Humour
Rating: PG
Feedback: Yes, public
Warnings: Implied animal abuse, one instance of bad language
Notes: I hate writing stories where any O/C (original characters) have ‘normal’ names, unless they’re based on real people – hence the main character’s name. Bit of a crackfic, but enjoy it anyway!
Take On The World
“Good afternoon, Acme Products’ Conquest Division; this is Julia speaking – how may I help you?”
Rave couldn’t help rolling his eyes as he ambled lazily back and forth across the front room floor. Right to form with everything else he’d encountered with the company, even Acme’s customer service department sounded a little ‘off’. It was surely impossible for someone to naturally sound that chirpy after half a day at work, especially in any field that involved dealing with the public. Heck, he’d encountered hyperactive budgies with less chirp than Julia had. Briefly. Before the little bastard had gone for his eyes.
“Hi – I have a query about a product I bought from you,” Rave replied to Julia’s question, speaking in his best neither-of-us-want-hassle-so-let’s-keep-it-simple voice.
“Right – and what would that query be?”
“Well, I’d first like to ensure there wasn’t a mix-up with the delivery, since my purchase isn’t quite what I had in mind. I ordered the ‘deluxe world domination’ package, which – if I remember correctly from your website – promises the latest in world conquest technology.”
“That’s correct sir,” Julia responded. In his mind’s eye, Rave could imagine budgie-Julia fluffing her feathers up in pride. “Could you please confirm what was in your package?”
“Well…”
Rave changed his amble’s direction and headed to his front window, eyeing the newest addition to his front lawn as he spoke. “I could be wrong, but it would seem that I have been sent a goat.”
“That’s correct sir. And a ballista?”
“Yes…” Rave remarked dryly, turning to regard the vast contraption currently occupying the majority of his living room. “And a ballista.”
“Then everything seems to be in order, sir.”
Rave ran a hand through his hair as he sighed in frustration. He supposed, briefly, that he should count his blessings – his father, at forty-eight years old, was already as bald as an eggshell, but that hair loss apparently wasn’t hereditary, which at least meant he actually had all his hair to run his hand through. At eighteen years old, that could only be a good thing.
Having hair didn’t contribute much toward global domination, though.
“Well, if you’ll pardon me for saying so,” the teen pressed on, “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I ordered ‘the latest technology’ – I was thinking more along the lines of missiles, lasers, mutated giant ants, that sort of thing. Not organic lawnmowers and oversized crossbows.”
“Have you read the instruction manual, sir?”
“Ye-es…”
He picked up said document almost disdainfully, holding it at arm’s length as though it were a soiled nappy and not the key to his plans. “I must admit that it wasn’t the most helpful item I’ve come across.”
“What seems to be the problem sir?”
“Well, far be it for me to tell your people how to do their jobs,” Rave began in a matter-of-fact manner. “But a diagram of a goat being launched through a house’s window doesn’t tell me much. Especially when there are no accompanying notes and the diagram appears to have been drawn by a five year-old.”
“But that’s all there is to it, sir!” Julia protested. “That’s all you need!”
Rave faltered mid-stride as he continued wandering back and forth along the length of the room (around the ballista’s various pointy bits), and almost terminated the call there and then. “Wait, let me get this right…” he retorted disbelievingly. “You’re telling me that by using this one-thousand year-old contraption to fire a creature that’s been around for several thousand years through a window, I’ll have conquered the world using the ‘latest technology’?”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
The teen sighed again, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “So how about we take the shell off this nut and you explain in a little more detail?”
“It really is very simple, sir,” Julia answered. Rave winced and held the phone away from his ear. Evidently, the woman had kept a lot of chirp in reserve. “The principle is that you use the goat and ballista to gain popular public support, and use that to usurp the leader of your nation. We call it sociomagnetic diversion – it’s so new, you can’t even find it on the internet!”
“And this really works?” he asked disbelievingly.
“Why, yes sir! Our last customer to purchase it is now in control of Thailand!”
“I see…” Rave mused, inwardly wondering whether that would have been because of or in spite of the technique in question. “So, just supposing, what happens if, say, you were to launch the goat and inadvertently hit the house itself, instead of firing him through the window?”
“It’s suggested you avoid that, sir,” Julia cautioned. “The results aren’t very pretty… Have you ever heard of Tiananmen Square?”
Yikes. Rave stared at his phone in mild horror, blinking owlishly before bringing it to his ear again. “Seriously? This managed to cause that?”
“That was the old model, sir. It involved a cow and a catapult, and was notably less successful.”
Rave’s eyes roamed over the ballista again, before drifting out to the goat on the front lawn. “Okay, so I’m beginning to see the potential power of this system…” he murmured disbelievingly, in truth wondering if he was actually beginning to see the power of whatever drug Julia must have been on. He wandered out into his kitchen to fetch a glass of water, wondering if dealing with all nutcases was such thirsty work. “But I’m still a little sketchy on the details. Could you give me some ideas to work with – you know, like the equivalent of a serving suggestion?”
“You could try Downing Street.”
And there went the glass of water. Rave was brought from his stunned stupor by the crash of glass shattering, and cursed under his breath as he stepped away from the shards. “But that’s terrorism!” he exclaimed.
“You did ask for world conquest, sir.”
Touché, Julia, Rave reflected as he bent down to pick the largest few shards up from the floor. He’d leave the rest to be cleaned later. Depositing the offending items in the bin, he resumed his phone conversation. “So what exactly would I do with the goat then?” he enquired. “Use it to assassinate the Prime Minister?”
“Good heavens, no!” a horrified Julia exclaimed. Rave made a mental note to have his ear examined once the phone call was done. “That would be murder!”
“I’m asking for world conquest.”
“And murder won’t help, sir.”
The teen sighed again. “Fine, fine. So how should I go about it?”
“Well, I personally would wait until the Prime Minister was entertaining global dignitaries, before tying the goat in a rainbow neck-ribbon and firing him through the window at such a trajectory that he landed on the table they were all sat around. The goat, of course, would be hideously embarrassed at being present in such company in such condition, and would die on the spot. Naturally, there would be public outcry at such a tragedy, and this is where I would-”
“Blame it on the Prime Minister?” Rave interjected helpfully.
“No. I would confess to my crime.”
Again, Rave found himself stunned into silence. “I’m… not quite sure I follow…” he eventually admitted.
“Well, sir, you would inevitably garner a lot of publicity by doing that,” Julia offered helpfully. “It’s then up to you how you would use that publicity to your advantage. I’d use meat pies.”
“…”
Rave’s silence somehow managed to be physically audible. He appreciated that such a feat broke various laws of physics, but it occurred never the less.
“Sir?”
“Look, is this a wind-up or something?” he challenged, feeling his usually cool demeanour almost slip away. “Meat pies?!”
“Meat pies are a surprisingly sensitive item in the general public’s eyes,” Julia informed him. “If you blame the ‘attack’ on the brain-bending influence of meat pies, you’ll garner public sympathy and immediately have the support of every militant vegan and vegetarian to hear the story, plus quite a few of the more peaceful ones. If you blame it on a specific type of meat, it gets even better – blame pork, and Jews will support you. Blame beef, and the Hindus will back you. Note that eating halal meat pies didn’t have any effect on you, and you’ll get Muslim support.”
Rave made an effort to bite back several comments that, if the call were being monitored, could well have seen him arrested for incitement to riot. Though, if it were being monitored, he supposed that’d be the least of his worries.
“I’d first go on a crusade to eliminate those pies. If you’re passionate enough, your followers will stay with you once you decide upon a new target. You could gradually work up, until you overthrow the government itself.”
“…”
Again, Rave broke the laws of physics.
“That is just a suggestion, of course. Sprouts are also a delicate issue, especially among children – some militant groups prefer to influence the young, in order to hold greater dominion over them when they’re older.”
“Julia?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m going to hang up now. Goodbye.”
A single ‘beep’ announced to the world that Rave had indeed disconnected the call, and the teen made his way to his sofa in a decidedly less spirited fashion than he had started the call in. In fact, he felt positively drained by the woman’s chirpiness and idiocy.
Heck, who was he to be calling anyone an idiot? Rave couldn’t help a groan as he eyed the ballista one last time, before letting his head flop back onto the couch limply.
“That must be the most expensive firewood I’ll ever buy…”
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Yeah, it's not fantastic - not my usual humour style or my usual writing style. It's at least an entry though!
[Edit: Went and fixed a typo. Whoops!]
Otherwise... well, que sera sera!