Showing posts with label gambling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gambling. Show all posts

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Life at the Sentient Bean / Gaping Maw

I walked back through the Mediatrix ruined lobby of the building and beckoned the elevator and boarded upon its speedy arrival. As the elevator doors closed I reflected.
I had enjoyed my time away from this circus. But now I am back into promoting the hypnotization of millions via bouncy signals to our upper atmosphere and back. I now had a greater appreciation for the gaping maw of consumerism. I had originally been an unwitting part of the ploy but now I was firmly ensconced in it. I knew both backs of the beast these days.
I had stared into the eyes of the slobbering beast. Felt the allure. Allowed myself to be enveloped in the lushness of the tight and slippery sliding slope. I plunged in plumbing depths of debt so deep without realizing where I had prodded. Feeling secure while balance sheets still showed black, yet cognizant of many factors only marginally acknowledged, but still denied. As the siren song of “we need this” and “I want that” to fill my empty and miserable life, I only found that it was never enough. More was needed to continue to keep the beast happy. To feel it’s naked warmth beside me in the cold black night of trying to understand why, why, why I was doing what I was doing, doing, doing. My head was filled with the platitudes I thought I was foisting on others for a payout, but while foisting it on them those platitudes were wheedling there wormy wanton way into my monkey brain. Driving deep to that tiny reptile that lives within us all.
So I kept plunging in deeper and deeper. With every orifice splitting insertion while still not realizing that the slobbering full figured personification of rampant consumerism was only spreading her legs and lips to swallow me up whole with the designs to squeeze me out, cum and all onto the pavement of life. With the dribble of my essence being lapped up as collateral. The prime directive was:
I want more,
I need more,
I will not be happy until  I have more.
I will grind and swirl to drain everything last drip I can because without all these things I might feel as nothing and acknowledge that I am just an animal that has learned to stack things on top of other things and then tell others about that stack.
So my ultimate contribution was to breed more consumers in training. I was surprised but I made do. All under the slobbering consummate consuming cunt, the base fruits of my burning lust learned their lessons well. Wanting the constant distraction of being plugged into something as often as possible, just like I did, so that they would not miss a single bulletin of what they should be wanting today. Desires tailored to keep things just out of reach enough to create more minions that contribute to the wreckage of over consumption for the landed to feast upon. A whole society based on consumption and constant endeavors to get others to want more as well. The mountains of goods and services continued and we stopped making things of worth. Instead doing what we could to sell things to each other, pat ourselves on the back, and then buy more things we really didn’t want or need to fill our empty lives, to have more things to stack on top of other things.
So we partied, fucked, drank, ate, eliminated things that made us unhappy or gave us pain, and then fucked and ate some more until we start thinking there might be something  better to eat, fuck, or eliminated around the next bend. Besides this one is all spent and is just a twisted smoking heap of rubbish anyway. What was I thinking settling for this.
The elevator announced my floor number.

Time to start stacking.


Like the debts stacking before the Chinese cornered the market on our health insurance racket. They proudly had our country now and told us it was time to turn our heads and cough, The Right Wing Oligarch shutdown of our government was just what the new founded Chinese Oligarchs were waiting for. The Wingers, Baggers, and inadvertent Trumpsters opened the door and we all flowed into the dumpster of Empires. Just as I flowed out into the melee beyond.

When the doors of the elevator opened I could tell by the sounds coming from the suite that things have gone from bad to worse.
“The music is all wrong” Cyrus was squawking.


Thursday, August 28, 2014

Life at the Sentient Bean / Fish on the Brain



Cyrus strutted in with those words. I swear he dressed and moved more and more like a parakeet every time I saw him. Which was rather disconcerting considering  he was a very large and a very rich man. But there he was in a powder blue suit, the whitest shirt I had seen in years, and a mottled grey bow tie. Perhaps his morphing into a bird had something to do with his fish fixation of late, but a clear theme had emerged with his work. At his side was Aurora Mora and it dawned on me where I had just seen that face and figure. The animators had used her to model our fishy temptress in the spot. Cyrus’s motivations and drives were generally as confused as the confused and obfuscated messages we were foisting on the public.

“You need to get Fang Fang back lads, she never would have let you stray as far from the fishy trail as you had in that last cut.” Cyrus whistled as he found the mirror in the room and he moved his head jerkily as he admired his beloved.

He was right of course. Having the Fangster shacked up with Cyrus was a great source of insider information. She would give us a heads up in the night after Cyrus had one of his brain storms. We would be well on the way before he even arrived at the suite. Fang Fang also would take great delight in describing Plush's mating rituals which often involved him brainstorming current campaign ideas while doing “unspeakable things to my person” as Fang would put it. She claimed to suffer through it, but the look in her eye belied the suffering point.

All I know is when she fled Cyrus and begged me to hide her she was not the same Fang Fang Wu from Buffalo that I had met in the alley behind the Sentient Bean. She had sharpened edges upon return. Sure she still portrayed the tough worldly smart aleck oriental female delight in public, but the softer private side of her had disappeared after Cyrus. The only glimpse was in her dreams and nightmares. Only then could I see the original little Wu’ster, But after waking up shivering she would collect herself and not ever let the inner little girl out to play anymore.

Bannister was talking budget with Aurora, because nobody talked dollars with Cyrus. Bannister had that producer middle man hat on now so I knew the rest of the day would be one of:  “How much will this cost?, What is taking so long? I’m not paying for that.”

But that’s OK. We would make our dough by marking up the lunch order. Bread and Circuses should have been Cyrus’s middle name.

Cyrus was done at the mirror, so he began to chirp about the ramifications of the research into the meme of fish. I knew my headache would get much worse as this little diatribe began.

“Fish lads. It goes back to the beginning, where we all began. We all are just chock full of former fish molecules. Damn it! The very core of our brain goes back to when we were all fish. Swimming and reproducing in that primordial soup. It is in our very core. We see these creatures fluttering around, and since we know they won’t eat us, or at least most of them won’t, all it does is engage our breeding instinct. Yes. Three responses. Either we want to eat them, fuck them, or if they stand in the way of our eating and fucking, eliminate them. In this film we are going for the big ol’ randy flounder response in us. Whether they know it or not, people watching this fish will feel invigorated, they will want energy. Energy provided by the caffeine in our illustrious beverage. The alcohol will tear down their inhibitions. Their public persona will become radiant, wide awake, and most the uninhibited little beasts we can be. Shivery and shimmering with moist viscous exteriors, rubbing membrane against membrane coating each other with our own special brand of sputum. Thats what we are selling. Selling the sizzle, not the steak. Any knucklehead can drink whiskey with a cola back. We are selling the ultimate combo platter. Heaped high with promise of immersion into that great ecstasy. Now get on with it! Aurora!! Deep conference.”

Banister in his best cover your own ass moment asked again, “Cyrus, are you sure we don’t need to add a disclaimer mentioning the other ingredients in our product?”

“Tut tut my dear boy. That is so 20th century of you.”

With that Cyrus toddled towards the conference room with Aurora Mora in tow and shut the door.

“Chop chop, wicky wicky,” announced Bannister. “You heard the man”

As we worked only once did a disheveled and wobbly kneed Aurora exit the room to provide the lunch order. “Are you sure you don’t need Cyrus out here yet,” she asked hopefully. I shook my head. Aurora sighed and resignedly returned to the conference room.

Before lunch arrived we had a surprise visitor. It was non other than Suki Su Wu.

“Have any of you heard from Fang Fang,” she asked in a highly disconcerted tone as she scanned the room.

“Last I saw she was busy humping a slot machine.” I said with trepidation.

Suki looked disgusted and then cast her eye’s down in the oriental shame ploy I recognized from her sister. I knew when she would look up from that feint I was in big trouble.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Life at the Sentient Bean / Casino

Casino

The last time I saw Fang Fang Wu she was physically and verbally assaulting a slot machine. At four foot eleven you may think  the Fangster would be easy to trifle with. That would be a serious miscalculation. But ask any slot machine, or dealer, car or otherwise and they will turn pale at the mention of this little force of nature.  Once her cold black eyes caught you, caught you were. Well I had to try to wrestle her away from the machine, because management was moving in the forces to stop her from trying to rip the arm off of the one armed bandit, but she knew it was payday and she was there to collect.

At this point she had mounted the machine and seemed to be trying to hump a payoff out of the machine while gibbering in what she claimed was her native tongue. I could never confirm nor deny that fact. This gave security pause since the violence had turned into something the guests pay for as a floor show. Then those glinting black eyes turned to me. She just threw me a hundred dollar bill and screamed. “YOU PLAY THAT MACHINE NOW”, and pointed  to Cleopatra across the room. I found this strange because she had sold everything thing I had and we were living in my 1966 Pontiac Star Chief Executive. No reasoning with her now. She was a woman, and while in the grips of warfare with the slot machine Buddha of her desires, now  was not trifling time.

Instead I realized that enough was enough, and having some money for gas I decided  this would be my cue to move on. A hundred bucks was more cash than I had seen since the credit card crisis sunk  the major banks into the black hole of derivative divine divergence, or whatever excuse for dodging moral hazard they were using that day. Better put, you can’t get blood from a stone. We were all squatting by the side of the economic road rubbing rocks in our heads for entertainment since it was what we could afford now that no one could say the magic words “charge it.” Nobody was making anything, and nobody was getting paid to advise us what to do with our no longer liquid brokerage assets. We have been trickled upon and could no longer find anyone else to trickle on. Monetarily speaking we were fucked. White Lotus had become a reality, but not as anticipated in the nineteen fifties. As few things had.

But I should have known I was fucked when I first laid eyes on Fang Fang Wu. She was a driver for Golden Labrador Retrieval Waste and Recycle , and was thumping a dumpster into the hopper, humming Bang a Gong in the key of “O”, when she turned around and saw me smoking a cigarette at the back door of the “Sentient Bean”

She whistled through the gap in her front teeth and exclaimed in the unforgivable voice of hers,

 “Well slap my ass and call me Sally “