| Straight Outta Enola | |
Subject: Straight Outta Enola
Date: Fri, 08 Jan 1999 10:51:58 PST
From: "Capitalism Blows"
To: fegmaniax@smoe.org
"Off with his head," muttered The Great Quail distractedly, between
bites.
"But sir, I don't understand. I simply--"
"But *nothing,* Purvis!" The Great Quail jabbed the large drumstick,
dripping with Taco Bell sauce, at Purvis' chest, "You accepted payment
in *German Marks*! That's a dead currency!"
Purvis blanched. He had completely forgotten about the final
phaseout
of the individual European currencies. Damnation! His
contempt for the
EMU was no secret in the halls of Great Quail Industries.
But now that
it had cost him not only his life, but in all likelihood his 401
(k) as
well, his enmity verily boiled over.
"I'm receiving 200 kilos of contraband tomorrow. I'm leveraged
to the
gills with Operation Bumblebee, and now I've got nothing to pay
for it
with but a briefcase full of worthless paper! Idiot!
Moreover..."
Purvis was all-too-familiar with the intricacies of this series of
transactions. He'd ironed out some of the dicier details himself.
"...apple maggot quarantine area..."
Indeed, it was his inside connection on the Greek waterfront that
was
the linchpin around which the entire chain of events revolved.
"...now the Saniago cartel is going to have 350 metric tonnes of
lavendar gourds rotting in a warehouse in Bangkok. And me
entertaining
the Sultan in two days time!"
"Per-perhaps," Purvis stammered, "Perhaps the Wal-Mart Credit Card
could--"
The gathered Bishops --all of them in the world, in fact, save three--
had long since turned their attention away from the gigantic projection
screen and "Quailigula," as The Great Quail's home movies had come
to be
called. But now some of them even stole a bemused glance at
Purvis.
And Archbishop Nunez chuckled to himself, "He's clearly grasping
at
straws."
Rising to his feet, The Great Quail bellowed, "Nincompoop!" to mask
his
shock at Purvis' ingenious suggestion. Of course! The
Wal-Mart credit
card! Why hadn't he thought of that? He'd received it
in the mail just
yesterday. Hadn't even gotten around to signing it yet.
You couldn't
just go charging 200 kilos of Thai heroin to Sam Walton, of course.
But
where there was a line of credit, there was a way to do *anything.*
The
Great Quail new that for a surety. Yes, He would be placing
a phone
call to Scottsdale to retain the services, yet again, of, "The
Laundryman." Those lavendar gourds would yet be His!
But he had a more
pressing matter. Pinwheeling the half-eaten drumstick across
the great
hall, he continued, "Do the words 'Maastricht zone of prudence'
mean
*nothing* to you?"
"Maastricht zone of prudence?" Bishop Galle mouthed silently to Bishop
Romariao. Both had turned completely around in their chairs
now, giving
up even the pretense of watching the home movies.
Purvis was confused. What did European austerity measures have
to do
with Wal-Mart? "I...I..."
"Off with his head," sneered The Great Quail. Then, turning
to Maura,
"I'll be in my study. Bring me another quart of Taco Bell
sauce...*Fresh!* This tastes like day-old turd." He
rose to leave.
The Centurians (who were paid in neither American Dollars nor the
Euro,
but in Vietnamese Dong) whistled happily as they gripped Purvis
and
began leading him to the Chopping Room. For, they received
time-and-a-half for any and all executions performed. Purvis,
sensing
that it was now or never, screamed at The Great Quail's receding
back,
"Allen Ruch!"
The Great Quail stopped dead in his tracks as there was a great
collective intake of breath. This was an audacious play even
for a dead
man! Everyone knew The Great Quail *detested* being called
by his
Christian name. Even Dr. Hiboshi, who spoke no English, seemed
to sense
the gravity of the situation before the translation came over his
earpiece. But Purvis twisted the knife yet further:
"On the street,
you're known only as 'The Tyrant'!"
The Great Quail had no reason to doubt the veracity of Purvis'
statement. Purvis had never been one to lie about affairs
of the heart.
Attempting --for the most part unsuccessfully-- to hide his emotions,
The Great Quail strode over to where the drumstick had landed.
He
picked it up, crossed over to where the guards were holding Purvis,
signaled them to open his mouth wide, and lodged the drumstick
vertically inside. The Great Quail then hysterically shrieked,
"OFF
WITH HIS FUCKING HEAD!" the tears streaming down his face.
With a whisk of his great cape, he fled the room. His audible
sobs
caught the assembled clergy quite by surprise: The Great Quail
took the
first word of his official title --Benevolent Chairperson For Life--
a
great deal more seriously than was commonly imagined.