Children are the future. Of evil.
Nov. 17th, 2005 06:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lurkerwithout Drink at work
The following is a transcript of a recent instant message chat with my brother Marcello, who in addition to being a technician for an Internet company is also the physical incarnation of the company's mascot.
Cello: Ces!
Ces: Cello! How are you?
Cello: Not bad. Was the [Company] Dog at a museum exhibit.
Ces: Oh...Didn't expect to read that. What did you do?
Cello: Usual. Waved at school kids. Danced a bit. You know, typical advanced dog tricks.
Ces: Sounds like fun.
Cello: Yeah, you'd think so. My entire body is covered in black-and-blue marks.
Ces: From what? Wearing the heavy costume?
Cello: From getting repeatedly punched.
Ces: Punched?!
Cello: Punched, Ces! The kids punched me! I'm here to tell you that children are bastards. Mean, viscious, wholly evil bastards!
Ces: What happened?!
Cello: Remember that Simpsons epsiode when Homer doubles for Krusty at parties and big events? And he tells Lenny what hard, tiring work it is, "But when I see how those little kids' eyes light up...I just know they're getting ready to jab me with something"?
Ces: Oh god.
Cello: They wouldn't stop, Ces! The little kids wanted hugs, so I gave them hugs. They were actually really adorable. But when the junior high school kids would ask for a hug...
Ces: Oh shit.
Cello: I would stretch out my arms and then BAM! Straight in the gut!
Ces: Every time?
Cello: Every fucking time! They were relentless!
Ces: Then why did you keep stretching out your arms?
Cello: Because I'm a chocolate lab, Ces! I'm supposed to be friendly! Plus, I think I'm monitored.
Ces: Couldn't you do anything?
Cello: Like what? Wave at kids from behind a pillar? Start swinging wildly at anyone over the age of 12? I'm not even allowed to talk! I'm defenseless, Ces! Defenseless!
Ces: But what about the people who were supposedly with you? You know, monitoring. Couldn't they do anything?
Cello: They were too busy taking pictures! Every time I got clocked I saw a flash go off. They said it was the best sponsored event they ever had.
Ces: I'm so sorry, Cello.
Cello: And you know what? It was never the kids from the city. It was never the poor kids from the tough parts of town. It was always these over-privileged white bastards who kept punching me! Every time I got punched it was some grinning white boy. I'm serious, Ces. I think I hate white people now.
Ces: How long did this go on?
Cello: About an hour. Maybe more. I lost count when I started to pass out.
Ces: From the punching?
Cello: No, heat stroke.
Next Time: Marcello entertains corporate supervisors and their families at his company's anniversary picnic...until he almost drops dead of heat stroke.
The following is a transcript of a recent instant message chat with my brother Marcello, who in addition to being a technician for an Internet company is also the physical incarnation of the company's mascot.
Cello: Ces!
Ces: Cello! How are you?
Cello: Not bad. Was the [Company] Dog at a museum exhibit.
Ces: Oh...Didn't expect to read that. What did you do?
Cello: Usual. Waved at school kids. Danced a bit. You know, typical advanced dog tricks.
Ces: Sounds like fun.
Cello: Yeah, you'd think so. My entire body is covered in black-and-blue marks.
Ces: From what? Wearing the heavy costume?
Cello: From getting repeatedly punched.
Ces: Punched?!
Cello: Punched, Ces! The kids punched me! I'm here to tell you that children are bastards. Mean, viscious, wholly evil bastards!
Ces: What happened?!
Cello: Remember that Simpsons epsiode when Homer doubles for Krusty at parties and big events? And he tells Lenny what hard, tiring work it is, "But when I see how those little kids' eyes light up...I just know they're getting ready to jab me with something"?
Ces: Oh god.
Cello: They wouldn't stop, Ces! The little kids wanted hugs, so I gave them hugs. They were actually really adorable. But when the junior high school kids would ask for a hug...
Ces: Oh shit.
Cello: I would stretch out my arms and then BAM! Straight in the gut!
Ces: Every time?
Cello: Every fucking time! They were relentless!
Ces: Then why did you keep stretching out your arms?
Cello: Because I'm a chocolate lab, Ces! I'm supposed to be friendly! Plus, I think I'm monitored.
Ces: Couldn't you do anything?
Cello: Like what? Wave at kids from behind a pillar? Start swinging wildly at anyone over the age of 12? I'm not even allowed to talk! I'm defenseless, Ces! Defenseless!
Ces: But what about the people who were supposedly with you? You know, monitoring. Couldn't they do anything?
Cello: They were too busy taking pictures! Every time I got clocked I saw a flash go off. They said it was the best sponsored event they ever had.
Ces: I'm so sorry, Cello.
Cello: And you know what? It was never the kids from the city. It was never the poor kids from the tough parts of town. It was always these over-privileged white bastards who kept punching me! Every time I got punched it was some grinning white boy. I'm serious, Ces. I think I hate white people now.
Ces: How long did this go on?
Cello: About an hour. Maybe more. I lost count when I started to pass out.
Ces: From the punching?
Cello: No, heat stroke.
Next Time: Marcello entertains corporate supervisors and their families at his company's anniversary picnic...until he almost drops dead of heat stroke.
