No idea what the plot is, but here's it so far:
Redundancies on 41st Avenue
“That is why I would recommend the project to start accompanying for the lower-end clients, instilling hope and business confidence, given the dire state of Earth’s current economy.”
A spiritual sort of chap with some kind of incomprehensible tan stood before a group of serious-seeming men in an important room somewhere. They seemed to take personal offence at the fact that they had been unnaturally forced to exist, unable to bear the horrors of a new generation of businessmen. One of them adjusted his moustache, the Earth experiencing a vicious tremor as a result; another drunk a glass of headwaterless H2O, some politically insignificant part of Africa shaking into civil war as a result.
“You’re avoiding the real issue. Sin coefficient is up by 0.2% in the last quarter. Our higher-end clients still need providing for, seeing as they often control the assets in order to invest.”
A neatly-bearded man looked up at him as if he had spewed forth incomprehensible nonsense. He offensively smoked a cigar and drunk scornfully the dregs of his coffee. He was more bored than everyone else, his heart longing for a cryptic, pious hedonism that this meeting was unable to provide; an infallible, justifiable Banquet of Chestnuts, perhaps.
They continued onwards, ranting about revenue and whatever else. The meeting-goers were not satisfied until everybody scheduled was not only apathetic but did not comprehend any of the issues presented in the meeting. They all pretended to make notes and maintained the clearly misleading impression that they actually gave a fuck.
Someone left and then everybody else did. The bearded man was typing divinely on some typewriter-like device. A man came in, a strapping new recruit of the new order. He tried to maintain an impression not too latched in obsequiousness, but in doing so was more servile than anybody had ever imagined.
“I have a question for you, sir. How come business is going so badly, recently?”
“If you’re suggesting that we should let some other fucker ascend then goddamn you, go back to fucking Human Resources and lick my balls.”
“Well, sir, you do keep postponing our business meeting. Do you really think our clients will continuously be able to invest in successive quarters if you keep delaying your PR mission?”
The bearded man got so pissed off by this subservient arsehole that someone was immolated and some revolts were alighted in some obscure region of the world. This paradoxically boosted business.
The bearded man was discussing something with an insider. His thoughts were far too complex to share but he did present to him a modicum of intimacy. They were playing golf; a few meteors were striking at some planets that the inhabitants had either abandoned long ago or were full of uncivilised “low-priorities”. Nobody really gave a shit enough to mention it.
“How’s the project going?” the insider asked uninterestedly.
“It’s difficult to gauge statistically, much to the dismay of the IT team. I’ll do some kind of market research survey soon but the results are likely to be too skewered and inaccurate to reflect a genuine impression.”
The insider seemed startled by this full response. He was one of the few people that did not base his career around arse-kissing. He beheld the omnipotent CEO and, startled by a newfound concern, he asked him a question that provoked a range of tsunamis and floods.
“How come nobody pays much attention to you anymore? How come the brand’s become somewhat irrelevant?”
“I guess it’s all the fucking red tape and the ethical restrictions. Nobody trusts us anymore.” The bearded man adjusted his tweed suit, satisfied with the quality of his response.
“Are you sure there aren’t more complicated reasons at play?”
The bearded man sighed. He had had so many thoughts on so many things that thinking was a cyclical chore. All philosophy was mundane and explored, even the most interesting of notions or the most fascinating of hypotheses. It was impossible for anybody to recall a time in which he had taken pleasure over tantalising exactitude of nightmares or the unthinkable portals of existence. He had so many independent contemplations about his role and his status that the goal seemed to be to pick the most efficient and relation-optimising one.
“To an extent, I guess. The old methods, rarely documented, just became unworkable. The sheer level of protocols we have to undergo now has made it essentially impossible to get much done.”
As the bearded man spoke, he set off a chain of volcanic eruptions, creating routine catastrophes.
It was five o’ clock. The bearded man was feeling resentful after a day of relentless clockwork. He was tired and restricted.
“Just grant that fucker his last wish”, a man was demanding perfunctorily on a telephone.
“No resources. Take it up with one of my delegates; maybe the Legal Department or some group of arse-lickers can arrange an appropriate settlement.”
“Fuck you.” The omnipotent leader felt somewhat resentful that the Chain of Command had been interrupted, but not to the extent that he could be bothered.
The leader had a slither of sympathy inside his incomprehensible heart. His capriciousness created a civil war on a marginally relevant island.