Tuesday, December 28, 2010

"Down to Business"

Mr. Dixon and Mr. Rodriguez shook hands and their cufflinks sparkled. This would be the biggest merger in recent memory in their industry and both CEOs were excited to get to work. Mr. Rodriguez walked towards the door and turned the handle.

“One minute, Mr. Rodriguez,” said Mr. Dixon. “There’s just one more thing.”

Mr. Rodriguez looked over his shoulder. Had he forgotten to sign something? The air was still in the office. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Mr. Rodriguez’s neck. Surely the paperwork was sound. Had he made a mistake? Every piece of mahogany furniture stood in anticipation.

“What is it, Mr. Dixon?”

“Well, Mr. Rodriguez. I believe it’s time for us to get down to business.”

Mr. Dixon slid his finger down the wall and the lights dimmed to an erotic glow. He removed his suit to reveal the neon-yellow bikini he wore underneath and in an instant the heels of his loafers grew towards the ceiling until they morphed into stilettos.

Mr. Rodriguez was stunned for a moment, but he knew what to do. He had his MBA, after all. He kneeled to the floor and opened his briefcase. A three-foot long Komodo dragon slithered out and uncurled its tail to unleash a small bag of opium.

The two men ingested the opium and high-fived one hundred times. A Ducati 1100 EVO motorcycle lowered from the ceiling. Each of the men thought the other was responsible for the bike and each made mental notes to compliment the other on the electric-hot ride. Mr. Dixon’s desk sprang to life, revealing its true nature as six Taiwanese men dressed to look like drawers. The Drawermen waxed the Ducati and bowed to Mr. Dixon, who was holding Mr. Rodriguez’s legs and running him around the room like a wheelbarrow.

As soon as the two men noticed the glaring shine of the motorcycle, they nodded in unison. They climbed aboard, Mr. Dixon behind Mr. Rodriguez. Mr. Dixon whispered “Take me to the moon, my prince,” into Mr. Rogriguez’s ear.

Mr. Rodriguez pulled the throttle as hard as he could and sent himself, the Ducati, and Mr. Dixon, still wearing his bikini, off a twelve-foot high ramp and out the fifty-sixth story window. The merger couldn’t have been smoother.

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