"I didn't work so hard on shark.fest #4 for you to cancel", I yell into the digital.telephone, "we are professionals, yo; we are ready; we will continue." » Y G H M®: the stories, yo
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“I didn’t work so hard on shark.fest #4 for you to cancel”, I yell into the digital.telephone, “we are professionals, yo; we are ready; we will continue.”

“I didn’t work so hard on shark.fest #4 for you to cancel”, I yell into the digital.telephone, “we are professionals, yo; we are ready; we will continue.”

“Yeah”, the voice over the digial.telephone repeats, “but, we are not promoting it so there will be no one there, yo.”

“We don’t need fans to fight; we need sharks.”

“How are you going to get them there? Why would you still want to go if the event is cancelled?”

I turn my head to the digial.TV in my living room.

“Because”, I reply into the telephone, “I didn’t spend 0.653287393 nanoseconds yesterday in my yellow speedo practicing in the pool with the inflatable great white to be disappointed.  I, well I mean Bilta and digital.Bilfty2.1, will be present at the previous arranged time to fight the, actual, real ferocious man-eaters.”

“I’m afraid of man-eaters, yo.”

“We all are, Bilta”, I repeat as I sigh, “we all are afraid of the man-eaters.”

I pick up my soda from the small wooden table and take a sip; it’s refreshing when you’re not, in the moment, being attacked by a blood thirsty shark.

“So”, I continue speaking into the digital.receiver, “I want you to consider sending a digital.photograper to capture the epic spectatle that will be shark.fest #4–more sharks and more carnage.”

I sigh.

“Did you just make up the slogan?”, he replies as he clears his throat, “that was brillant–maybe we can send a brief press release out to see if anyone picks it up off the wires.  Maybe, if there’s interest, with your incredible slogan, there will be public interest in still having it.”

“I’m nothing if not amazing”, I explain as I roll my eyes, “but, all the same, Bilta and digital.Bilfty2.1 will be there.  It’s up to you on what you do–we aren’t waiting for you to decide.  We have made up our mind.  Leave us alone unless you need some information related to the match.  If you are there, or there are fans, they will see an epic match.  Regardless, we keep our word.”

“We aren’t going to pay you”, he replies as he sighs, “if there’s no fans, there’s no tickets; there’s no money to cover your expenses.”

“So–that’s actually a pretty valid point of contention.  I will have to think about  that–I’m so preoccupied on keeping my word that we may not have the money, or means, to continue, especially with Bilta’s contract stipulation to thirty-six premium hotdogs prior to each shark.fest match.  Trust me–that shit gets expensive quickly.

I pause; I sip my soda.

“Hey Bilta”, I yell as I turn my head to him, “can you forfeit your contractual obligation to be fed those hotdogs prior to each shark.fest, yo?”

“Boss”, he replies as he shrugs and turns his head to the digital.TV, “I am merely a pawn to my contract and can not change those requirements; not without a lawyer to review the details.  You know–it starts with one time not getting the hotdogs, and it becomes the norm.  I don’t want to get fucked out of my food before the match and then next time a new standard has been set.  I am going to keep the contract, as is; unless, you want to hire a lawyer to review the proposed change, yo.”

I roll my eyes; I don’t know if he’s smart or not, that velociraptor.

I sip my soda; it’s refreshing but, now, less cold.

I slam it on the table.

“So”, I continue speaking as I shrug, “can you, at least, give us money for Bilta’s hotdogs?”



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