(This was going to just be the first paragraph for the joke, but I kept going and kinda got carried away…)
The Beoing executive towards the back of the gathering was the first to respond to the question left hanging in the room, raising a small plastic container above his head “I have-” He turned the thing in his hand to read the label “-Playdoe. Can that be a screw?”
The executive next to him became animated at his cohorts words, which seemed to mean something. He thrust his arm outward, pointing at a small sweaty man sat in the corner of the office, his spectacles crooked, like his mustache, and his soul. “Economy man, quickly! Will that work? Will it be cheaper than whatever we’re doing now?!” The executive demanded.
The economy man visibly squirmed in his Herman Miller, swivelling from side to side and biting his upper lip as his AI assistant ran the calculations. The stain under his pits expanded visibly from anxiety, willing against hope that the AI would not see the danger in his request. Finally he looked up from his screen, visibly more relaxed, yet just as sweaty, and cleared his throat “Based on my calculations, if we switched to using Playdoe as the new substrate for our fasteners, we would save approximately 2.6 percent on manufacturing costs, netting us, er, I mean you, a distinctly healthy profit!” He deftly flipped the switch under his chair, allowing him to lean back with his hands behind his head, releasing his stale stench into the room as he took in their reactions.
But the office was deadly quiet. The executive who had propositioned him made no move, still pointing as he asked “Does that mean… Bonuses?” He whispered the last word as though it were sacred, for it was.
The economy man simply smiled and nodded.
All at once the room exploded into sound as each executive present, who had watched the exchange wide-eyed, began to convulse and moan louder than the economy man had ever seen. He raised from his chair nervously as one of executives began to rhythmically hump a leather sofa with cushions that the economy man knew would be unyielding. His eyes flicked to another man, who had chosen a ficus plant as the object of his desire.
This was too much, the moans of pleasure coming from the executives was edging on the verge of ear piercing wails, and some eyed him with a wildness that scared him, as though he could produce another rabbit from the hat and provide them with another reason for a bonus. But the fools, they didn’t understand; he was lucky enough his AI account wasn’t banned after the last prompt, asking how much profit would be derived if they played an unskippable ad on the headrest display everytime the emergency oxygen masks were deployed. He couldn’t risk another one, as without the AI, he’d be out of a job.
“What if…” An executive mumbled as it lunged at him, desperate for more. The Economy man fell backward into his chair, horrified as more closed in, encircling him.
“You’re already getting a bonus, it’s more than I make in a year. Isn’t that enough?!” He pleaded, his voice rising above the cacophony of pleasure.
The room, full of moaning just a moment ago, became silent once more. The ficus plant executive turned from his bush, his expression empty, devoid of life. His face was eggshell white, his tortoise shell glasses reflected the overhead fluorescent light. “Enough?” He spat the word as though it were death itself, for it was.
Legends. Put the screws to 'em, lads!
Boeing execs:
“What are screws?”
(This was going to just be the first paragraph for the joke, but I kept going and kinda got carried away…)
The Beoing executive towards the back of the gathering was the first to respond to the question left hanging in the room, raising a small plastic container above his head “I have-” He turned the thing in his hand to read the label “-Playdoe. Can that be a screw?”
The executive next to him became animated at his cohorts words, which seemed to mean something. He thrust his arm outward, pointing at a small sweaty man sat in the corner of the office, his spectacles crooked, like his mustache, and his soul. “Economy man, quickly! Will that work? Will it be cheaper than whatever we’re doing now?!” The executive demanded.
The economy man visibly squirmed in his Herman Miller, swivelling from side to side and biting his upper lip as his AI assistant ran the calculations. The stain under his pits expanded visibly from anxiety, willing against hope that the AI would not see the danger in his request. Finally he looked up from his screen, visibly more relaxed, yet just as sweaty, and cleared his throat “Based on my calculations, if we switched to using Playdoe as the new substrate for our fasteners, we would save approximately 2.6 percent on manufacturing costs, netting us, er, I mean you, a distinctly healthy profit!” He deftly flipped the switch under his chair, allowing him to lean back with his hands behind his head, releasing his stale stench into the room as he took in their reactions.
But the office was deadly quiet. The executive who had propositioned him made no move, still pointing as he asked “Does that mean… Bonuses?” He whispered the last word as though it were sacred, for it was.
The economy man simply smiled and nodded.
All at once the room exploded into sound as each executive present, who had watched the exchange wide-eyed, began to convulse and moan louder than the economy man had ever seen. He raised from his chair nervously as one of executives began to rhythmically hump a leather sofa with cushions that the economy man knew would be unyielding. His eyes flicked to another man, who had chosen a ficus plant as the object of his desire.
This was too much, the moans of pleasure coming from the executives was edging on the verge of ear piercing wails, and some eyed him with a wildness that scared him, as though he could produce another rabbit from the hat and provide them with another reason for a bonus. But the fools, they didn’t understand; he was lucky enough his AI account wasn’t banned after the last prompt, asking how much profit would be derived if they played an unskippable ad on the headrest display everytime the emergency oxygen masks were deployed. He couldn’t risk another one, as without the AI, he’d be out of a job.
“What if…” An executive mumbled as it lunged at him, desperate for more. The Economy man fell backward into his chair, horrified as more closed in, encircling him.
“You’re already getting a bonus, it’s more than I make in a year. Isn’t that enough?!” He pleaded, his voice rising above the cacophony of pleasure.
The room, full of moaning just a moment ago, became silent once more. The ficus plant executive turned from his bush, his expression empty, devoid of life. His face was eggshell white, his tortoise shell glasses reflected the overhead fluorescent light. “Enough?” He spat the word as though it were death itself, for it was.
I was raptly reading. When’s the novel dropping?
Ha!