Movers and Shakers

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Way, way back in this blog, I mentioned managing an orphanage.

-As a successful entrepreneur, I feel it's important to give back to the community.

Well I’m proud to announce that according to StreetWise Magazine, my orphanage was far and away the most profitable in 2009. Nationwide!

The children hosted an awards dinner I was expected to attend, but I declined the invitation. (Remember, I do the budget for that place ... I’m not eating that crap.) I figured a more suitable reward for my accomplishments would be a ceremony held at the Hilton Brazil -an infinitely classier place, so far from the scrubby little bastards they couldn't dream of attending. They smell funny.

-And they would have been bored anyway. I’ll send them some pictures. They’ll be thrilled.

Unfortunately orphans don’t know shit about music, and any consideration to upgrading their food to real gruel instead of the imitation stuff was immediately forgotten when I heard the samba band they hired: the dense crowd of aristocrats and I were assaulted with the stabbing sound of a maraca player either drunk, a rhythmless incompetent idiot, or both.

Instantly grabbing a champaign bottle by the neck, I shatter it on a nearby marble statue and rush the stage so I can plunge the glistening, jagged edges deeply into the bastard’s throat. "You butcher!" I scream. "You talentless hack! You don't shake maracas, you blend maracas!"

While security held me back at first, the crowd had already turned on the offender; I was soon rushed up to try and rescue the performance. The lead singer tried to hand me his beastly maracas, and I almost reflexively spat on them. It was then I opened my briefcase and cried into the microphones, "Behold!"

As the lead singer's eyes adjusted to the glowing light, his jaw dropped.

I unsecured my maracas from the inside of the case. They are hand carved from genuine elephant tusk ivory, inlaid in gold, and are filled with naturally mummified panda embryos.

... And halfway through 'Copa Cabana,’ members of the audience were weeping.