EthicalDative

(Continued from https://ethicaldative.com/2021/06/14/news-of-the-incident-got-around-in-gob-circles/)

Rigging walloped the Wisp isthmus with a vengeance. Rigs to melt permafrost for pus collection. Rigs to truck scoop to reservoirs. Rigs to tanker and pipe it to spillways and railheads. Rigs to salvage grounded and derailed carriers.

Plants burgeoned like twinkling fairy cities in the night. Plants to introduce gain of function additives. Plants to process pus derivatives into plastics and personal lubricant and coffee whitener.

Support and service jobs broke out like plethoras. Jobs to do and undo, start and stop, perforate and plug, buy and sell, furnish and dispose, advise and teach, protect and serve, adjudicate and snuff. Odd jobs, hand jobs, put-up jobs. Jobs to stencil “Danger” whereall it needed to go.

Everywhere you looked there were pieces of work; both hard and soft labor found at the drop of a hat in the teeming, melt-field pus camps; temp gigs and side hustles and life hacks galore in the honkytonks and greasy spoons that bloomed like venus flytraps along the shorelines of runoff lagoons.

Just how and whether Todd’s ancestor Astrid issued from this rowdy mileu remains to be seen. What’s important to remember here is that there are more plausibilities than the deniable kind, no matter how lustily Texas governors assert the contrary. Let’s put a pin in it there.

(c) 2021 JMN — All rights reserved

(Continued from https://ethicaldative.com/2021/06/13/smegma-boom-of-the-2020s-in-the-wisp-isthmus/)

Scientists converged on Exit 186 to examine the fluid that had preserved Fred’s effaced face. It turned out to be a highly extrapolated sublimate of West Texas light sweet crude. A massive tectonic blister of the stuff extended from the Wisp isthmus all the way down to the Mar-a-Lago Trench.

The indigenous word for the fluid was ñiññ, meaning “earth pus.” In Wisp folk medicine it was reputed to be a balm for anal afflatus.

The Department of Wasteland Security reclassified the Wisp protectorate as a national park. This opened it up to intensive melting for earth pus extraction. Exxon-Roxxoff stranded expectant tankers in the Wisp shoals and started a ruptured pipeline to spill product on serial compass points radiating southward.

A device pioneered in labs of the desert converted to CO2 the waste oxygen spewed by earth pus combustion. This removed the last impediment to ruthless monetizing of the miracle goo. It was Katy bar the door — a Klondike level of churn paired with a Niagara of trickle. Not since OPEC times has such untaxed wealth deluged so few nor dampened so many.

(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved

(Continued from https://ethicaldative.com/2021/06/12/your-kingdom-has-dang-near-come/)

Astrid was the fatherless child of a tool-pusher named Kirk Frick. Her core story is that she franchised her way out of puberty to merge with a founding partner of Huff Pugh Fuchs. We’ll develop Astrid Frick Fuchs when we need her, but let’s do a little foregrounding first.

It was the fraught decade of the aughts. Trophy hunting was pitiful. All the wild game was virtually shot up. Sportsmen had to plink at domesticated prey to kill anything at all. In this bleak scenario a lucky GOB named Fred bagged a quasi-extinct tundra coney. As he emptied his clip skyward in celebratory gunfire, Fred inadvertently shot off his face.

A search party found Fred facedown in a puddle of smegma-like fluid. The icky ooze had exerted startling antisepsis on his effaced face. The mess of bone and tissue was still pink and vibrant.

They were fixing to trundle the cadaver back to town when a fella named Wayne noticed their dualie was sitting on empty. Fred was rapidly putrefying now on the Dodge’s tailgate. The party discussed thumbing a ride on the interstate. “Let’s try some of this stuff first,” Wayne said.

They scooped fluid into empty hooch cartons and dumped it into the dualie’s tank. It not only got them home, it tripled the truck’s rated MPG and improved its performance. News of the incident got around in good-old-boy circles.

(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved.

(Continued from https://ethicaldative.com/2021/06/11/lets-imagine-you-successful/)

You believe the nuttiness sickening the land could be flared off by a good fracking. For a guy who will sue the “bejeepers” out of someone if provoked, you’re oddly comfortable with the word “butthole.”

You lead from closed-door meetings. “Absolutely not” is how you say “no.”

Did we mention you’re a man in this figment? There, we’ve said it. Step into the light. A woman risks being collaborative, unassuming, flexible, subtle, kind, empathic, modest, and strong. We can’t work with that.

You’re a stinker, Todd, but you’re not complicated. Mile wide, inch deep. Your life is a business plan. Here we float the standard disclaimer: If someone out there resembles you it’s not Nick’s fault. Give a nod of assent, that’ll do.

Now that we have a contract, let’s try to make you interesting. You descend from Astrid Frick Fuchs, a doyenne of the rentier class spawned by the smegma boom of the 2020s in the Wisp isthmus.

(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved

(Continued from https://ethicaldative.com/2021/06/10/branded-figments/)

Call you Todd. Or Rand, or Blake, or Trent, or Rock, or Chip. You don’t want just to make money; you want to invent money. You swing in and out of cocktail colloquies like a metropolitan Tarzan. “Let me stop you right there” is your conversation opener.

You’re a deacon in a megachurch with valet parking. In your view the Bible is fairly representative of God’s thinking. That thinking could evolve if the Lord wanted it to, but it doesn’t. Nowhere in the Good Book does God say don’t do this, and don’t do this, and don’t do this — and I’ll tell you later what not to do next. The Almighty thought stuff all the way through, and that was that. Rock of ages.

Your palaver has a coy gaminess. You give it ungreased to adversaries; they bend over and take it. If a subordinate underperforms in your estimation, you say he should find a better use for his right hand.

As figments go, you’re giving Nick a chubby, Todd. Even your favorite number is figmentary: bezillion. If your German car has a bumper sticker that says “Insured by Smith and Wesson” and one that says “My Boss is a Jewish carpenter,” your kingdom has dang near come!

(c) 2021 JMN — EthicalDative. All rights reserved