Being an entrepreneur means getting to throw money at a bunch of people with actual talents so they’ll do your work, surrogate your ideas, and birth your brain-baby. Then, for some additional fee, they’ll nanny the little shit for you until its big and bright enough to do everything on its own. That is, until you’re forced to pay your way through counseling the adolescent over pubic hair’s interminable sprawl. All bets are, as they say, off.
Last night, in a fit of passion floating in marinade, our team of SSJ lab assistants, spearheaded by our newest conceptual wet-nurse, Dr. Dennis Lopeland, took one epic idea and expelled it from the lab’s collective uterus. They, yes, cured jerky of, yes, its inanimacy.
Say it with me now. In-a-ni-ma-cy.
Definition: The state of being inanimate.
Remedy: Equipment + Money.
I admit, I was slightly enraged. I was not involved from the beginning, and hadn’t a clue that the test subject was mine and mine alone. During weeks previous, I had been preparing my final tests on creating a fully auto-tunable Jerky. This, as you can imagine, was to be my greatest achievement. For weeks we, the Jerky and I, had the lab to ourselves, at night mostly. And during this time I kindled a fond friendship with my supine cowleaf. Then, one day (today) I entered the lab to find Dr. Lopeland’s gaggle, spirited, hovering around my table. Aghast, I thrust myself into the crowd, eager to quell my suspicions.
Quelled they were not. The piece of jerky in question, the first to be animated, was indeed mine, and I saw it leap from the dissection table, down onto the ground and verily sprint away. I must say, I was impressed. This was no squiggle. This was acceleratable, magnetically charged, velociprone. Out beyond the hamper, back into the corner behind the bureau, the little thing cowered and squoze into a slight opening and hid.
I ducked over to the bureau. “Devil”, I screamed, clasping my temples. “Leap back into my hands now, so that I may consume thee!”
“I expected this reception,” said the jerky from within his crevice. “You my creator detest and spurn me, they creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us.”
I looked over at Dr. Lopeland, but found no assistance there. “Well put, Jerky. But you see, you were invented to be annihilated, to be dissolublified in my belly.”
“Have I not suffered enough”, he croaked, “that you seek to increase my misery?”
“Misery, hah! Thy knoweth no hell like that which lurks in these bowels! You’ll get your misery yet!”
I reached behind the bureau, with lank, into the dust-bunny clusters and pulled him forth. He squirmed helplessly in my hands. Lopeland screamed in matronly hysterics as I squeezed him of his fleshy sauce and gobbled him down. He tasted of ginger and maybe paprika.