Wednesday, November 18, 2009

nation under dog

Into the great machine B, popped D, like the mandatory 1 rupee coin but with 6 duffel bags and a recycled mineral water bottle. Delivered from the suburban constituency of G to the great railway station of B, he was packed into a giant air tight human mass that propelled him past the samosas and the stench onto the road where it dispersed into buses and taxis and the assembly line that traversed the great B footpath – stretching from office to market to home to
miscellaneous. His taxi delivered him to a large municipaltic block where it subtracted half his financial corpus. Green lines between the cheap mosaic took him to a rusty lift door that left him at the fifth where he gained entry subject to verification of Rs. 50,000 deposit and Rs.7500 monthly rent by roommate. Following which he was on the assembly line with portfolio as lubricant, seeking entry and achieving ejection like a rogue VHS does from a moralizing VCP.

After not making it to the position of advertising executive for a tolerable time period, D sought exit. His application, with razor to wrist, was approved.

This was the exact moment the pug from the H advertisements had achieved exit on account of a piece of bone too large for his oesophagatic function. The resultant dispatch to the H office led to the emergency meeting function being operated for the second time that day. Here, the points of the MD’s syphilitic predicament, cockroaches in the coffee machine, the hot new intern and the dead pug were tabled and discussed (in that same order). The resolution that the concerned advertising agency locate the solution was delivered to the advertising agency with ‘the deadline was yesterday’ as appendix.

Following the protocol of 3 Navy Cuts, 2 coffees and seventeen crumpled sheets of unrecycled paper, the advertising executive gave ‘I can’t do this’. After receiving a ‘Syntax error. Does not compute.’ from H, he operated the mentor function on his telephone which gave ‘Yeah, we had to bring a dead celeb to life once. Try this guy.’, providing a logical spiral that led him to an underground city beneath a carpet shop with attending necromancer demanding cadaver with ‘fresh and suicide’ as added attributes. On further inquiry, the necromancer gave, ‘I don’t know. Try the fucking yellow pages.’ Following up on the fucking yellow pages, he was routed to a BPO facility in Shanghai, which forwarded him, via underwater trans-atlantic fibre optic wires, to a low cost facility in the Ukraine, which forwarded him to a lower cost facility in Harare, which forwarded him to a yet lower cost facility in Memphis, which forwarded him to a lowest possible cost facility that was half a block away from his present location where D’s former room-mate provided service. ‘I need a corpse’, gave the advertising executive, ‘should be a fresh suicide.’

‘My room-mate just offed himself’, gave D’s former room-mate, ‘I was planning to sell his organs, so if I could get a sum that qualifies I’d get his corpse across to you.’

The former room-mate’s estimate, visible on hand scrawled piece of paper with hidden cost incurred by advertising executive for the purpose of purchasing delirium, was tabled and discussed with the intern’s compatibility with double penetration, the thriving cockroach colony in the coffee machine and the MD’s travel plans (in the reverse order). The resolution that the money be paid with the appendix ‘this had better fucking work’ was sent via quick footed secretary to Finance which prepared a cheque to be added to the package to be delivered to the
agency.

The agency, on receipt, delivered it, via flyer equipped with helmet and bicycle to a money launderer who converted it to hard cash in duffel bag (Rs. 5 per hour on returnable basis) and delivered it back to flyer busy operating his groin scratching function out in the sun. The flyer, as per his preset program, delivered the hard cash in duffel bag to advertising executive who, post subtracting his cut, proceeded to the proposed rendezvous point with D’s former room-mate who converted the hard cash in duffel bag to empty duffel bag and cadaver in large black plastic packet. ‘Why’s it so twisted?’ gave the advertising executive. ‘Rigormortis’ gave D.’s former room-mate, ‘and the fridge was too small.’ Following which the cadaver was delivered to the attending necromancer who gave, ‘fuck, you actually managed’, and made application, via mini axe and happy goat, to the netherworld to operate an ectoplasmic lever meant for such reanimations. D popped back into B via pug substituting ‘Fuck. I’m a dog’ for the former ‘Mama.’

‘He’s talking’, gave the advertising executive, ‘why the fuck is he talking?’ ‘Maybe because of too much proximity in their time of deaths’ gave the necromancer, ‘It’s been known to happen.’

‘What do I do now?’ gave the advertising executive. ‘I don’t know’, gave the necromancer, ‘try the fucking yellow pages.’

The added property of sentientality gave the pug a decision operation which it didn’t have before, which D had access to on account of the possession. Using it, he accessed brand opportunities beyond those offered by H using an economic model which provided it co-equity in the added brand spaces, activating a realignment that supported a favourable monopoly. The activation switched on a resistive mechanism run by a reactionary coalition between SRK and AB (constituting the predominant power dynamic). The mechanism pushed artificial clamps on demand, using the vaccum created to set up microcosmic revenue structures for the coalition.

On adequate dissipation of financial corpus and consequent lack of prostitutes willing to do it doggy style, D operated the mentor function on his telephone. ‘Fuck dude, I thought you were dead’, gave mentor. ‘No yaaar’, gave D., ‘acha, tell me how to deal with this predicament na. We’ll talk about your short film later.’ ‘The resistive mechanism is dependent on the coalitions’ influence in the film industry’, gave mentor, ‘this in turn is a function of a third world construct such as ours where advertising works as a derivative of cinema.’ ‘Why are you speaking like
that?’ gave D, shocked at the response. ‘To keep this short story short.’ gave the mentor.

Accessing a global cinematic archive provided D with the answer that a format with a non speaking comic as USP was possible and covertly delivered the final residue of his revenues to a debutant director for conversion to film. The film overrode the clamps on demand, which had exponentiolised on denial, eroding the coalition to zero and achieving the status ‘big hit.’

In the consequential circuit, AB left for offshore colonies to access a nostalgia function by converting limited budget art house productions into currency flows, SRK sought exit from the eighth floor applying to concrete floor downstairs with possible heart attack on the way and D found himself on the receiving end of an affection impulse while on PC’s lap, en route to a felicitation ceremony at the Governor’s residence. Transported, in close proximity to PC’s diva like mammaries, he was granted free mobility on the Governer’s front portico past the stairs. On
interaction with a tall colonial column, his nervous system involuntarily switched on the excretement function as a result of which he raised his leg and started to pee to which PC gave a delighted giggle, D’s soul gave a silent ‘shit! This is embarrassing!’ and the left side of the pug’s cranial muscle gave ‘I fucking own this place.’

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