Nicholas Cage is Trapped in The Corporate Land Basement

Nicholas Cage is trapped in the Corporate Land basement. You see, there is a rumor running through the Corporate Land production floor faster than a line of coke through a Charlie Sheen Goddess. The Rumor? The Freemasons run Corporate Land. Now, I take this news with a rather heavy grain of salt on the rim of my Margarita glass. Why? Probably due to the fact that the Execs couldn’t entice a Labrador into water let alone conduct business in a rather cloak and dagger like fashion. But I am dead wrong according to my production homey, The Deal. “Dude, there is some seriously fucked up sinister shit going down here man. Have you seen the picture of The King?” He said, leaning in as for no one else to hear. “ Dude, he’s a Freemason! He’s got the logo on his license plate and a frame around it that says he’s the main honcho for the state demo lay! Dude…. Check it out!” His eyes ballooning up with emphasis. “ I went and Googled that shit!” Continued The Deal. “He is like the main dude! He’s all dressed up in his robes and shit! I’m telling you man, he is connected! He gets Employee of the Year after only being here a year? Bullshit!” his voice rising as his eyes scanned over my shoulder as if to make sure no secret Freemasons were within earshot.

“The King” in question, is a baby-faced newbie that is on a meteoric rise within the drafting department. (They call themselves Technical Services, I call them the reason we are losing money at staggering rate due to their incompetence.) Now, The Deal calls baby-faced newb “The King” but since his start at Corporate Land, I referred to him as “John Mayer” due to his uncanny resemblance to the blues-pop douche. It wasn’t until The Deal filled me in on his true identity and his affiliation with the not-so-secret-anymore secret society that is the Freemasons. This is most definitely not the first wave of paranoia to wash over the Corporate Land production floor. The last one arose back in 2002 when American Taliban Gary was working himself into an Islamic frenzy over how The Jews were running everything in the world and I had better “wake up” to the Zionist plot. Editors note: This is what FUCKING CRAZY! Looks like. I would always wind him up by saying following: “I almost didn’t come into work today.” In which he would reply “oh yeah?” In which my response would be “ yeah, I didn’t hear from my life coach Sol Moysenberg to get my instructions on how to maintain the Zionist Plot.” Ah… memories.

Now “The King” was not “anointed” per se by some secret committee of elders, no, baby face is a self-proclaimed um…”King”. Like Michael Jackson before him, he has thrust upon his imaginary collection of Serfs and Peasants his title of Ruler of Fuck All! And lest we forget the secret society that has trained him to rule in the shadows of the capitalistic monstrosity that is Corporate Land: The Freemasons and their not-so-secret, secret pinky ring that always seams to glint from the overhead fluorescent lighting as if to say “Hey! Look at me! I’m in a secret club of grown men that like to dress up and play King Arthur in the basement of the local YMCA!” Editors note: It is not the gays that worry me; it’s the uptight conservatives that have me in a dither. For as they are constantly bashing the gays and trampling over the Constitution in the process. These conservative whack-jobs are gallivanting around in their skeleton stuffed closets, putting on the most extravagant productions that are gayer than a glory hole in the Castro District of San Francisco.
As much as I would love to believe The Deal and his rightfully worrisome slant that sinister groups such as the Freemasons are running things here at Corporate Land, I just can’t get over the fact that we don’t have the leadership firepower within these tear-soaked walls to muster such a covert plot to rule over blue-collar staff. The Deal still soldiers on though despite my telling him otherwise. “Dude, what ever happened to Roger? Answer me that, man. Dude gets hired away from the Docks to come straighten out the production and gets let go once he’s done? C’mon man! I’m telling you he was connected! Did you see him wearing his Freemasons ring?”

Now a word about Roger: Roger was chock full of great ideas and ways to do things, but Roger did not get one fucking fingernail dirty. Not one. And I do not trust anyone who ain’t willing to get down in the funk and get nasty. You can talk all you want, but if you aren’t gonna toss the slop with the rest of us, get out of the pen, fucker. Management– in a moment of clarity– realized the amount they were paying Roger was not equal to the amount of work he was producing and showed him the door. It’s that simple.

During this period I did not hear at any time any Gregorian chanting emanating from any of the secluded basement areas or corner offices of Corporate Land. The only King that rules over Corporate Land is the fucking bottom line. It sure the fuck ain’t no snot-nosed John Mayer clone. That’s not to say that there are no sinister forces afoot at Corporate Land; there are, they just don’t wear chainmail or white robes. Their not-so-secret club uniform consists of Dockers and polo shirts emblazoned with the Corporate Land logo. Now that is about as scary as Paris Hilton’s snatch on a Sunday morning. Nicholas Cage can wander the catacombs of Corporate Land for eternity for all I care. There is no lost treasure. No golden societal road map to success buried within its walls. All that remains in the musty underbelly are the Pools of Workers Tears and the skeletal remains of Leadership and Business Ethics. But you didn’t hear that from me. It’s supposed to be a secret.

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