Beautifully Unique Sparkleponies: On Myths, Morons, Free Speech, Football, and Assorted Absurdities (7 page)

I’m talking, obviously, of registering my body as a corporation, with my mind as a limited liability representative.

All the important components are already in place, so really all that’s left is the paperwork. I have a board of directors (they’re quite argumentative at times, especially when Rationality and Emotion start going at it, or when Primal Urge feels unfulfilled), and they all have local addresses and can be easily contacted (except when they don’t feel like it). I’ve issued stock to various outside investors, letting them dictate how much value they own (because money, after all, is merely the abstraction of time spent
performing a task). My wife and football are the majority owners right now, but the kids are starting an aggressive buyout, and I think in a couple years they’ll have almost full control. There’s also a list of corporate bylaws that I made up myself and follow when it doesn’t inconvenience me, so I don’t foresee any legal holdup.

Once I register, I think the benefits are really going to be worth it. My taxes will be much lower than they are now, so that’ll definitely go over well with the shareholders, and having limited liability will make certain functions of life a lot easier. If I ever kill someone, or steal a bunch of money, or bribe people to get a more favorable outcome on something I want, I’ll just pay a small fine and not even have to say I did anything wrong. It’s awesome! I couldn’t even be charged with a serious crime, unlike you silly normal people. I could literally walk down to the local Federal Reserve and take a couple billion dollars, and as long as I paid back several million and promised never to do it again (not that I did anything wrong in the first place, of course), there’d be no problem whatsoever. Everyone’s a winner!

(By
everyone,
I obviously mean “my board of directors,” because that’s all that really matters. Why should I care how other people are affected by my body’s actions? Not liable, remember?)

There’s also the environmental aspect to think of. Once I declare my body a corporation, it’s not my fault if what I do harms the world around me. I have to look out for my shareholders, so if that means I run over a couple pedestrians to get to work faster or throw a bunch of dirty diapers in my neighbor’s backyard rather than take the time to go put it in the trash, they can rest assured that I’m working for their best interests. The more time I spend with them, the more value they get, and, frankly, that’s the only guideline I have to follow.
You can be damned sure I’ll be talking to policy crafters accordingly. Luckily, I’ll be able to use as much money as I want to influence their decisions about what to set into law, so, thanks, Supreme Court! Thanks, Washington! Appreciate the assist!

Now, don’t get me wrong, there
are
a couple downsides. First off, to get that preferred tax rate, I’m going to have to base my corporation in the Cayman Islands or some other business-friendly nation, so that’ll necessitate a couple copies of myself to act as shell companies. They don’t really have to do anything, just sit there and provide the polite legal fiction that I’m actually residing in that country, so I’ll probably just get a couple of Fatheads or something and glue them to the side of a local strip mall. They won’t even need to pick up the phone if someone calls (which is a good thing, since inanimate objects traditionally struggle with phone-answering etiquette), but those shipping costs are going to set me back at least twenty or thirty bucks. Hopefully I’ll save that much with the tax laws.

Second, I can’t do anything totally shocking or horrendous until I’m so big that everyone in the world would be devastated by the mere thought of losing me.

Obviously, I’ll need to start a reality-television show or something similar to ensure that everyone who has time invested in me will be completely unable to function in any way, shape, or form if I disappear. Even the possibility of not having me around should be enough to drive the world into such a panic that otherwise completely rational people will mortgage away their future for the totally essential services I provide (chiefly: being me), but the only way to make this happen is for me to repeatedly tell people just how necessary I am to their well-being. Remember: You need me. I complete you. If I’m not here, your life is meaningless,
and you’ll probably end up starving in a gutter somewhere. I can’t really prove this in any substantial way, but I know
I’ll
be adversely affected if I’m dissolved or broken up, so just trust me on this one. I’ve repeated myself so many times, there’s no chance it’s a lie.

Finally, I’m not sure how I’m going to deal with the perpetuation of my corporation once those on the current board of directors decide to call it quits, but to be honest, I’ve offered them some pretty big bonuses to stick around for as long as possible (no matter how they perform), so I’m not too concerned. There’s no way my board would ever do anything not in the best interests of the corporation and purely for its own selfish benefit, so once I finish my seventh shot of tequila and do this line of blow, I’m going to drive on down to the local chamber of commerce and get the ball rolling.

It’s time to start living life the way it was meant to be lived—as a soulless conglomerate of ideas and desires whose only concern is to make as much profit as possible regardless of harm inflicted on those surrounding it.

It’s time to incorporate.

T
oday I had the most intriguing case. It all started when a rather portly gentleman entered my office after hesitantly pushing the glass-paneled door aside. Sweat stains marred the underarms of a wrinkled three-piece suit while his hands nervously clutched at each other like writhing snakes. The top of his scalp glistened in the overhead light, and a thinning fringe of hair ran around it like a monk’s tonsure—referred to in current street slang as a Republican mohawk, I believe. He smelled vaguely of hemp and whiskey.

I leaned back in my chair and crossed one foot over the other atop my battered desk, carefully avoiding kicking my laptop onto the thinly carpeted floor, and waited for whatever it was he had to say.

“Sir,” he began, tremulously, “I wish to hire you to find something for me, something that I appear to have mislaid. Countless groups claimed they could help, but they all contradicted each
other, and, frankly, I’m in such a deplorable state now that I’ve nowhere else to turn. I heard about your skills of deductive reasoning from the Internet pages, heard about your reputation for honesty and forthrightness. I’m desperate at this point, sir, and you appear to be the last option available to me. You have no idea how hard it is to find an honest man these days…”

He trailed off into silence, head down, eyes staring vacantly at the floor. His hands had grown still throughout the impassioned plea and now hung loosely at his sides. In all respects, a picture of utter and abject despair.

“Why should I help you?” I asked him bluntly. I do not suffer fools gladly, and his foolishness was beginning to irritate me. “What reason is there for me not to simply tell you to be on your way, along with your obsequious whining?”

“Why, sir, because it is the decent thing to do!” He drew back, affronted. “Do you feel no moral obligation to help those in need? Have you no charitable instinct toward those less fortunate than yourself?”

“I do,” I replied, “but that still doesn’t answer my question. You said you needed my help finding something you misplaced, yet if you but simply retrace your steps, you shall be sure to find it. Tell me again: Why should I help you when I do not feel particularly inclined to do so?”

“Well, I can pay you, pay you vast sums of money; you’ll have more wealth than you could ever imagine.” He squinted narrowly as he peered at me. “I happen to be one of the wealthiest people in the world, and I’m sure I could make some of that lucre trickle down into your coffers.”

I laughed. “Nonsense. You don’t have an actual penny to your name. Try a different tack.”

His face grew flushed as he clenched his fists. “How dare you say that to me, you insolent little brat!” he bellowed. “Where do you get off making such a preposterous claim?”

I raised a hand and began ticking points off on my fingers. “One: Your suit. It’s of a fine make, but that style hasn’t been worn in at least fifteen years, which means it’s from either the back of your closet or a thrift store. It hangs comfortably on the shoulders and neck, which rules out thrift store, but it’s a little tight around the waist, which tells me you got it when you were younger. It was probably a celebratory outfit, based on that particular cut, which is too formal for everyday wear. You’ve worn it often since then, as the shinier patches on the elbows and knees attest, but not recently, which I deduce from the unmistakable aroma of mothballs that even now hangs in the air, and since my office is definitely not the site of a debutante’s ball or any other celebration, that means you’ve pawned off everything else of value that could possibly impress someone.

“Two: Your fingernails are scuffed and dirty and your hair is oily, though neatly combed around the edges in an attempt to hide that fact. The comb itself is a cheap plastic version, the end of which I can see barely sticking out of your right pocket, and multiple teeth are missing. A fastidious man, one who aligns both shirtsleeves to be geometrically precise with his jacket, would keep his hands and hair clean unless he had no other option, and he would replace such a comb at the earliest possible opportunity. The fact you are unable to do so suggests a severe lack of funds, as well as a lack of access to common utilities.

“Three: I can see the outline of several coins and crumpled banknotes in your left trouser pocket but no wallet bulge anywhere, which tells me that you’re running on empty. A wealthy
man wouldn’t bother with the coins and wouldn’t be without access to at least some of his wealth at a moment’s notice, especially if he was planning on using that wealth. You’ve tracked in some oil on the bottom of your shoe, yet I don’t hear any keys jingling when you walk, which means you didn’t pick up the oil when you were in a gas station filling up your car; you got it while asking for the change that I mentioned earlier. Except I don’t think you asked for the change, because that brings me to point four.

“Point four is the revolver sitting in a shoulder holster underneath your left arm. The sweat pattern is distributed in the silhouette of a .356 Magnum, and the powder burns peppering your right hand tell me you’ve used it recently. Your demeanor and appearance don’t indicate any signs of a mugging or other attack, so you must have been the aggressor, and your nonchalant attitude means it’s not a new behavior. Hopefully, for your sake, you didn’t actually use the gun on somebody today.”

I clasped my hands behind my head and continued staring into his now beady eyes. “That is where I ‘get off,’ as you so eloquently put it. You’ve neither the intention to pay me nor the means to do so. Now, I’ll repeat the question one more time: Why should I help you?”

He grinned unpleasantly, drew the revolver, held it waist high, and aimed it at my head. “Because if you don’t, I’ll shoot you.”

“Ahh, I see, so now we get to the heart of the matter. Very well, if that is your price, let us see if I can pay it. Tell me, what is it that you’re looking for?” I swung my feet down and leaned forward, propping my elbows on the desk while steepling my fingers together under my chin.

He took a step toward me, gun still aimed at my temple, and began to speak. “I’ve lost my way,” he stated simply, flatly, angrily.
“I used to have the finest houses, the most expensive cars, piles of money, and I can’t find them anymore! They’re all in the hands of foreigners and merchants, taken from under my nose! My family was industrious and hardworking, but now all they do is lie about all day complaining that I’m not providing enough for them—as if I have any choice in the matter! That’s why I had to shoot that poor towelhead! It was for my family! I keep giving them more and more and it’s never enough!”

I sighed and shook my head. “I think I begin to see the problem here. All of your misfortune, all of your complaints, they’re all things someone has perpetrated on you, correct?”

He nodded emphatically, lips pursed together in a thin line.

“Well, it seems that we need to discover whoever this person is, and then we shall have an idea as to how we can recover your well-being. Tell me, why does your family no longer work to provide for themselves?”

“I told you, they can’t work! All the jobs have been taken by the foreigners! No one wants to pay a decent wage anymore for an honest day’s work plus benefits!”

“Surely they must eat, though, correct? Do they grow their own food? Craft their own clothes?”

“Of course not!” He looked shocked. “What do you take us for, savages? There’s a wonderful store we use called Mal-Wart, carries everything we need at the only prices we can afford. I tell you, it’s an absolute lifesaver. Without those low, low deals, there’s no way we’d be able to get by.”

“I see. And how do they pay for these wonderful deals?”

“Well, I give my family money, obviously, though it’s getting harder and harder to find. Most of what I have goes to supply this
beautiful girl.” He patted the revolver lovingly. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“I meant how does
the store
pay for the deals.”

“Oh. Well, um, I guess I never thought about it. That’s a good question.”

I permitted myself a small eye roll while his attention was distracted. “Never mind, never mind, let’s move on. Now, you said that merchants were also to blame, is this correct?”

“Yes, that’s right!” His voice rose in excitement. “I bet it was one of them what took my fortune, turned it to their own scheming means!” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “A lot of companies are run by those Jews, you know.”

“Right. Questions of ownership aside, how, exactly, did these merchants steal from you?”

“Hmm. I couldn’t really point to any particulars, but I know they did it somehow.” He frowned. “They all needed so much help—to make sure their businesses were established; develop new products, land, and resources for exploitation—so of course I gave it to them. They promised me so much in return, you see, and for a while, I got a little back, and life was good, but then all of a sudden, they said they didn’t have any money and couldn’t afford to pay me anymore.”