O l i v e r B e n j a m i n
destruction of property they were presumed responsible for. The
tragedy was mitigated by the fact that there had been virtually no
casualties, plus most people figured that as long as they sided with
the gods, anything that had been takethed away could also be
givethed back.
Some were already capitalizing on the fracas. Merchandisers
were hard at work creating graven images of all sorts to honor them
as well as capitalize on the historical portentousness: T-shirts,
skateboards, action figures, television pilots, and even condoms—
surely in this day and age, the gods would want to advocate safe sex!
And there was no need to apply for licensing fees, because the gods
were already in the public domain and couldn’t be copyrighted. They
were a rare blessing for the media and manufacturing industries, and
anything that could possibly be done to promote them was
unabashedly done.
John Lennon once joked that, riding on the shoulderpads of
superstardom, the Beatles had actually become more popular than
Jesus Christ. Now, thanks to that selfsame padding, Jesus Christ
himself had become more popular than Jesus Christ.
When the prophets walked into the VTV offices, Barth greeted them
jovially, insisting that he was just as qualified to run the account as
Gareth, that they had been partners for years. He insisted that he had
been hard at work with Gareth and knew every detail of the plan.
Barth then said how unfortunate it was that their friend was in jail,
but that of course one can only run from the devil for so long. They
replied that the devil did not exist and was only an invention of man,
to which Barth agreed ardently.
They watched as he calmly lit a cigar and shuffled through some
documents. Barth was about to share with them the way in which a
proper End-of-the-World Pageant, as seen through the eyes of a
genius media expert, should be run. They hunched forward on the
leather sofa, awaiting the presentation.
What none of them knew was that most of the plan for
Armageddon was not the vision of Gareth, or any other media expert.
“Genius” would be even less appropriate, since anyone who watches
TV could technically call themselves a media expert, but no one with
an IQ under 90 could officially be called a genius.
Naturally, Bob also managed to get his sticky electronic fingers
into these, the most sacred files at VTV, and like a mutated DNA
161
 |
 |
 |
 |