“It sure does. I would like to take this moment to promise all you
folks out there that I will do my very best to fight for mankind. I have
peered beyond the veil, my friends. I have seen what’s behind curtain
number three. I have spun the great wheel of truth. I have eaten from
the tree of knowledge. And I have gazed into the fire. I, Marcus
Hopkins, will sing you your redemption song, your song of freedom!”
He raised his right fist in adamant response to the greatest
cheering yet, and at length sat back down.
“Blues legend, Marcus Hopkins, Ladies and Gentlemen!”
Zarathustra exclaimed, milking the still-applauding crowd before
moving on to the last contestant.
Bob was a little puzzled how the last contestant got on the show.
He had chosen his boss, Mr. Schlechtmann, to be the fourth,
intending for this to be a big reunion for the four of them. But who
was this guy? He sure didn’t like the looks of him. The stranger was
big and ugly and didn’t seem nice like Mr. Schlechtmann did. After
all, Mr. Schlechtmann had given him a job, and all this guy had given
him backstage was a dirty look and some weird advice. “Stay away
from me kid, or I’ll break your collarbone” was what he said. Not very
nice at all.
“And last but not least,” Zarathustra said, “we’ve got a very
powerful television executive, Johanness Barth, acting CEO for
Violence Television Incorporated!”
The audience collectively gasped. This was certainly not the kind
of guy you wanted on your side in a contest of righteousness. The
human race had a lot to be ashamed of, but perhaps nothing so
notorious as VTV. A tidal wave of panic rippled over the entire
television-watching world and began to grossly affect people’s
perceptions of the future, or lack of one. Many felt it was an outrage
that such a man could be chosen to represent humanity. After all,
most people weren’t anything like him, and though they sometimes
watched his programs and bought some of his promotional
accessories and T-shirts, they didn’t really support his views. What
poor representation! What a cruel twist of fate! And now that they
thought about it, what was with the stoned teenager, lunatic weirdo,
and pop music flash-in-the-pan? Where was the Pope, or the Dalai
Lama? Or at least a good-looking TV actor? Those were the true
representatives of humanity, not these freaks! How did this happen?
Zarathustra returned to center stage and signaled for the house
lights to be brought down a little. He was clearly enjoying himself.
H O L Y S H I T !
194
 |
 |
 |
 |