Hyper Transit Widget Spheroid Solids was a corporation operating in the great state of [withheld] that produced hyperbolic-related widgets. There was a certain segment of our population (dorks) that was thirsty for these widgets and the company did well.
The product was theoretically tightly regulated by the government’s Department Of Hyperbole (DOH) which maintained and enforced a complex set of legislation designed to protect public safety.
One of the selling points of the widgets is that they were the “shiniest DOH-approved widgets” available anywhere in the whole wide world.
It was true that they were indeed the shiniest widgets. There was no doubt about that. And based on that fact, the Hyper transit widgets sold like hotcakes.
The was one minor troubling nit of a detail, though. The widgets were never DOH approved. Not meeting government criteria went a long way in making it easier to make their widgets shiny. Other widget manufacturers made products that were less shiny because they were hindered by the fact they actually obeyed the law.
Widget-hungry consumers, if they had bothered to look, would find an online database of many widget violations and disciplinary actions taken by DOH.
The corporation just keep making and selling the widgets and playing games with the government. They were able to get away with it for an amazingly long time. It’s not like public safety was involved.
Then, one day, something happened. Hyper Transit Widget Spheroid Solids dissolved and ceased to be a corporation. Yeah! A blow was struck for truth, justice and the American way.
It didn’t last long, though. The very next day a new corporation set up shop at the exact same address. It was called Blongorgic Transit Widget Spheroid Solids and, amazingly, made the very same products.
Of course the two corporations had absolutely nothing do with each other. Legally they were two different and totally distinct entities. They did happen to have the same person who controlled 100% of the shares, though. Odd coincidence, that.
Now if you excuse me, I need to go buy a transit widget spheroid solid. Nice knowin’ ya!
Obviously that motherfucker sells like hotcakes. Because, we needs it.
The company (heretofore known as the Company), however, has an “agreement” that, somehow, you (heretofore known as the Schmuck) accepted simply by buying their product. Clever how that shit works.
When the time is right, pursuant to the terms of the agreement, the Company fully asserts the “absolute right and power, in its sole discretion and without any liability to Schmuck whatsoever, to cease all beeping operations of the widget, without prior notice, in perpetuity throughout the universe, known and unknown.”
Why the fuck would anyone ever agree to terms like that? Ultimately, giving someone money is giving them the power to fuck you.
I wonder how agreements like these worked in colonial times?
“Hey, Washington, I find myself in need of another one of your colonial-era chairs whittled by hand from a block of solid cherry. This will complete my collection. Anon my family will finally be able to break bread and conduct fellowship, at the same time, around hearth, heart and dining room table.”
“Hey, Adams, you useless pustule of a puke. Don’t talk to me about it. Talk to my corporation.”
“By George, what the hell is a corporation?”
“Allow me to don ye olde corporation hat and assplain it you. It’s Step #1 in fucking you red, black and blue.”
“Now then, I direct you to focus your attention on this. I agree to sell you quantity one of Whittled Cherry 9000 and you give me 5,000 quid of two bits. Furthermore, be it known, that I alone will always decide who may sit – or not – on said chair, if ever.”
“Holy shit. That sounds like an awesome deal to me. I can’t give you my quid bits fast enough. Here, take my money! God, I love you so much, George. That’s another one I owe you. You accept tips, right? Here, try a pint of my latest brew!”
“Why the hell do we still measure things in English measurements, like pints? Gods ye fools! Ha ha ha ha ha!”
“Okay, whatever. Here’s your chair, puke face. Just never sit on it. Now fuck off, ye pukey puke.”
“If only Yelp! had been invented by now, I would herald the news of your beneficence to all the land, from sea to shining sea!”
Indeed. Think Adams sounds like a schmuck? I advise you to check your credit card agreements, especially the section pertaining to “binding arbitration.” You should love it because you agreed to it!
Ha ha ha, you pustule of a schmuck.
New Yahoo CEO Marissa Mayer is pregnant. Cue the Star Wars Empire Strikes Back music.
“I am your mommy.”
For once the mainstream media gets it right with a finessed balance of coverage. I just culled these headlines, at random, from Google News. In the urn, this is the cream that rose to the top. I did not go digging or cherry pick these headlines.
- Who Has It Easier, a Pregnant CEO or a Pregnant Maid?
- Marissa Mayer hinted at what she’ll do at Yahoo — in 2010
- She’s Feeling Lucky
- Forbes writer to Mayer: You can’t have it all
- Pregnant Yahoo CEO ignites maternity debate
And last, but certainly not least:
The Pregnant CEO: Should You Hate Marissa Mayer?
It almost is enough to make one wonder, “Holy fucking shit? What the hell just happened here?”