Taylor: Hostile Takeover
HOSTILE TAKEOVER
by Ed Taylor
I am here to tell you we mean business. We are not afraid of the oubliette, the leveraged buyout, green mail, the stiletto stashed in the leather tie, or low ratings. We have established a rump government seated in a deep vault at an undisclosed lending institution, and created a Ministry of Reptiles to deal with the security question. We have studied Picasso’s scarred apocrypha on ugliness and taken them into battle as bibles. Our technology allows us to ignore the mind, maneuver around the heart, and head straight for the stomach, where the true emotions crouch like toads. While we are indeed cubists we are not amused by your antic character; however, we possess a sense of humor and a flute carved from an arm bone, on which I will play corporate anthems of the world and other martial tunes. You abandon your casualties; we follow quietly with the night and offer them computer literacy and mustaches―you may recognize the man who cuts your throat as the one who rocked the boat.
You doubt our efficiency? We have placed an explosive device in your suggestion box: soon the walls will run red with your own naked ambition. You doubt our seriousness? Our catapults will soon fling angry babies over your walls―children born while we wandered in the desert who resent the sand in their diapers. We will see how you handle foster parenthood. You doubt our support? Look around―you see your best childhood friends, your elementary school teachers, your first sweetheart. They are our stealth weapons. Look again―they are spelling defeat with their bodies, fired up like the world’s most passionate cheerleading squad. You may as well know―your mother pilots our lead helicopter. However, she feels guilty, tears glaze her vision, her sight is clouded, her hand trembles on the stick, accidents happen. . . . We await your decision.