Fergis and Wild Turkey had a bad feeling about the proceedings. They thought it was bizarre to receive telegrams from skeletons bearing UPS logos. Especially because they didn’t have a permanent address. They would attend the picnic regardless.
I arrange suitable transport for them. I ensure they arrive just in time to witness the CEO of the Akron Designery give the annual pep speech.
“You have been very useful everybody,” I say. “Maybe you can attend next year if I remember your existence.”
Warm claps from all the employees. I shake Bob Dylan’s hand. I high-five Peter Jailface. I embrace the Muffin Blackheart and chat with Ernie Fellerbottom about robots.
Wild Turkey is unimpressed with the proceedings. Fergis looks ready to carve out my eyes with a spoon and flay my tongue with a steak fork.