Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Because Libertarians are Still Terrible

Our sister blag Atlas Shirked is back in business!

And appropriately enough, it IS September while this is being written and while Daffy Braggart is having a good mope over her boytoy getting nicked in the last chapter.

This of course being in addition to the good mope she was having over the closing - not failure! - of her precious Gort Line to Nowhere. She'd been so caught up in this round of lachyrmonous nombrilisme, she'd barely had time to fret over such plot points as the Gort doodle she'd found a few other chapters ago or the mass exodus of Great Men.

What she considered Great Men - hedge fund and private equity managers, heirs to oil companies who'd never worked a day in their lives, and all the many bosses who survived on nothing but the sweat and toil of underpaid others. Her heart bled for them most of all, or would if she had the time. And a heart.

"Oh Niels," she wailed. "You won't leave me too?"

"I'm in this chapter?" asked Niels.

To Daffy's champagne and quaalude addled mind, it seemed as if some Destroyer was moving across the land, erasing all the Greatness. And she was sure this horrible personification of Gotterdamurung was the same author of the brilliant engine dismissed by so many as a crayon drawing simply because that's exactly what it was.

Hey, I didn't make up this screwy logic of hers.

In a scene missing from the previous chapter - or the one before it, I can't keep track of this mess anymore - Daffy had discovered a brilliant engineer by the name of Quisling and tasked him with making some tangible product out of the crude doodle. She knew he was a brilliant engineer because he'd said so and had been working as a custodian when she found him. Only a genius would take a job so far below their actual abilities, so as to spite the world for not fawning all over them.

"I will pay you whatever you like!" Daffy had offered upon showing the Gort drawing to Quisling.

"I'll do it for free," he'd said in a sleezy con-artist's voice - which Daffy really should have been familiar with by now in her life. "And by 'free' I mean 'your sweet ass.'"

"Okey dokey!"

Now, sitting on a pack of frozen peas to relieve the burning sensation, Daffy looked at Quisling's latest report and wondered how much longer the project would take...

Continue reading Chapter 12 of Atlas Shirked!

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