| Available Now |
While I have stated publically I hate being prescient, there are times when I don’t mind too much. With the massive Occupy movements afoot I thought I should note that I was talking about the absurdities of Corporate Personhood long before it was popular.
Check out this section of An American Book of the Dead*- The Game Show†.
. . . (Lights fade to darkness except the red of Tonya’s booth, which glows all the more brightly.)
ANNOUNCER (in the darkness): Wow!
HOST (in the darkness): What’s happening, Don?
ANNOUNCER: This is very interesting, Blink.
(Lights rise on a file cabinet placed center.)
ANNOUNCER: Tonya, Serge, John Carver, Kim and Barry, et al, have apparently just been reborn as the Computer Tabulating Recording Company, CTR for short.
HOST: What the—! How’s that possible?
ANNOUNCER: Well, Blink. Not many folks know this, and those that do don’t like to think about it much, but corporations live lives just like people do.
HOST: I don’t believe it!
ANNOUNCER: It’s true! And, I don’t need to tell you, Blink, this could spell big trouble for us.
HOST: Uh... Don? Maybe you do need to tell me.
ANNOUNCERS: Well, Blink, corporations are theoretically immortal.
HOST: Whoa. What?
(Blink tries to open one, then another, of the file cabinet drawers, but finds them all locked. He gives the cabinet a frustrated kick.)
ANNOUNCER: Corporations can and sometimes do die, Blink. But they don’t have to, and if CTR doesn’t die, or find true love, or murder America, or instantaneously achieve enlightenment on its own, we could be stuck here in the game show forever.
(Enter Tom Watson, a middle-aged man in an old-fashioned suit and straw hat. He puts his arm around the file cabinet as if it were a close chum.)
TOM WATSON: Now listen here, fellah. There’s no reason you can’t be the greatest corporation in the world. Understand me? A real companies’ company. But things are gonna have to change. You follow? You’re gonna have to look right. You’re gonna have act right. And most important, you’re gonna have to THINK!
(He slaps a magnet on the cabinet that reads “THINK”.)
HOST (reading): “Think?”
TOM WATSON: Think.
HOST: “Think?”
TOM WATSON: Think!
HOST: Think!
TOM WATSON: Think.
HOST: Blink?
TOM WATSON: “Blink?”
HOST: That’s my name, don’t wear it out. And who are you?
TOM WATSON: Why I’m Thomas Watson, Sr. CEO of CTR. Who might you be?
HOST: I might be Blink Bodie, game show host.
TOM WATSON: Oh, I see. You’re one of those characters that doesn’t exist. . . .
HOST: Exactly.
TOM WATSON: Well, I don’t have time for that right now. You’ll have to excuse me.
HOST: Well, there’s no need to be prejudiced.
Sheesh! The nerve a that guy.
(Watson opens a file drawer and slips a large folder inside. Then, closing the drawer, he slaps another magnet on the cabinet. This one reads: “IBM”.)
TOM WATSON (to the cabinet): That’s your new name.
(Blink inspects the magnet.)
HOST: I... be... am?
TOM WATSON (to the cabinet): Stands for “International Business Machines”. This way “business” is your middle name!
HOST: Well, attaboy, IBM!
TOM WATSON (to the audience): Perfect for all your data tabulating needs.
HOST: Listen, any chance this thing might murder America?
(Watson ignores him.)
HOST: Or die? A nice quiet death might be nice.
(Watson places a small ticker tape machine on top of the cabinet, flips a switch and stands back as the machine spits a continuous stream of tape.)
HOST: Oooh. What’s happening?
TOM WATSON: Congratulations, friend. Your shares are trading publicly. And look! In just a decade your profits increase seven hundred percent!
HOST: Wow! Even I know that’s good!
TOM WATSON: And when the 1930’s roll around, I dare say you’re in a darned sight better shape than most. Why in a depression when most concerns are sacking their sales force, IBM is hiring! (then, in an anxious whisper to IBM) Act natural! Here comes the president of the United States.
(FDR rolls over to IBM in his wheel chair.)
FDR: Say, you’re looking awfully healthy? You haven’t laid a single worker off. Don’t you know there’s a depression on? You’re not mixed up in any monopolizing, are ya?... Anti-competitive practices? That sort of thing?...
TOM WATSON: No, sir. Mr. President. IBM here is a stand up corporate citizen.
FDR: Well, if you are, we’ll catch you at it.
Now listen, I’m thinking of starting up something called Social Security, so everybody in the country can collect some money when they retire.
TOM WATSON (to FDR): What a nice thought!
(aside to IBM)
Goddamned Bolshevist!
FDR: And it’s a damn sight harder than it sounds. Do you have any idea how many people live in these United States?
TOM WATSON: One hundred and twenty three million, two hundred and two thousand, six hundred and twenty-four, as of 1930.
FDR: How did you know that?
TOM WATSON: IBM does your census.
FDR: Oh. I see.
(Tom Watson reaches into the file cabinet and retrieves a fat file. He pulls ideas from it for the following:)
TOM WATSON: Now here’s what we do for this Social Security racket. We use that same punch card technology and give each person a number.
FDR: Hmmm. A number, you say?
TOM WATSON: Sure, sure. It’s just the thing. And when it comes time to send a body a check, why we can print that directly onto a specially prepared punch card.
(aside to IBM)
Nice touch, kid. It’s like free advertisement. And the business from Uncle Sam’s gonna grow you ten-fold.
(Watson hands the file to FDR, who flips through it cursorily.)
FDR: All right. Looks good. Thanks a million.
(He rolls off.)
TOM WATSON: Thanks one hundred and twenty three million, two hundred and two thousand, six hundred and twenty-four.
HOST: Wait a second, wait a second. Don, Social Security: didn’t that murder America?
ANNOUNCER: Let’s ask the judges, Blink.
(Short pause. Then an abrupt buzzer.)
ANNOUNCER: Sorry, Blink. The judges say contrary to Conservative fear-mongering. Social Security did not murder America. In fact, quite the opposite.
(Enter a mustached man in a Nazi SS uniform, Heinrich Himmler.)
HOST: Who are you?
HIMMLER: I am Heinrich Himmler, Reichsfuhrer-Schutzstaffel.
HOST: Gesundheit!...
HIMMLER: I command ze SS. Der Furher has charged me vis finding some vay to... keep tabs on various... “populations” vissin our borders.
HOST: Oh, better talk to the file cabinet. I don’t exist.
TOM WATSON (anticipating Himmler’s inquiry): Punch cards.
HIMMLER: Vas iz dis, “Punch Cards”?
TOM WATSON: Say, hypothetically, you got a bunch of “J’s” mixed into a larger population of “A’s”. There’s only one way to sort the “J’s” from the “A’s” quickly and efficiently: punch cards.
(Watson pulls a stack of punch cards out of IBM and hands it to Himmler.)
HIMMLER: Zis is gut, ya?
TOM WATSON: Oh, ya.
(Himmler exits.)
HOST: But wait, you just sold punch card technology to the Nazi’s?
TOM WATSON: That’s right. A whole bunch of it. Why, besides ol’ Uncle Sam, they’re IBM’s best and biggest customer.
HOST: But don’t you know what they’re gonna use it for?
TOM WATSON: Don’t ask me, ask IBM.
(Watson exits.)
HOST (to IBM): Don’t you know what they’re gonna do with those punch cards? Hunh? Don’t you— don’t you care?...
Tonya?... Barry?... Kim?, for pity’s sake? Are you in there? Don’t you see?
(Lights shift, growing sepulchral. A special lights a tombstone that reads, “THINK”.)
HOST: What’s happening, Don?
ANNOUNCER: It’s 1956, Blink. And IBM is getting its first taste of true sorrow. Mr. Watson has died.
HOST: Yeah?
ANNOUNCER: IBM’s grieving.
HOST: Oh, it is, is it? Well, isn’t that just tragic.
ANNOUNCER: Corporations have feelings, Blink. They’re just not quite the same as yours or mine.
HOST: We don’t exist, Don.
ANNOUNCER: Good point, Blink.
HOST: Don, what about true love? I mean, if it has feelings, can we get this thing laid and get us the hell out of this mess?
ANNOUNCER: It’s possible, Blink. Corporations fall in love, get married and divorced all the time, but the question is...
HOST: The question is what?
ANNOUNCER: Is IBM the type to share its life with someone?
HOST: Well,... shit on a stick! How should I know?
ANNOUNCER: Wait!
HOST: What?
ANNOUNCER: It’s the 1980’s, and a whole different kind of company has come along; one that just might change IBM’s so-called life forever.
(Bill Gates enters, carrying a gigantic floppy disk.)
HOST (pointing to the disk): Hi there. Who might you be?
GATES: I might be the richest guy in the world some day.
HOST: Okay... who’s your friend?
GATES (to IBM): This is... my company, Microsoft.
HOST: Well, helloooh, Microsoft. You know my friend, IBM?
GATES: Uh, Microsoft’s only been licensing DOS to IBM’s personal computer division for the last half decade!
HOST: Okay, so...
GATES: So what?
HOST: Get on with the gettin’ on.
GATES: What? Are you— jeez!—. no way! The... the two companies are like totally and utterly...you know... incompatible. IBM’s all white shirts and ties. Microsoft’s tie-dyes and hackey sacks. IBM doesn’t even believe in personal computers. Says they’re only for... geeks. And worse: IBM’s says there’s no way to make money from software. Can you believe that?! It’s... it’s just hurtful, and— and— and... it’s not true!
HOST (to IBM): What’s wrong with you? Were you raised by wolves? Be nice!
GATES: It doesn’t matter. Microsoft doesn’t care.
HOST (to the floppy): I understand, sweet heart. Tell me. What do you two have in common? What gets you both hot and bothered?
GATES: Well... there is the, uh... the GUI.
HOST: The gooey?
GATES: Grapical User Interface. It’s super cool. We call it Windows. We uh... kind of have high hopes for it. And it IBM was interested in collaborating on it, then... uh... well, we might sorta be interested, too.
HOST: That’s good, that’s good. Whaddya say, pal? How ‘bout gettin’ sommadat GOOEY!!! Think about it.
(Awkward pause as Blink, Gates and Microsoft wait for a reply from IBM.)
HOST: I said think about it!
GATES: We’re not gonna wait around forever. There’s plenty of other companies that would give their left subsidiary to get with Microsoft.
HOST: Easy. These things.... some times... take time with your more mature corporation.
GATES: IBM’s not the only fish in the sea, you know.
HOST: That’s what you think.
(to IBM)
Think! Think you dumb corporate son of a bitch!
GATES: We’re gonna sell Windows to everyone we meet, over and over. We’re gonna sell it cheap and we’re gonna sell it dirty. Hell, we’re gonna give it away for free if we feel like it!
HOST: Think! Cripes! How much more thinking can one crappy file cabinet do?! Tonya, Kim, Barry? Little help?! Think!
GATES: And we’re gonna make more money than you thought ever existed hustling our GUI, buster.
(Blink begins kicking IBM and beating on it with his fists, driven nearly to tears in his rage.)
HOST: Think! Think think think think think think think think think think think THINK!
(Blink collapses, spent.
Gates goes to leave with Microsoft in tow, but Blink springs to his feet, pulls a gun out of his waistband and offers it to the floppy disk.)
HOST: Okay. Listen. Why not kill the bastard? You got what it takes. IBM’s old and weak, all ‘cuz of you. You’re the new generation. Go on. It’s time. Put the stiff of your misery.
(During the last page or so, Barry, Kim and Tonya sneak back into their seats in the audience and begin passing out fliers that read, “On the count of three, yell ‘fire fights fire!’”)
BARRY: ONE!
TONYA: TWO!
KIM: THREE!
ALL THREE PLUS THE AUDIENCE: Fire fights fire!
(They repeat this until most of the audience joins in. Perhaps, at different locations in the theatre, lights come up on other characters joining in the chant, like Emma Goldman and/or Cheek Eye Chin and/or John Carver, etc. Finally Blink whistles with his fingers and shouts over everyone:) . . . .
Comments