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The Heavy Feet of Capitalistic Trophy Flesh

Comrades:

It is time for revolution, albeit a small one, but a revolution just the same. As you are painfully aware the corporate elite have long held us down, their methods of sustaining such have become subtle but are undeniably present. I, if I may, humbly share an observation that may cause you some dismay.

We have all experienced this. You're concentrating in your cube, working on a problem that will solve an issue that will earn someone else millions while you yourself get the pleasure that your efforts may grant you a week or two of food basics, when your thoughts are slowly invaded by the clop – clop – clop – clop of an invading entity. No, it's not the horse of some Napoleonistic cavalry scout. It's the perfumed trophy of an elitist corporate ruler, some high thigh stocking wearing Gucci-shod denizen of the ethereal land of YOU'LL NEVER GET THERE….CLOP CLOP CLOP!! It says, you wanna pay your mortgage? HA HA HA!! You WILL if we LET YOU!! CLOP CLOP CLOP!! LOOK at ME, WORKER!! HEAR MY FEET of OPPRESSION!!

It's time we STAND UP and TAKE BACK the HALLWAYS!! It's time to gently corral those icons of excess and pull off those shoes!! And perhaps massage the little pities within (and maybe nibble on that little ridge of skin just above the heel).

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Welcome Remulus. I know exactly what you're talking about (even if no one else does). I too have suffered the sound of the high heels of authority, heard long before they reach the carpeted landscape of the cube farm. The carpet may hide the sound of her long march but not the smell of cheap perfume bestowed on her by some executive VP, a reward for skillfully polishing his putter in his cozy corner office.

They usually have titles that end in "Coordinator" or "Consultant." Their goal is to waste the time of the employees by organizing the "children" in mandatory non-project related activities like "quality improvement presentations" to corporate bigwigs.

They get paid 6 figure salaries for forcing the staff to drop what they're doing and breakout the crayons and poster stock. None of which benefit the bottomline. And some wonder what's wrong with American business. Upper management obsessed with games of the golf ball who abdicate their responsibilities to harpies and witches and then pat themselves on the back with golden parachutes.

Oh yes, I know, I been there.

(ASI huh? Yeah, I been there comrade)

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Comrade Remulus,

Did you say perfumed trophy? Yes, the capitalist system is quite cruel. These perfumed Trophies can sell themselves to the highest bidder, and end up clopping clopping over others. But, if it's any consolation, that perfumed trophy has also paid a price, the likes of which would be quite distasteful to most, er, if you know what I mean.

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Comrade Whoopie wrote:Welcome Remulus. I know exactly what you're talking about (even if no one else does). I too have suffered the sound of the high heels of authority, heard long before they reach the carpeted landscape of the cube farm. The carpet may hide the sound of her long march but not the smell of cheap perfume bestowed on her by some executive VP, a reward for skillfully polishing his putter in his cozy corner office..... )

ONLY WHEN YOU NEED THE AUTHORITY OF OUR HIGHER HEELS, LOYAL COMRADE, if I may say so. And for your information my perfume is not cheap like I am . . . . uh, I mean my smell is as expensive as I am! Wait, that is not what I'm saying. . . oh *&$#@!!!
I am humbly proud of my high heels and smell!!

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Dear Leninka, I do not have a perfume trophy (why do I not, I ask??) but you are welcome to use our Cube aroma.

Comrade Remulus, I denounce all capitalism!

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Move over, White Diamonds....we've got " Gulag Gals " !

Now there's a name that just reeks class .......

What an outstanding gift to subdue that influential " pair of higher heels " at the office,
during our Federally approved, politically correct " Winter Solstice Gift and Enlightenment Exchange ".

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Most dear comrade, you continue to astounding me us with your intellectual intelligence smartness in kissing up wisdom. My my my, what a glorious idea for Winter Solstice gifting and re-gifting you have had. I We certainly do reek, do "reek", do we not. And our boots higher heels are made for walking all over disagreeable comrades, are they not. (cough cough)

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I also know exactly what you mean, comrade Remulus. A ghost of some high-heel stocking wearing Gucci-shod denizen of the ethereal land has been haunting the People's Cube hallways as well...

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Gulag Gals

I did not know there was a perfume named after that lighthearted entertaining TV show on the WB about Loralei and her daughter Rory?

What a glorious show! A tribute to the family unit!

Or is that Gilmore?


 
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