“Heh, heh heh”. Takes a bite, don’t it?
“Another World” of Management
“Ah, the old rat-race”…..
“Keep the boss happy”…..
“There’s got to be a better way”
“I know– Infomercials!”
“Hello, Junior College– here I come”
“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice”
So begins a crash-course in eternal wisdom…..
Form follows function in this after-life, as true as a dung beetle up to its task of maintenance crew like a worm pit of reincarnation and renewal.
Let the scales of COSMIC JUSTICE fall where they may.
Chained to the “Karma Factory”, so to speak as dead wage-slaves trudge into work—your immortal relationship with the nature of eternity.
Further impacted into the stark burial of cycles, you’ll quickly learn “that death is no holiday”.
No rest for the wicked, nor solace for the deathly grind.
Death….. drudgery…. taxes….. SMOKE-BREAK.
Pull your own weight or disappear in a puff of smoke….. like Sylvia Sidney as Juno in office garb and pearls as she draws a jaded puff off of her cigarette and gives you an empty stare.
“Well, what did you expect?”.
And you can bet that the paperwork is horrendous– beyond the veil of the unseen—“behind the scenes” as platonic forms are given reality in the give-and-take “around death’s door”.
“We need a union”…..
There, strewn across the land-scape of hell of red-rock, ashes, and cinders amid rocky paths of career advancement. Adjust your clocks, set your engines—pay the price “and meet your spend-down” as an Elvira-like hostess gives you the video tour on the screen, there in the waiting room.
Death, your scythe-wielding recruiter. Satan, your middle-management. The CEO of the system, an evil, sucking, parasitical “vampire squid” which about describes “the beast in the details”.
Maybe “the spry” escape….. but only LIVING ON BORROWED TIME.
Can you outpace karma? Well certainly, Beetlejuice tries…. as a gamely parasite whom feasts off the naivete “of the next chump” who drops by his graveyard trailer. Like a bad 1970’s relic of discounted, horrific leisure-suits and used car-salesman tactics.
Refinance “a new lease on life” with this guy? Think again—he’ll be the fiend stirring over a vat of putrescent, rotting juices with a stick. “Bad credit”, or “no credit?” HE’LL TAKE EVERYTHING “BUT THE SQUEAL”.
Like “turning shit into gold”….. your carcass “has to be worth something”.
Your “soul-salvage” guarantee OR NO MONEY BACK. Your market-clearing price.
We don’t make the rules, as you’ve got about as much luck as the prize vomited out of a gum-ball machine in a little plastic egg.
“WE MANUFACTURE IGNORANCE” and hold the key to death’s door, the flyer “should say”. He also moonlights as a bio-exorcist or “rented party-clown” whom drives out the living “for a song”.
He’ll even show up at shopping mall openings and sign autographs.
If you think he’s a shit-magnet for sinister money-making schemes, you ought to meet his nephew. Curdled-up and soured with a worthless community-college degree “like the younger, faster, smarter” tech-savvy side “putting the OLD SKOOL out to pasture”.
Suckers work retail….. enterprising bastards rig-up a kind of Bitcoin mining-operation when “a fake, homeless torso” gets kicked off the pavement of any street corner—a kind of “automatic beggar” covered with a blanket to mask its animatronic flimsiness, the cup of loose change overturned and emptied by opportunists.
Meanwhile, sharing rent with Uncle Beetlejuice when he would otherwise be fishing a dead possum out of the pool at some dead-end roach motel, LITERALLY.
There, a work-bench of thrumming, stripped-down computer components “sucking away” at every spare penny “in the ether of cloud-computing”, as dubious as any elaborate justification of NAPSTER-style downloading and curdled consumer parasitism or identiy-theft.
SPAMMING plays a big role, here. Dregs of unemployment, law of cyberspace.
Above it all, the twinkling stars never setting on this mysterious, glowing earth-ball and for what it all means other than the shifting tides of gravitation and appetite slowly and surely “grinding us down” with friction as we choke on exhaust and our own grime.
For he’ll hold the globe in the palm of his hand, like an evil grinning joker. Don’t knock the pulsing, cosmic-waves out of cycle…. losing extra seconds and threatening to bring the fabric of existence crashing down. Geometric occult mysticism? Fractal time-wave ZERO? Or just a solar riddle?
Find out more in the sequel to Beetlejuice currently percolating in development…..