Stay tuned!  A new contributor is coming soon!  Yeah, baby!

(Yeah, baby?!)

Specifics will be given, names named!  Oh my gosh, such sordid, even demented real life activities of some people that need exposure to the brilliant light of day.  Truth shall be our only defense!  We say only what we can easily prove!

Stay tuned...same bat time....same bat channel.  No commercial interruptions.  From now on, truth- in detail - shall reign!  Well, it will here, anyway.   Keep watching, and get ready to laugh at the current state of things.

Because Truth really is better than ficition!  =)

Poor Whitly Click, number one pharma sales rep in 2007, animal health division.  (That's vet meds, dogs and cats, ocasionally horses)  At the 2008 sales orgy he was given his construction paper award, complete with his name on it.   They patted him on his fleshy back and said, "Gee, what a good boy you are!"  The room full of sales zombies sipped their Manhattans and stared.

Later, he was asked to speak to the rest of us peons- to impart some of his sales wisdom to the seething masses.  Whitly Click had none to give.  That's because Whitly  Click is a dick.

A nice enough guy and all, I mean, he loves high end hunting rifles.  We talk for hours about English double guns in massive, African calibers like the awe inspiring .500 Nitro Express.  A rifle that can literally roll a huge grizzly bear right back up its mother's womb.   It can hit it so hard it will actually jump temporarily back in time.  You don't even have to take the bear to the taxidermist.  One shot from that mighty rifle and the beast flies up in the air, only to come down again as chops, steaks, burger and a fine, thick rug you can curl your toes in.  Ahh, the .500 Nitro Express.  A gun so expensive only a dick can afford one.

Well, if you're going to sell your soul to dick-dom that's a pretty good reason, I guess.  But I'd still hate to be that much of a dick, even if I did get a smokin' fine shoulder rod out of it.  I'll stick with my old fashioned lever action lead pump.

But Whitly was number one clown for a day.  And he has his construction paper prize to prove it, complete with his name and everything.  He earned over $2,000,000 for the company in one year.  That deserves some construction paper.  (It's the same kind of paper that I made shit out of in Kindergarten, you know, the really thick, quality stuff.)  You have to go all the way to Walmart or Kresge's to get paper like that. 

At Walmart you'll find the kind of construction paper that says, "A Job Well Done."   What's more, it's highly absorbent paper, so that when you wise up and wipe your ass with it, it's both soft and efficient.  Being light weight, it's also cost effective to mail back to your boss after having done so.

Poor Whitly Click.  If he wants to get ahead, then he should invest in dapper clothes and a winning smile.  Drink with the boys and girls.  Laugh at stupid jokes, go to barbaques and attend meetings you don't need to.  Learn the secret satanic handshake.   But don't bust your ass unless you're short of Charmin in the shithouse. 

Do you ever wonder where the damned go before they proceed to bark in hell?

I know one place where they abound- pharmaceutical sales.  Pharma sales is a despicable profession- one that I do out of necessity.  I'm qualified for no other position in the the modern US economy.  What a pity.

Subterfuge, deceit, hateful networking, twisted logic, the logic of the devil, every perverse human interaction imaginable- all of these are virtues in the realm of the walking damned, in the realm of pharmaceutical sales.

I'm reminded of lyrics by Alice Cooper that, thanks to my brother, I learned at a very early age.  I find myself repeating them almost daily, "What did I do, to deserve such a fate...?"

Watching my few honest associates pour themselves out into this mess of a job, exhausting themselves because they still believe that somehow hard work, integrity and industriousness have to pay off- makes me puke.  They don't realize that in hell, those things don't work.  They only cause you more grief.  The virtues in hell are anti-virtues, for there good is called evil and evil good- until at last, the only people who succeed (suck-seed) there are the miserable damned and condemned.  Thus it's merely a stomping ground for cattle on their way to the butcher's shop.  They're well fed, fat and sassy, why shouldn't they be happy??  They, like the cattle, don't know what waits for them around the bend.

May God make short work of them.  The vicious dinosaurs became oil, that proved useful to real humans for a while.  But even in death the cruel lizards found a way to hurt us.  What will the pharmaceutical sales reps become in days hence?  Fertilizer?  Pig feed?  Who knows?  Who cares? 

Let the madness end.  In a world where wearing nice clothes and smiling at the right people is more important than competence and ability, nuclear war is a blessing indeed.  For when such people inevitably fail and hurt the market exchange, the good people are always blamed.  But they're running out of good people.  They're escaping in numbers larger than before.  Which brings me to the end of this essay, for I have to plan my own escape.  My tunnel is underway, spoonful by spoonful I'm digging my way out.  When I reach the outer wall, I'm gone.