Leveraged Buyout: Part XV. Postscript

Leveraged Buyout

Part XV: Postscript

Written 9 November, 2012

Sweetie and I were lounging on towels on a secluded beach on Whimsy Kaboom, watching birds fly and listening to the sound of the surf as the sun slowly set.

"You made a big mistake in your blog," she said.

"I did? What"

"You put spy scripts in Taggmasster 2000's tie pin and cufflinks." she said.

"And?"

"You should have put them in his ox-horn helmet and bear tooth necklace," she said.

"Well, at least I got the prim penis part right," I said.

"Ewww!" Sweetie said.

"Too bad we weren't able to use our idea about his deep voice being due to a voice changer," I said. "I was looking forward to humiliating him at the board meeting."

"Having a revolt on his sims was better," Sweetie said.

"Yeah," I said, "but I still wish we could have worked in the voice changer."

"It's hardly like we plot out these posts," Sweetie said.

"Shhh!" I said. "My readers might be listening." I turned out the light.

After a while Sweetie said, "You heard the latest?"

I turned the light back on. "On Tagg? No."

"I was out shopping and one of the stores had Sleezy's news magazine running. Now he's homeless and on the run from all those angry panthers, and now that his daddy's attempted coup of America failed, he's claiming religious discrimination. He says his Gorean world view causes women to abuse him. He's working a lawsuit against the panthers, and maybe us."

"What, for making fun of him in my blog?"

"Yes," she said.

"Is Gor a religion" I asked.

Sweetie yawned. "Good question. Can someone just make up a religion and get away with it?"

"It worked for Joseph Smith," I said, "but I don't think anyone else will be finding gold tablets in a field. Forensic technology has come a long way."

"Tagg and his friends should have picked a better science fiction author than John Norman," Sweetie said. "His books are terrible. He couldn't write his way out of a paper bag."

"Well, L. Ron Hubbard was already taken."

Sweetie rolled over onto an elbow. "Why can't there be a Ray Bradbury cult?" she mused.