Post by Johnny Reb on Jan 18, 2010 11:23:19 GMT -5
Early Monday morning, just past cock-crow, Johnny Reb finds himself seated at a glass-topped oval table in a hotel conference room. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he picks up the steaming mug in front of him and inhales the aroma of fresh, strong coffee. Seated across from him, maddeningly wide-awake already, is Doc Henry.
With their own business venture ready to kick off soon – after months of planning, wooing investors, and approving the product line – these sorts of things are unavoidable. Today, Johnny and Doc will be presented with a proposal regarding a whole range of products they hadn’t yet considered. Still, it would be more arousing if the marketing team showed up on time.
It isn’t much longer, however, before the door opens to admit three men and a woman, all in suits of various description. Doc is on his feet first, shaking hands and greeting the newcomers. Johnny rises as well, as introductions are made: Peter Johnson, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a firm handshake; Dick Long, the slim, dark-haired sales manager; Wang Lo-Hung, the director of overseas marketing; and, assuredly not the least of them, copper-haired executive assistant Jenny Talia.
Reb eyes the woman, smiling rapaciously, as she busies herself setting up for the presentation. After a moment, however, he tears his gaze from her lithe form to address the leader of the little group.
Johnny: You have quite the impressive staff, Mr. Johnson.
Peter: Yes, yes I do. My employees aren’t bad, either.
Johnson grins at his own joke. Doc chuckles softly, but Reb just looks politely puzzled, as if he doesn’t get it. At Johnson’s direction, the two take their seats. The lights go down, and a PowerPoint presentation begins. There’s a lot of boring discussion, accompanied by Venn diagrams and line graphs, about research and target markets, during which Johnny nearly dozes off. An elbow in the ribs from Doc rouses him, and he casts his gaze to the screen, where there is an image of a granola bar, the foil packaging torn just enough to reveal the contents. Dick Long now has the floor, and is aiming a laser pointer at the picture.
Dick: The first product we have in mind is this: Twig & Berries. It’s a healthy, all-natural, organic alternative to the high-sugar snack foods on the market today. No fillers, no preservatives, and no transfats. It’s high in carbohydrates, without being high in calories, and contains one hundred percent of the recommended daily fiber intake. Now, what sets this apart from every other granola bar is that it’s almost entirely made of hemp – mostly stems and seeds.
Doc and Reb exchange skeptical glances.
Johnny: I dunno… what else have ya got?
Long reaches for the laptop in front of him, taps a key, and the image changes. This time, it’s a picture of a tall metal can bearing a graphic of a pickup truck hauling a bevy of well-endowed and scantily clad beauties through what appears to be deep mud. Bold letters sprawl up one side of the can, spelling the word “Load.”
Dick: This is our energy drink. It’s a high-protein dietary supplement, full of vitamins, ginseng, guarana, and taurine. We’re still working out a few problems with the taste. Women between the ages of 14 and 80 love it, and our test group in San Francisco gave it a thumbs up, but overall, the target market – that being primarily the male demographic – seems reluctant to even try it.
Doc raises a hand to interject.
Doc: Y’know… it might have somethin’ to do with that slogan.
He points to some words beneath the picture; Dick looks vaguely confused.
Dick: What’s wrong with it? “For quick energy, swallow a Load!” Sounds good to me. There’s a whole concept behind it, and we didn’t have time to put together a commercial…
Johnny: No, Dick. Just…no. Doc’s right. Next?
Dick turns the floor over to Mr. Lo-Hung. He adjusts his tie and advances to the next frame. Displayed there is an image of what appears to be a frozen microwaveable dinner, appropriately named Meat & Two Veg.
Wang: My proposal involves a line of frozen dinners specifically for the U.K. market. It’s fairly self-explanatory; a serving of meat and two servings of vegetables. It isn’t particularly original, as products go, but with the two of you as our marketing partners, we can’t possibly fail. Everyone’s got to eat, right. Why not eat Meat & Two Veg?
Reb flips through a sheaf of papers in front of him, frowning.
Johnny: Um… Do we have to eat the Meat & Two Veg? I mean, I’m lookin’ at some of these meals an’… they don’t honestly sound too appealin’. What the hell is haggis, anyway?
Wang: To answer your first question, no. To answer your second question… you don’t want to know.
Johnny closes the report cover in front of him and rises from his chair.
Johnny: Well, gentlemen, I reckon we’ve heard enough. While your product line is… intriguin’… we’re gonna need to give this a little more thought. We’ll call ya.
Recognizing a brush-off when they see it, the salesmen and their assistant promptly pack up their things, leaving Doc and Johnny to contemplate the spectacle to which they have just been witness. Reb sips his coffee, slightly traumatized by the introduction of such terrible ideas at so early an hour. After a few moments of silent reflection, he glances at Henry, who is now busily sculpting an equine shape from several slices of processed lunchmeat.
Johnny: Where did you get that bologna?
Doc: It was in my pants.
At a loss for anything to say, Reb simply sits there, watching in mild perplexity. In moments, Doc’s work of art is complete.
Doc: There! See? It’s a pony.
Johnny: …a bologna pony…?
Henry smiles broadly, proud of his accomplishment. Reb shakes his head in bemusement.
Johnny: Very nice. But can we be serious for a minute?
Doc shrugs and stops playing with his meat.
Johnny: We got this match tonight, an’ I know you ain’t partic’ly concerned about it, but the long an’ short of it is, Ace Slaughter thinks he can single-handedly declare war on us because we happen to be in the same corner as Kevin Hardaway. We cannot let that go unanswered.
Doc: We won’t, Johnny. But Slaughter’s issues with Hardaway are hardly any of our concern.
Johnny: They are tonight, Doc. Kevin Hardaway is a respected veteran in this business, an’ no matter what has gone before, or what may come after, we’re on the same team tonight. Even Alex Jones is our ally this evenin’; an’ frankly, it’ll be nice to have a Texas boy on our side.
Reb begins pacing back and forth.
Johnny: All that bein’ said, now, I wanted to address a few points. Mr. Slaughter said somethin’ about us getting’ our asses handed to us. The concept, in light of what passes for our competition, is not merely laughable; it is preposterous. It’s as absurd as…
Reb stops to think for a moment, searching for the right comparison. When he appears stumped as to the relative absurdity of the suggestion, Henry throws in his two cents.
Doc: As absurd as hearin’ a black guy whistlin’ “Dixie” ?
Johnny: That is fairly outlandish, yes, thank you. An’ then there was Mr. Evans’ contention that we are the quintessence of mediocrity. I beg to differ. The New Confederacy is anythin’ but mediocre. Myself bein’ a former World Champion, Mr. Henry here bein’ a perennial contender for the US Title, an’ both of us currently holdin’ the tag belts… that’s all more than simply pedestrian.
Now, I will agree, there hasn’t been a lot of competition in the tag team division of late. But y’see, it’s the New Confederacy that’ll win the day, come shinin’ through, an’ set the bar. This is a new era, a time of Southern ascendancy. This is the age of the New Confederacy!
Doc: Right on. Can we go now? We got a match to get ready for.
With only a minimum of grumbling at being interrupted, Johnny agrees, and the two of them leave the conference room.
With their own business venture ready to kick off soon – after months of planning, wooing investors, and approving the product line – these sorts of things are unavoidable. Today, Johnny and Doc will be presented with a proposal regarding a whole range of products they hadn’t yet considered. Still, it would be more arousing if the marketing team showed up on time.
It isn’t much longer, however, before the door opens to admit three men and a woman, all in suits of various description. Doc is on his feet first, shaking hands and greeting the newcomers. Johnny rises as well, as introductions are made: Peter Johnson, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a firm handshake; Dick Long, the slim, dark-haired sales manager; Wang Lo-Hung, the director of overseas marketing; and, assuredly not the least of them, copper-haired executive assistant Jenny Talia.
Reb eyes the woman, smiling rapaciously, as she busies herself setting up for the presentation. After a moment, however, he tears his gaze from her lithe form to address the leader of the little group.
Johnny: You have quite the impressive staff, Mr. Johnson.
Peter: Yes, yes I do. My employees aren’t bad, either.
Johnson grins at his own joke. Doc chuckles softly, but Reb just looks politely puzzled, as if he doesn’t get it. At Johnson’s direction, the two take their seats. The lights go down, and a PowerPoint presentation begins. There’s a lot of boring discussion, accompanied by Venn diagrams and line graphs, about research and target markets, during which Johnny nearly dozes off. An elbow in the ribs from Doc rouses him, and he casts his gaze to the screen, where there is an image of a granola bar, the foil packaging torn just enough to reveal the contents. Dick Long now has the floor, and is aiming a laser pointer at the picture.
Dick: The first product we have in mind is this: Twig & Berries. It’s a healthy, all-natural, organic alternative to the high-sugar snack foods on the market today. No fillers, no preservatives, and no transfats. It’s high in carbohydrates, without being high in calories, and contains one hundred percent of the recommended daily fiber intake. Now, what sets this apart from every other granola bar is that it’s almost entirely made of hemp – mostly stems and seeds.
Doc and Reb exchange skeptical glances.
Johnny: I dunno… what else have ya got?
Long reaches for the laptop in front of him, taps a key, and the image changes. This time, it’s a picture of a tall metal can bearing a graphic of a pickup truck hauling a bevy of well-endowed and scantily clad beauties through what appears to be deep mud. Bold letters sprawl up one side of the can, spelling the word “Load.”
Dick: This is our energy drink. It’s a high-protein dietary supplement, full of vitamins, ginseng, guarana, and taurine. We’re still working out a few problems with the taste. Women between the ages of 14 and 80 love it, and our test group in San Francisco gave it a thumbs up, but overall, the target market – that being primarily the male demographic – seems reluctant to even try it.
Doc raises a hand to interject.
Doc: Y’know… it might have somethin’ to do with that slogan.
He points to some words beneath the picture; Dick looks vaguely confused.
Dick: What’s wrong with it? “For quick energy, swallow a Load!” Sounds good to me. There’s a whole concept behind it, and we didn’t have time to put together a commercial…
Johnny: No, Dick. Just…no. Doc’s right. Next?
Dick turns the floor over to Mr. Lo-Hung. He adjusts his tie and advances to the next frame. Displayed there is an image of what appears to be a frozen microwaveable dinner, appropriately named Meat & Two Veg.
Wang: My proposal involves a line of frozen dinners specifically for the U.K. market. It’s fairly self-explanatory; a serving of meat and two servings of vegetables. It isn’t particularly original, as products go, but with the two of you as our marketing partners, we can’t possibly fail. Everyone’s got to eat, right. Why not eat Meat & Two Veg?
Reb flips through a sheaf of papers in front of him, frowning.
Johnny: Um… Do we have to eat the Meat & Two Veg? I mean, I’m lookin’ at some of these meals an’… they don’t honestly sound too appealin’. What the hell is haggis, anyway?
Wang: To answer your first question, no. To answer your second question… you don’t want to know.
Johnny closes the report cover in front of him and rises from his chair.
Johnny: Well, gentlemen, I reckon we’ve heard enough. While your product line is… intriguin’… we’re gonna need to give this a little more thought. We’ll call ya.
Recognizing a brush-off when they see it, the salesmen and their assistant promptly pack up their things, leaving Doc and Johnny to contemplate the spectacle to which they have just been witness. Reb sips his coffee, slightly traumatized by the introduction of such terrible ideas at so early an hour. After a few moments of silent reflection, he glances at Henry, who is now busily sculpting an equine shape from several slices of processed lunchmeat.
Johnny: Where did you get that bologna?
Doc: It was in my pants.
At a loss for anything to say, Reb simply sits there, watching in mild perplexity. In moments, Doc’s work of art is complete.
Doc: There! See? It’s a pony.
Johnny: …a bologna pony…?
Henry smiles broadly, proud of his accomplishment. Reb shakes his head in bemusement.
Johnny: Very nice. But can we be serious for a minute?
Doc shrugs and stops playing with his meat.
Johnny: We got this match tonight, an’ I know you ain’t partic’ly concerned about it, but the long an’ short of it is, Ace Slaughter thinks he can single-handedly declare war on us because we happen to be in the same corner as Kevin Hardaway. We cannot let that go unanswered.
Doc: We won’t, Johnny. But Slaughter’s issues with Hardaway are hardly any of our concern.
Johnny: They are tonight, Doc. Kevin Hardaway is a respected veteran in this business, an’ no matter what has gone before, or what may come after, we’re on the same team tonight. Even Alex Jones is our ally this evenin’; an’ frankly, it’ll be nice to have a Texas boy on our side.
Reb begins pacing back and forth.
Johnny: All that bein’ said, now, I wanted to address a few points. Mr. Slaughter said somethin’ about us getting’ our asses handed to us. The concept, in light of what passes for our competition, is not merely laughable; it is preposterous. It’s as absurd as…
Reb stops to think for a moment, searching for the right comparison. When he appears stumped as to the relative absurdity of the suggestion, Henry throws in his two cents.
Doc: As absurd as hearin’ a black guy whistlin’ “Dixie” ?
Johnny: That is fairly outlandish, yes, thank you. An’ then there was Mr. Evans’ contention that we are the quintessence of mediocrity. I beg to differ. The New Confederacy is anythin’ but mediocre. Myself bein’ a former World Champion, Mr. Henry here bein’ a perennial contender for the US Title, an’ both of us currently holdin’ the tag belts… that’s all more than simply pedestrian.
Now, I will agree, there hasn’t been a lot of competition in the tag team division of late. But y’see, it’s the New Confederacy that’ll win the day, come shinin’ through, an’ set the bar. This is a new era, a time of Southern ascendancy. This is the age of the New Confederacy!
Doc: Right on. Can we go now? We got a match to get ready for.
With only a minimum of grumbling at being interrupted, Johnny agrees, and the two of them leave the conference room.