Oliver Bilton
"It is widely known that the largest animal on the face of the earth is the Blue Whale. According to Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home it is near extinction. I can understand the alure of killing such an animal. The amount of food on one beast is outrageous and therefore a keen bounty to chase. However, I am more startled by how this beast of the ocean could near extinction at man's hands. I have never studied whale biology or the history of man's hunt of the creatures, but I know one thing. The height of whale hunting existed in a time of spears and small boats. How is it possible that man could destroy the blue whale? Where on earth were they going to put the darn thing? These are the questions that keep me up at night."
"Who is this guy?" The Senior Marketing Analyst was quite confused as to why someone who was supposed to be selling sneakers was discussing the near extinction of the blue whale.
Oliver Bilton bit his lip. He was not usually prone to reacting as such, but it is justified this time by the fact that he was well aware of who the speaker was. He had hired him. "I'm just a 'Minor' Marketing Analyst," he joked. "What do I know?" The two of them had been colleagues for many years and were quite prone to such lame jokes.
"In conclusion, ladies and gentleman, I propose a way to end this conspiracy." The speaker pasued for dramatic effect, but no one seemed to buy into it. "I propose shoes." He paused again, but instead of the expected gasp the speaker saw his audience simultaneously turn their heads to look at the person next to them. Perhaps if they understood what was going on they could pretend to understand as well, but no one understood. Who could? Shoes were about to save the blue whales and they had no clue why this was the case.
The Senior Marketing Analyst began fiddling with his cell phone so fast that none could tell this was so unless they had video taped it and slowed down the playback. Oliver Bilton sat completely still. "If I'm very still," he thought, "I will also be invisible." It turns out that not only was this not the case, but the fact that he was the only one being so still in the conference hall caused him to actually stand out from the others.
Eyes turned to Bilton. Somehow they all knew he was to blame. Then he caught on fire.
Oliver Bilton awoke to find that he was not on fire at all. He ony had a fever, which was considerably worse. A fire, at least, would be a good excuse to skip work. A mild fever accompanied by no symptoms was, meanwhile, a good excuse to have a bad day. He sat up in bad, staring at his blue sheets. He did not move, he waited for a cough or sneeze or something that would give him just cause to return to sleep. After a few minutes of silence, he groaned and prepared for work.
While he had breakfast he pondered why he would dream about being a 'Minor' Marketing Analyst when he had never even heard of the position. Oliver Bilton was a janitor at a mental institution. It was a respectable job as far as janitorial work went, but he was often hassled by the occasional OCD patient for not doing a good enough job five times in a row while standing on his head. The schizos were much nicer, he had always thought, seeing as how they thought he was a kangaroo and would leave him alone. Kangaroos, after all, are fierce gamblers.
Bilton's morning routine was filled with irresponsibilities. Namely, he dressed and then he ate. He did not shower before his shift because he knew he'd get dirty as said shift progressed. He always showered when he returned to his home. Oddly enough, this home was a mansion.
One thousand cultists killed themselves as they jampacked themselves into the mansion. They did not have time to take any posion drinks, however, but instead died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Of course, the mansion was very cheap as a result. It was believed to be haunted by one thousand spirits and thusly no one wanted to stay there. Bilton was not too concerned, however. Most disturbances he noticed involved lights flashing and he was not that big on maintaining consistent light levels around the place anyway. He did avoid the third floor entirely, though, because of the time he once saw a man dressed in black. The man had a very stern look on his safe and met eyes with Bilton instantly. He did not walk, he slid along the floor, his dark cloak hiding his feet. Bilton had let out a quiet scream and retreated back downstairs. The dark man called after him, yelling obscenities and explaining that he was quite bored, but Bilton did not wish to fall for it. The third floor is now used for the storage of christmas cards from family and friends, which he does his best to throw up the stairwell.
"Who is this guy?" The Senior Marketing Analyst was quite confused as to why someone who was supposed to be selling sneakers was discussing the near extinction of the blue whale.
Oliver Bilton bit his lip. He was not usually prone to reacting as such, but it is justified this time by the fact that he was well aware of who the speaker was. He had hired him. "I'm just a 'Minor' Marketing Analyst," he joked. "What do I know?" The two of them had been colleagues for many years and were quite prone to such lame jokes.
"In conclusion, ladies and gentleman, I propose a way to end this conspiracy." The speaker pasued for dramatic effect, but no one seemed to buy into it. "I propose shoes." He paused again, but instead of the expected gasp the speaker saw his audience simultaneously turn their heads to look at the person next to them. Perhaps if they understood what was going on they could pretend to understand as well, but no one understood. Who could? Shoes were about to save the blue whales and they had no clue why this was the case.
The Senior Marketing Analyst began fiddling with his cell phone so fast that none could tell this was so unless they had video taped it and slowed down the playback. Oliver Bilton sat completely still. "If I'm very still," he thought, "I will also be invisible." It turns out that not only was this not the case, but the fact that he was the only one being so still in the conference hall caused him to actually stand out from the others.
Eyes turned to Bilton. Somehow they all knew he was to blame. Then he caught on fire.
Oliver Bilton awoke to find that he was not on fire at all. He ony had a fever, which was considerably worse. A fire, at least, would be a good excuse to skip work. A mild fever accompanied by no symptoms was, meanwhile, a good excuse to have a bad day. He sat up in bad, staring at his blue sheets. He did not move, he waited for a cough or sneeze or something that would give him just cause to return to sleep. After a few minutes of silence, he groaned and prepared for work.
While he had breakfast he pondered why he would dream about being a 'Minor' Marketing Analyst when he had never even heard of the position. Oliver Bilton was a janitor at a mental institution. It was a respectable job as far as janitorial work went, but he was often hassled by the occasional OCD patient for not doing a good enough job five times in a row while standing on his head. The schizos were much nicer, he had always thought, seeing as how they thought he was a kangaroo and would leave him alone. Kangaroos, after all, are fierce gamblers.
Bilton's morning routine was filled with irresponsibilities. Namely, he dressed and then he ate. He did not shower before his shift because he knew he'd get dirty as said shift progressed. He always showered when he returned to his home. Oddly enough, this home was a mansion.
One thousand cultists killed themselves as they jampacked themselves into the mansion. They did not have time to take any posion drinks, however, but instead died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Of course, the mansion was very cheap as a result. It was believed to be haunted by one thousand spirits and thusly no one wanted to stay there. Bilton was not too concerned, however. Most disturbances he noticed involved lights flashing and he was not that big on maintaining consistent light levels around the place anyway. He did avoid the third floor entirely, though, because of the time he once saw a man dressed in black. The man had a very stern look on his safe and met eyes with Bilton instantly. He did not walk, he slid along the floor, his dark cloak hiding his feet. Bilton had let out a quiet scream and retreated back downstairs. The dark man called after him, yelling obscenities and explaining that he was quite bored, but Bilton did not wish to fall for it. The third floor is now used for the storage of christmas cards from family and friends, which he does his best to throw up the stairwell.
posted by Boris Stoke | 2:28 PM
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