Smuthers: Why are we at a fast food outlet?
Myself: Janie, what do you think of when you think of slavery?
Smuthers: I don't know. The image of Jesus with his hands tied to the oars of that Roman rowboat comes to mind.
Myself: That was Ben Hur from two thousand years ago. And I bet you think that we've come a long way since then.
Smuthers: Boat motors helped, I guess.
Myself: Yes. Machines took over much of the heavy labour, but there are always unpleasant jobs that no one wants to do. How do you suppose they get done?
Smuthers: What kind of jobs are you talking about?
Myself: Take our first guest, for example. He works in a poppy field. Probably half the junkies in the world owe this guy and they leave him to toil hopelessly for some prick who won't feed him anything but a spoonful of poppy milk at the end of every long shift - after making him get on his knees and beg for it. Doesn't that sound like slavery?
Smuthers: I don't know. Maybe it needs to be debated on a television network.
Myself: Why? So they can muddle your mind some more? They've already got you thinking that our money system is so complex that it's 'over your head' when all it is is the government borrowing money at interest from the bank, turning us all into debt slaves. But you know what you'll never hear them talk about? You'll never hear them say what a crime it is to steal someone's work from the internet. And you'll never hear them confess how much money their sponsors pay them to commit such crimes. You can't listen to dishonest people like that without fucking up your head. They just want to keep you psychologically enslaved to their overlords - like the cable company that apparently paid them to rip me off. They treat you like you don't have a brain. Why do you watch that shit?
Smuthers: It pacifies me as I wash your socks.
Myself: Well, try humming instead, will you? Not too loud. And now for our first guest. Please control your applause as he is unaccustomed to receiving any kind of acknowledgement or respect. Mister Mukmar Marmaduki!
(Enter Marmaduki on a leash held by his burly escort. The escort leads him to his chair and stands at his side.)
Myself: Is that really necessary?
Escort: It helps him feel more comfortable. Besides, I can translate his answers into English for you.
Myself: Have it your way. Ask him how he ended up in such a dead-end job. (The escort passes the question on to Marmaduki.)
Marmaduki: Blook d'ha.
Escort: He said it was for doing a very bad thing. He taught some girls how to read.
Myself: Is that what he said? It only sounded like two words.
Escort: Yes, translating directly to English as 'bad lesson'.
Myself: Oh. Then if he's being punished for a crime, ask him why he works for a drug lord. (The question is passed on in Marmaduki's tongue.)
Marmaduki: (smiling) Abla dee yablada.
Escort: He said that it is because of the corruption and hypocrisy of you people in the West that the only paying jobs in his country are in organized crime.
Myself: He didn't say all that!
Escort: Yes he did.
Myself: Well he certainly has a sweeping way of expressing himself. Then ask him if he would like to stay here as a refugee. (The escort gives me a scathing look and translates the question.)
Marmaduki: (shrugging shoulders) Maynod da-ood.
Escort: He said he would rather stay in his country and avoid the temptations of your lying, cheating, Satanic culture. He said that in the next life, all the people who made him suffer here will be his slaves. And he plans to treat them the same way they treated him.
Myself: He did? That sounded like quite a mouthful compared to the words he spoke. Are you sure it isn't just his translator talking? (The translator is confused. Then Marmaduki appears to explain the question to him.)
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Commercial: The Church of the Branch Sectarians
(Outside a church after a service.)
Priest: Are you sure you won't reconsider?
Worshipper: No, I'm afraid I've made up my mind. This faith is just too behind the times for me. (He gets in his car and drives away.)
Announcer: Is your God too old fashioned? We at the Church of the Branch Sectarians may be able to help.
(The car arrives at a military compound and the newcomer is led into a movie cinema for 'orientation'.)
Announcer: Pay us a visit and learn what you've been missing from your religion - like the knowledge of how evil was spread into the world by a cosmic hermaphrodite riding on Haley's Comet 74,000 years ago.
(The newcomer sits listlessly among brainwashed zombies in the cafeteria.)
Announcer: Meet others who share your thoughts.
(The newcomer makes a break for the fence and is pulled down after climbing it halfway.)
Announcer: Get lots of exercise. It's the perfect place to start your life over.
(Logo: an astronaut on a cross.)
Announcer: Bring your faith up to date with the Church of the Branch Sectarians. We have asteroids in our bible.
--------------------------------------------
Myself: That's a very nice top you have on there, Janie. Is it a designer label?
Smuthers: Why yes! Thank you for noticing!
Myself: I couldn't miss it when I think of our next guest. He's a nine-year-old boy who works in a sweat shop making designer garments for thirty cents a week to support his dying mother.
Smuthers: Well why didn't you warn me? I would have put on something else.
Myself: You got the memo.
Smuthers: But you made me use it to roll your cigarettes.
Myself: Can't you roll and read at the same time? And joining us now to make you all feel better about your crumby jobs, Sr. Buenos Nachos!
(Enter Nachos with his donkey. He ties the animal to a rail and takes his seat.)
Myself: I didn't know you needed a donkey for your job.
Nachos: I work nights at the cocoa plantation.
Myself: (to Smuthers:) Hear that? See what mindless consumers like you are doing to the world? (turning to Nachos:) That's a pretty big schedule for such a small boy.
Nachos: Oh, I manage.
Myself: How?
Nachos: If I get tired, I just wrap some cocoa beans in a coca leaf.
Myself: Yuck! That must taste terrible.
Nachos: No, no. Is not for eating. Is for snorting. Pick you right up! Ready for more work!
Myself: Buenos, I'm concerned. One of those workplaces like yours was recently closed down by authorities. The children who worked there had to be hospitalized for malnutrition and many of them complained about impossible workloads and brutal beatings. If you stay in such a job, you won't survive to attend your mother's funeral. Is there no other job you can find?
Nachos: I suppose I can go back to work for the funny man.
Myself: The funny man? What's so funny about him? You didn't let him touch your private parts, did you?
Nachos: (laughing) Oh no! He is funny because he is always singing and playing his flute. And he would get all of the orphans to sing and dance before we went to work for him, picking the pockets of tourists in the town.
Myself: Well that's better than working in a crooked sweat shop. Why did you leave?
Nachos: Because as a thief I was afraid I would get sent to Hell.
(Commercial.)
Restaurant Worker: Sir, these seats are for paying customers.
Myself: I'm not finished my coffee yet.
Smuthers: I'm finished mine. (The worker looks at me.)
Myself: Fine. One more coffee, please. (I hand the worker a coin.)
Restaurant Worker: (sarcastically) Sure, big spender. (Exit worker.)
Myself: You know, Janie, it's money that turns us all into slaves. You can't get any respect without it, but you're expected to sell your soul for it. Even if others respect you for having money, how can you respect yourself for selling your soul?
Smuthers: By not thinking about it very long.
Myself: Well the truth will catch up with them. Fools. And in some countries, parents will even sell their daughters into prostitution for money, as my next guest will attest from personal experience. I'm talking about Maya Pang!
(Enter Pang, elegantly dressed. Re-enter worker.)
Worker: Oh no you don't! If she stays, you pay.
Myself: Please. It'll just be a few more minutes. I don't want to miss the game.
Pang: That's all right. I don't mind paying. (She pulls out a massive wad of bank notes and peels one off for the worker.) Is that enough?
Worker: (sweetly) Do you want cream and sugar, ma-am?
Pang: No, I'll take it black. Thank you. Would either of you like something to eat? It's on me.
Janie: I could go for a -
Myself: That's quite all right, Miss Pang. We can take care of ourselves. You're here to tell us of your terrible ordeal as a sex slave. Don't you miss your relatives?
Pang: To tell you the truth, I can't remember them. I left them as a small child.
Myself: But you must feel so betrayed by them.
Pang: The way I understand it is that they sold me into a better life. They couldn't afford me. It was an act of love.
Myself: But you're a sex-slave!
Pang: Everyone's a slave. I just get more money for my slavery.
Myself: Well I am only God's slave.
Pang: Really? You should find a middle man to cut you a better deal. You look emaciated. Well, it's been nice, but I have to go.
Myself: Do you have to meet a customer?
Pang: No, I'm off to the game. Wouldn't want to waste those sky-box seats. Too-da-loo!
(Exit Pang.)
Janie: Take me with you!
(Commercial.)
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