It was reported the other day that the American arm of Nestlé would be moving its headquarters from Glendale, California, to the distinctly untrendy Rosslyn neighborhood of Arlington, Virginia, where Washington Free Beacon Tower is located. The announcement was made by none other than Gov. Terry McAuliffe, who told us a few weeks ago that anti-abortion legislation is "socially divisive" and bad for business. Clearly his fiendish investments are paying off. I like to imagine how the deal went down:
Fade in. The interior of a large, nearly empty dark warehouse. Almost nothing visible save a forklift and a few pallets of SweeTart Hearts and 41 oz. cans of Nesquick chocolate powder, which stand beside a mostly bare utilitarian metal desk. At a swivel chair behind the desk is QUICKY THE RABBIT, grotesquely fat, wearing a dark suit with a large and foul-smelling cigar hanging from his jowls; facing him in a "Virginia is For Lovers" t-shirt and blue chinos is a nervous-looking TERR BEAR.
QUICKY (gesturing to an opened can of Nesquick)
May I tempt you, Terr?
Err, uhh, sure. Why not?
QUICKY (placing his cigar in an ash-tray and rising)
Why not indeed?
QUICKY pulls two crystal goblets from one of the desk drawers and walks to a refrigerator set against the wall behind him; from it, he produces a gallon of full milk, which he pours in the two goblets, and returns to the desk. Pulling a spoon from the drawer, he proceeds methodically to mix the milk with a spoonful of the brown powder.
(sitting down and handing one of the goblets across the desk to TERR BEAR before downing the contents of his his own in one hideous cthonic gulp)
Ahhhhhhhh. Old faithful. You know, this is one of our rare vintages. Specialty ingredients, strictly NFCBGP, if you know what I mean. Not for consumption by general public.
TERR BEAR (sipping with anxious politeness)
Yes, it's very good, Mr. Qui—
Call me Quicky.
Quicky, I mean. So, err, about the Rosslyn thing. Are we still on?
(picking up the cigar and taking an enormous drag, one that suggests he is inhaling the smoke)
TERR BEAR takes another, much larger drink from his goblet.
Shit, you know me, Quick.
I'm a little nervous.
QUICKY (with an affected note of concern)
Nervous about what, Terr Bear?
Look, I talked to Lloyd the other day, and McEntrepreneurship too. I know what you had them do.
I thought you said you would do anything. Do you want the jobs or not?
Then finish your drink and come on.
TERR BEAR drains the rest of his goblet and sets it down nervously on the concrete floor. From under the desk QUICKY produces two hard-hats and gestures towards the forklift.
We'll ride, if you don't mind. I'm not too fast on my feet these days.
QUICKY massages his bulk into the seat of the forklift while TERR BEAR looks on uncertainly from a few feet away. He hands one of the hardhats to TERR BEAR.
TERR BEAR steps toward the forklift and straddles the two forks awkwardly as QUICKY, still puffing away at his cigar, starts the vehicle and raises the forks, which leaves TERR BERR looking terrified. They drive off into the darkness. Save for the lights of the forklift we see nothing as they ride for what seems like miles in the gloom. Out of the darkness occasionally we see what look like red eyes illuminated by faraway fires and hear voices chanting in a mysterious tongue and tiny but unmistakably animal screams. Eventually the forklift stops and red light, dim at first but increasing slowly in intensity, illuminates a scene of almost indescribable wickedness: a vast plutonic altar constructed entirely out of the skulls of rabbits, topped with a fur cloth; wax drips from six red, fat, slug-like candles. QUICKY lowers the forks and shuts off the lift before rising and removing his hat.
Okay, buddy boy. Down we go and hats off.
(waiting to remove his hat until he stepped a few feet away from the lift)
Wha—what is this place? Where are we?
Where the magic happens, Terr Bear. The place where the magic happens.
I'm serious. Look, I've known Lloyd for a little over a year now and I've seen too many things already I'd just as soon forget. There was that witch doctor down in Haiti and that shaman over in Thailand. And that… thing, whatever he was, just the other day in the hotel room. And now this. Look, I have a pretty good idea of what Lloyd's, uhh, pal there was all about. But I don't get what doing—well, you know, what Lloyd told me I'm gonna do here has to do with anything.
Are you familiar with the writings of Lord Keynes, Terr Bear?
You know: John Maynard Keynes, the economist. Ever read the General Theory?
Oh, yeah. I dunno, maybe, in college, a long time ago, I owned the book.
Do you remember what he said about capitalism and the "animal spirits"?
Yeah, that rings a bell.
Well, he was more right than he knew. MORE RIGHT THAN HE KNEW. Hey, boys and girls, why not wake up to some Nestlé Nesquick chocolate powder? It's delicious AND A GREAT START TO YOUR DAY!
Anyway, let's be serious, Terr Bear. Are you ready to do what needs to be done?
QUICKY devolves into a hit of abominable gurgling laughter before throwing his cigar on the ground and putting it out.
TERR BEAR (hesitating)
I think so.
Sure thing, buddy boy. Hand me your hat there.
TERR BEAR hands over the hat, barely believing what he realizes he is about to see.
(holding TERR BEAR's hat in his left hand and reaching for it theatrically with his right)
Annnnnnnnnd abra-cadabra. Presto chango. Bow-wow-wow yippee-oh-yippee-eh. N to the E to the S to the T, L to the E, that spells NESTLÉ.
An albino leveret the size of a golfball appears from TERR BEAR's hardhat.
Well, get to it to pal.
QUICKY hands the shivering frightened creature to TERR BEAR, who stares at it before turning around. We hear a repulsive shriek and a loud crunch . TERR BEAR turns around, his eyes white with terror. The lights dim again, but we can see that his face is smeared with a dark liquid.
TERR BEAR (whimpering)
Quick, Quick, Quick, I saw something. I saw something behind me just now. It was—
Yep. Best we took our leave.
TERR BEAR runs to the forklift and sits down in the driver's seat.
This time I'm driving.
(hopping with an agonized groan onto the forks)
Whatever floats your boat, Terr Bear. Either way, we'd best move our tails, tee-hee-hee. He's grateful for what you've offered him, but that doesn't mean he wants you here any longer than you have to be-hee-hee-hee. Let's not bother about the hats.