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Life is too short for boring stories

Because of the precarious situation, all the leaders of the world, as to say, all leaders of global corporations, have appeared for a meeting. Far from the public, an exquisite hotel was built in the midst of the inaccessible expanses of the Siberian tundra. So much time must be, too, or maybe just because the downfall is imminent. No word came to the press, and even if one had strayed there, the hotel would not be found. All participants of the crisis summit were flown in with their private jets and the coordinates of the destination were only passed on to the captains on departure. The highest priority was the utmost secrecy, for if a word had been overtly given to the public, the participants would have been immeasurably naked, for they were at the end of their wisdom. Everyone hoped for the other that this would have a means at hand or even an idea how to be able to master the situation. One would probably have been satisfied with the approach of a thought.

The crisis was everywhere. Especially in the sales figures, which rushed rapidly into the cellar. Of course, they began to complain about the fact that jobs were in danger, but the hunger wages created by the market were now paid out of the petty cash. Fascinating actually that the people still let themselves to keep still with the well-being of the company, where everyone who could read now would have to know that it was nothing else to keep the shareholders at mood and to pay them a juicy dividend. They were worried about their own salary – and the 10,000-fold hourly wage against the least worthless in the company, was probably the least that could be expected in terms of workload and responsibility. Only 9,000-fold? That would be a compromise, but a rather lazy one. But if the people ceased to buy, then it was all over. Not even advertising attracted more because people were consuming less and less advertising. They no longer seemed to need consumption to feel good. They had ceased to compete with the neighbors, colleagues, friends, by showing off the thicker car or the different-colored credit card. All this seemed no longer relevant. In short, the worst thing that could happen was actually coming. A true horror scenario!

 

The Causer of this contamination of men was quickly found. It was a small worm. He was able to hide in foodstuffs of almost two millimeters. Thanks to its lack of taste, it did not bother anyone when he was swallowed down. But not only humans, but also animals were infested, whereby one did not have to worry about them, because they had never played any role as consumers anyway. He spread his way around the world at a furious pace, nestled somewhere in the body of the living being he had attacked, and took just as much as he needed to live. It was therefore not a parasite, but he formed with his host a pleasing symbiosis, for the excretory products which the worm gave in the body of the host. And as small and insignificant as this worm seemed to be, the effects were catastrophic.

 

Cheerful, sociable, consumption-resistant were the people affected. Therefore, the resulting disease was briefly called CSC. The joy, the general cheerfulness, the joy of life in itself led to the people again talking more, opened their four walls for visitors and made visits. A lively life everywhere, and strangers were no longer looked at, but welcome. But above all, and this was the worst, people had no desire and no time for constant consumption. Quickly, Novartis devised an antidote to the market, but people refused to take it. They’d rather be sick. So far it had come, and no salvation in sight.

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