How Long Can I Milk This Bar Scene? – The Golden Parachute Continues!



Here are Week 15 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

He has a father. That answers my next question. “Home computers were coming online. What if you could earn a college degree by computer?”

“My Dad thought the idea was crazy. ‘Those computers are just toys.'” he said. “‘Nobody learns anything on a computer.’ So he killed it.”

“Dad said, ‘If you want to make a lot of money why not start a medical school in the Caribbean? Costs are cheap and the weather is better.'”

“Here was an great opportunity. U.S. schools don’t provide enough openings to meet the demand for new doctors. I could fill that void.”

“All made possible by free-flowing student loan money which our school never has to account for. I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

The Chancellor’s words are slurred. His head begins to nod. “Charly!” he mumbles “Pump me another!” “I think you’ve had enough.” says Mary.

“I’m awake I’m awake! I run the finest medical school in the Caribbean and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.” “Is he for real?” I ask.

Mary dismisses the barkeep. “Sometimes he milks a point. He’s fine. The school’s fine.” “What about the problems you mentioned before?”

“I mentioned no problems.” “Well, you signed them.” “No I didn’t.” “Firing older employees? Running out of money? Scaring off investors?”

“Students cheating to get their MDs? General mismanagement?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Why is she denying our conversation?

“Look, I don’t give a damn about your medical school malpractice or your silenced stateside support staff. I’m looking for Regi Granger.”

The Chancellor lifts his head up from the raw milk puddle on the bar. “Granger? Is he still dead?” Oh ho! Does he know the doppelgänger?

Something’s rotten in the state of Denmark. Or is the man sprawling next to me presenting a low lactose tolerance? I need to find Regi fast.

I yank the Chancellor upright by his lapels. “You stinking milksop! Where is Regi Granger?” “I don’t know nothing about Willum Granger.”

“Regi! The best odds say Willum Granger is dead. I’m looking for Regi Granger!” “Let go of me!” “Not until you give me some answers I like.”

“You won’t find any Granger dead or alive at my medical school.” “I don’t like that answer.” “OK. How about this one. She’s perfectly fine.”

“I like that better but I don’t believe you. Have you seen a lifelike Granger double walking around?” The Chancellor shrinks back in horror.

Now he grabs my lapels. In a slurred whisper he says “You saw him too? I thought he was a tryptophan-induced hallucination.” “Let go of me!”

“Not until you give me some answers I like.” A baseball bat crashes down on the bar beside us. “Take it outside you two” says the barkeep.

I say “Is that your enforcer or are you glad to see me?” She glares at me. The Chancellor blocks my exit. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Looks like I’m attending medical school.” “Set one foot on my island and you’ll regret it.” “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll take both feet.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

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It Was the Worst of Tweets, It Was the Best of Tweets – The Golden Parachute Continues!


Here are Week 14 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

The rag she wipes the bar with reeks of sour milk. Not a place for the squeamish or the lactose intolerant. Why does Mary want to meet here?

Time for a different angle. “Sweet gig you got here. Get much traffic?” “Mostly insomniacs and ulcer sufferers. Some non-lactating mothers.”

At this moment Mary enters with a George Raft lookalike. “Set up two raw Charly” he says “with turbinado chasers.” “Right away Chancellor.”

“Who’s the stiff?” I ask. “She’s the Dean of Admissions” the Chancellor says. I say “How about she starts making some admissions right now?”

“Why do you think she spoke to you in the first place?” “She barely spoke to me at all!” He takes the seat next to me as the milk arrives.

Pouring sugar into his milk, he drinks it down. “Ah!” he exclaims “Milk, raw the way God intended it!” I ask the barkeep “What type is he?”

The Chancellor answers my question. “Charly, pump me another. I’ve been up for days, my stomach is killing me and my breasts are sore!”

That narrows it down. Mary hasn’t touched her own drink. I guess she’s none of the above. “So you’re the guy looking for what’s-her-name.”

“What’s her name is Regi. The way you suck milk, you’re obviously used to being kowtowed to. Are you really Chancellor or what’s your name?”

“That’s utter bulls%$t!” he replies. “OK Udder. You may be the boss, but I kowtow to no man. Why was Mary quite contrary about Regi’s name?”

He glares at Mary who turns abruptly and knocks over her glass. Raw milk spreads across the bar. Tears run down the Chancellor’s cheeks.

“There’s no use crying.” I turn to Mary “What’s with this character?” “It’s not the spilt milk.” she says “He’s used to getting his whey.”

“Here you go Chancellor.” says the barkeep handing him a glass of milk. “Sorry about the delay.” He raises the glass and drinks it down.

“Ah!” he exclaims “Milk, raw the way God intended it!” Huh? Déjà moo? Or have I just experienced a time shift as per Granger’s doppelgänger?

I check my tweets.  Silent movies. American signing. Sweet Milk. Everything’s here. So how do I explain the Chancellor’s redundant behavior?

He turns to me. “Sorry. It’s my ADHD. My mind leaps from place to place.” “Too bad. Do you know how you contracted it?” “Contracted what?”

“AIDS. Was it a tainted blood transfusion or did you get it from your partner?” “I have Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder not AIDS.”

“ADHD?” “Yes. That’s why I we didn’t meet at the office. I don’t have patience to finish a sign conversation.” “Or anything else” says Mary.

“No patience? How did you end up head of a Med School?” “A funny story. Thirty years ago I had a great idea while piloting my water taxi.”

“You own the water taxi company I saw on the first floor of your building?” “I sold it to launch the school. My father owns the building.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

United States Senate Tweets While Rome Burns! This Week’s “The Golden Parachute”!

Here are Week 13 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

“Regi?” Mary exclaims then “Shh!” and signs “Regi?” I sign “Yes” and she slaps my face. She signs “Watch your sentence” or maybe “language!”

“I can’t. I’m too busy watching yours!” “Shh!” This is going quietly downhill. My cheek throbs and my arms are tired. “Can we meet outside?”

“Meet me at the milk and sugar joint down the street in ten minutes. We can talk there.” I sign “OK” and she takes another swing at me.

I duck under her blow and waddle rapidly out the door. I really have to brush up on my American Sign Language. Or update my ASL phone app.

Through a dingy hallway maze, a tumbling flight down uncertain stairs, a hop, a skip and I’m jumping to the street at the Vitagraph plaque.

Someone had scratched on the plaque bottom “Lasciate ogne voce, voi ch’intrate.” It’s Greek to me. I open my free universal translation app.

I recite the text and the translator shows “Best guess: Italian ‘Leave your voice at the door’.” So Mary lied. We could have spoken Italian.

Vitagraph Motion Picture Studio. A century ago countless actors handed over their freedom of speech for a chance to work in silent movies.

What was the exception is now the rule in corporate America, where you abandon your constitutional rights at the entrance as you walk in.

What about Mary? By consenting to sign had she hand-over-handed her own constitutional free speech rights? Did she only sign to deceive?

There are twelve ways to find out. Instead I head west, convinced my app misinterpreted her hand signed “milk and sugar joint” description.

I look for a seedy bar, lowdown diner or some other dive to wait for Mary Kwitecontrari, med school Dean of Admissions and Financial Aid.

I hope for barbeque but most shops are shuttered. The only open “joint” is a charming tea shop with overstuffed chairs and an elongated bar.

Taking a seat beside the polished antique Georgian mahogany, I contemplate wormholes. The barkeep is a hairy hulk who has seen better days.

“Set ’em up. Keep ’em coming” I tell the barkeep. Looking me over with obvious disdain, she slides a glass full of a milky substance my way.

“I take a sip and spit it out. What is this?” “Milk” she replies. “I don’t drink milk. What else you got?” “We got milk.” “That’s it?”

“We got whole, 2%, 1%, skim, organic, rBST free, lactose free.” “Only milk?” “Maybe some Kefir or kumis in back.” “Any coffee?” “No. Milk.”

“I take it black anyway.” “Your milk?” “No, my coffee.” “Also, check the back shelf. We carry a complete selection of natural sweeteners.”

“Sweeteners?” “Name your poison. We got sucrose, glucose, dextrose, fructose, maltose, and trehalose.” “Trehalose?” “Yeah, the good stuff.”

Bins of powders or liquids line the wall. Above, Tansey’s “The Innocent Eye Test” contemplates bovine art appreciation. http://bit.ly/ZXzBq4

“We got honey, maple syrup, coconut palm sugar and sorghum.” “I don’t drink milk.” “Want a fruit punch?” I’m not falling for that one again.

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

No College Basketball Players Were Harmed or Degraded–This Week’s “Golden Parachute” Tweets!

Here are Week 12 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

“How are you different from other med schools?” “We’re bigger. They admit about 100 students a year. We take in almost 1000 at $250K a pop.”

“These are all future doctors?” “By and large. Our graduates score USMLEs as good as stateside schools. We weed out the misfits early.”

$250K each for a beach blanket bingo medic? Could she be for real? I write “Do think I’m an idiot?” She signs “Yes” or possibly “squirrel.”

We sit in a grungy termite burrow of offices. “Where does the money go?” “Running a medical school is expensive. We break even on tuition.”

She sees my incomprehension and writes it down. “Income from dorm and meal plans lets us claim for-profit educational institution status.”

They’re losing money with seven to one applicants lining up down the street. Is this the worst-managed for-profit medical school in history?

“The owners have tried to unload the school for years. Buyers take one look at our books and head for the door.” Why is she telling me this?

I look at her name plate. It reads “Mary M. Kwitecontrari, Dean of Admissions and Financial Aid.” Beneath in small letters “Notary Public.”

The wall behind her displays diplomas from trade schools and personal growth institutes grouped around a photo of her with Ronald Reagan.

Alarm bells go off in my head. I can’t tell you how often I meet charlatans who photoshop themselves into pictures with our 40th president.

Right there is the source of their fiscal failings. A school business plan based on Reagan’s trickledown economics is destined to leak cash!

Any medical practitioner knows you don’t want things to trickle down. Drip yes. Trickle no. Mary presses a button and the alarm bells stop.

She sees me staring at her photo and signs “Everyone here has their own picture with Ronald Reagan.” Can I trust anything Mary isn’t saying?

She signs “The owners hired a gang of former accountants as new management. Their first step to fiscal health was to fire older employees.”

I write “They can do that?” “Well, no. But by a funny coincidence most of the positions eliminated were held by employees over 55.” “Most?”

“If you’re related to an owner you’re safe. Firing people is the usual fix of new managerial incompetents to show quick operating results.”

I write “You’re over 55. The school is about to be sold. You see writing on the wall.” “I’m 45 and we had the graffiti steamed off.” Oops.

One sheet remains on my pad. Without paper I will be forced to rely on my imprecise ASL phone app. My last question better be a good one.

I write “Do you have any more paper?” “No. We used up our budget in March. We just got the annual memo telling us stop spending until fall.”

“How can you run out of money?” “A temporary condition. It happens to us every year until the August tuition deposits arrive. No biggie.”

There’s less here than meets the eye. And now my pad is out of paper. On the cardboard backing I write “I’m here looking for Regi Granger.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)