the office took him seriously. He was their boss, yes, but beyond that, Travis and Kenny had little use for their department manager. As the cousin of the owner, Larry had a secure position as vice president of Belly-Licious Beverages and a superiority complex that added a fashion faux pas touch to his middle-age paunch and balding head.
Everyone knew he was bald, though he tried really hard to disguise it. A lifetime member of the Toupee of the Month Club, Larry had a collection of hairpieces even Cher would envy. Unfortunately, despite sixty months of "real" fake hair, Larry had yet to hit on a set of strands that matched his own strawberry blond, or what was left of it.
"I need a miracle, men," Larry said, nodding as he spoke. October's ash blond hair fluttered with the movement, as if it were waving agreement. "A miracle with No-Moo Milk."
"It's Monday, Larry," Kenny said. "We're flat out of miracles until Friday."
"Ha ha. Very funny. We don't have until Friday. We need an ad campaign for No-Moo Milk by Thursday at five."
"We? Or you? Last I checked, you took the meeting with your cousin, leaving us sitting outside his office like a bunch of truant kids," Travis said. "You weren't thinking of stealing our ideas and passing them off as your own again, were you?"
Larry let out a short, dry, nervous laugh. "Why would I do that? We're a team here. There's no I in team."
"There's no recognition either. At least not in your idea of a 'team.'" Travis leaned back in his chair. The faux black leather crinkled with the movement and the base squeaked in protest.
"Listen, you guys go to bat with me on this and I'll be sure to put in a good word for you with the boss."
As the head of both marketing and research and development, Larry's motto was that it was "everybody's ass" on the line. When it came to taking care of asses, though, his was the only one he ever worried about.
Travis had woken up Monday morning determined to turn over a new leaf of his personal life. While he was in the woods of change, he figured he might as well rake up a few new things at work, too.
Like Larry's hair, which could use a comb and a can of Ronco spray-on color.
"We busted our butts on Choco-Carrot Juice," Travis reminded him. "And you were the one who ended up with a company car and your own parking space."
Larry's laugh was almost a choke. "I tried to get something for you guys—"
"You call a subscription to Dog Fancy a bonus?" Kenny asked. "Larry, I don't even own a dog."
Larry shrugged and put up his hands. "You might someday. I'm only thinking of your future."
Travis muttered a few choice words under his breath.
"Anyway, we need to make No-Moo Milk the leader in the beverage industry. If we can get people to buy that instead of real milk, we'll corner the market."
"And put a lot of farmers out of business," Travis said.
Larry waved his hand. "They'll still have cheese. Now, give me something on No-Moo Milk that will convince those mustached lunatics to buy it, and I'll take care of you both."
"Mustached lunatics?"
"Yeah, those idiots in the dairy ads who are always talking about how good milk is for you." Larry snorted. "Like a synthetic product that's chemically fortified isn't more nutritious."
"And it's up to us to make them see the error of their ways." Travis shook his head and vowed to crack open the classifieds the minute he got home. He'd had enough of Larry, his hair fetish, and the insane products he worked with. Now that he was sober, Travis Campbell had a hell of a lot less enjoyment for his job.
He'd get the hell out of here, just as he and his brother Brad had vowed long ago. Their jobs were a joke, a way to pay for beer and dates. Now that Travis wasn't funding either for a while, he could afford unemployment. Either way, it was better to be poor and sober than drunk and working for Larry and his hair one more day.
Brad, who worked in R&D for Belly-Licious, had developed No-Moo as a lark, a sort of ha-ha back
Everyone knew he was bald, though he tried really hard to disguise it. A lifetime member of the Toupee of the Month Club, Larry had a collection of hairpieces even Cher would envy. Unfortunately, despite sixty months of "real" fake hair, Larry had yet to hit on a set of strands that matched his own strawberry blond, or what was left of it.
"I need a miracle, men," Larry said, nodding as he spoke. October's ash blond hair fluttered with the movement, as if it were waving agreement. "A miracle with No-Moo Milk."
"It's Monday, Larry," Kenny said. "We're flat out of miracles until Friday."
"Ha ha. Very funny. We don't have until Friday. We need an ad campaign for No-Moo Milk by Thursday at five."
"We? Or you? Last I checked, you took the meeting with your cousin, leaving us sitting outside his office like a bunch of truant kids," Travis said. "You weren't thinking of stealing our ideas and passing them off as your own again, were you?"
Larry let out a short, dry, nervous laugh. "Why would I do that? We're a team here. There's no I in team."
"There's no recognition either. At least not in your idea of a 'team.'" Travis leaned back in his chair. The faux black leather crinkled with the movement and the base squeaked in protest.
"Listen, you guys go to bat with me on this and I'll be sure to put in a good word for you with the boss."
As the head of both marketing and research and development, Larry's motto was that it was "everybody's ass" on the line. When it came to taking care of asses, though, his was the only one he ever worried about.
Travis had woken up Monday morning determined to turn over a new leaf of his personal life. While he was in the woods of change, he figured he might as well rake up a few new things at work, too.
Like Larry's hair, which could use a comb and a can of Ronco spray-on color.
"We busted our butts on Choco-Carrot Juice," Travis reminded him. "And you were the one who ended up with a company car and your own parking space."
Larry's laugh was almost a choke. "I tried to get something for you guys—"
"You call a subscription to Dog Fancy a bonus?" Kenny asked. "Larry, I don't even own a dog."
Larry shrugged and put up his hands. "You might someday. I'm only thinking of your future."
Travis muttered a few choice words under his breath.
"Anyway, we need to make No-Moo Milk the leader in the beverage industry. If we can get people to buy that instead of real milk, we'll corner the market."
"And put a lot of farmers out of business," Travis said.
Larry waved his hand. "They'll still have cheese. Now, give me something on No-Moo Milk that will convince those mustached lunatics to buy it, and I'll take care of you both."
"Mustached lunatics?"
"Yeah, those idiots in the dairy ads who are always talking about how good milk is for you." Larry snorted. "Like a synthetic product that's chemically fortified isn't more nutritious."
"And it's up to us to make them see the error of their ways." Travis shook his head and vowed to crack open the classifieds the minute he got home. He'd had enough of Larry, his hair fetish, and the insane products he worked with. Now that he was sober, Travis Campbell had a hell of a lot less enjoyment for his job.
He'd get the hell out of here, just as he and his brother Brad had vowed long ago. Their jobs were a joke, a way to pay for beer and dates. Now that Travis wasn't funding either for a while, he could afford unemployment. Either way, it was better to be poor and sober than drunk and working for Larry and his hair one more day.
Brad, who worked in R&D for Belly-Licious, had developed No-Moo as a lark, a sort of ha-ha back
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