The Prophet Obblonge - Fast Fashion

Pick up the receiver
I'll make you a believer

Depeche Mode
Personal Jesus
Violator album

Adjusting his tie, the sweat had begun to pool in all the customary places
It was after lunch, and the spicy meatball marinara had been a dangerous choice
But a rewarding one, throwing the gears of commerce into overdrive

Quota had been met earlier in the week
And it was all downhill for this account
Higher commission bonuses were assured
Unlike most in the cubicles, he preferred still his old telephone
With its nostalgic RF rejecting coiled cord as opposed to the headsets

A solid connection felt in the hand to establish solid connections with prospective clientele
Short, atonal digital melody and
Good afternoon, Mr. Eisen

Yes
The voice responding had authority and smoke behind it
A gent in a library, or who at least maintained one in his place of residence
Pictured itself on the blank 8 1/2" x 11" sheet pinned to the fabric
On the wall directly opposing his desk

A visualization technique adapted
From his first correspondence business course from Phoenix

Pleasure speaking with you today, Mr. Eisen
This is Chuck Rast, calling on behalf of East Telemarketers

No interruption or audible exhale
Excellent

Our client, Haven Literary Circle, has an offer of truly startling beauty
And value that will only be available for a limited time
A matched, high-quality, robustly illustrated set of
Companion hardcover research texts detailing the
Authentication processes of the most widely available
And trusted documents concerning the Dead Sea Scrolls
And other writings in ancient Hebrew shaping Judeo-Christian commentary today

He had practiced getting that sentence out in one breath
But not in a noticeable hurry, for hours
This attention to detail was why he was the top seller time and again
No doubt

A creaking sound in the speaker held up to his ear
A wooden cabinet door badly in need of oil for its hinge
The voice following it, closer and louder, accompanied by static not present before

Mmmm
Candy for the cranium
Something to suck the gelatin out of
What do the covers look like, Charles

They're not those garish LifeTime types
With magazine photography pasted to the glossy headings
Are they

A metallic crunching
Mortar and pestle made of hollow aluminum
Mashing coconut scout cookies

No one had called him Charles since his mother died
He had pronounced it the same
In two separated syllables

Oh, no.
I know what you mean
Pop culture summaries like those belong next to the registers with the tabloids
Leather bound
Gold foil embossed
Stitched in ribbon place markers
A royal maroon color

Each one over six hundred pages
Available as a set of seven or individually
More static, imitating that of a roaring fire
Low pitched growling
Large dog warning the postmaster yet again

Ssss-plendid
My mind was lighting upon Megiddo and Gnosis as you rang
A charming tinder box that was
The rock waterside and below makes a satisfying crack
When heated with apolmb and gussss-tow

Yes
Most of these sales were for the trial subscription
In fact, no one had sold a whole set cold calling yet
The miniature paper movie screen became a mirror with Chuck's glistening visage glowering
Forget being a big fish, is there anyone else even working for East

The unmistakable sound of a child, a small boy, in his ear now
Probably the good man's son
Getting the overprotective hound away
From the front door screen before it bursts through
Must be a big thing
The way he's struggling

Very well, then
A credit to your foundation, Char-ulles
The R'amesians at Karnak would've feasted in your honor
One moment and I'll fetch my damned card

Written by:
Michael Mackenzie

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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