Mad Worlds Collide Read Free

arm. Have you seen the one on my right arm?"
    "Yeah, the one with the mermaid and ‘Mary’on top, yeah that’s a nice one." 
    Fred pulled a stick from Buddy’s mouth. "Yeah, I’m having Mary’s name covered over though.  We broke up on Sunday."
    Why the fuck would you put somebody’s name on your arm?  "Don’t do that just yet Fred, maybe your next will be named Mary too.  Or, maybe you’ll get back together."
    "Hey Robert --that’s right! No wonder everyone says you are the smartest guy in the company."
    "I’m sure that’s not all they say.  Hey, sorry about the trouble the other week."
    "No trouble, just those nasty Dobies -- you know they can sense anyamount of fear.  The arm is healing fine."
    Though Robert had heard Fred had once shot himself in the balls going frog hunting, he’d finally given in to Fred’s relentless requests, and allowed the guard to watch Buddy for a day.  Fred’s partner Jimbo, another Seattle frog hunter, let Buddy into "Doberman Run" during a lunch break but couldn’t get him back out. Fred tried retrieving Buddy who was easy to spot as an overgrown brown Bull Mastiff with half an ear missing mixed in withsmaller black Doberman females.
    Fred never trusted the dogs as some were in heat.  Fred knew not to fear dogs, because he’d been told as a kid that if they sensed fear they would eat his balls.  With one shot off, this axiom became more relevant.  Fred got Buddy out of the pen, but not before a Doberman took a chunk out of his arm.
    Robert walked over to Buddy and grabbed his leash. "Gotta get back to work Fred."
    "Take care Robert, and be careful next week.  It’s hunting season here and a few of my buddies will be looking for deer.  I might join ‘em."
     "Hunting? Ah...sure…thanks Fred, I’ll keep that in mind---good luck with the deer and the new tattoo." Well if he shoots off his other nut, he’ll remove himself from the gene pool, thought Robert, maybe even save a few deer by shooting his partner Jimbo.
    Robert walked around a MicroIntel compound that included company housing, shopping malls, and even a movie theater. The three hundred-acre private enclave was unofficially nicknamed MacVille , like the hamburger empire. No-one would be caught alive saying that to Gill. The nickname drove Gill nuts.     
    As Robert passed his home he saw a billboard of the MicroIntel President smiling, wearing bookish horn-rimmed eyeglasses. The poster said:  "Remember that the world trusts MicroIntel and MicroIntel trusts you."
    Another crock of shit, thought Robert. Trust me? Was Gill taking drugs?  The damn world was filled with too much bullshit.  I wonder what that lying motherfucker is doing right now---wonder if I can trust him to tell him about the hacker in the main server…wonder…fucking wonder.
     
    Gill sat home at the Applebee Ranch eating his breakfast of Natural Wonder . While watching the Financial News, Betty, his Filipino head maid sat in the kitchen watching the stock quotes with Gill.  She cheered every time one of his companies moved up. When a stock went down Gill looked pissed, and Betty comforted him saying, "You know, I’ll bet a year from now that stock will be up. Warren Buffet used to say: ‘never sell your stock’."
    Gill drank some orange juice with his eyes fixed on the twenty-four foot Sony GalicitCom home center screen. "Well I know Warren’s son Phil, and I think his father said that so no one sells his company’s stock, but Phil sold ten million shares of MicroIntel last year to buy some stupid baseball team and knocked our price down two bucks that day."
    "Well Mr. Applebee, I’m not an expert on stock but I know there’s more to life than making money.  You and Mrs. Applebee make a great couple and you have a great son. For most folks that would be a gift from heaven."
    Most of Gill’s rich friends never got excited about money. Money came, money went, but mostly it just seemed to flow inward, like a golden river