Magnificent Bastards of the Apocalypse, Chapter 7

MBOTA Chapter 7

The mark of an effective manager is the well-run meeting. Research shows that nearly 50% of all meetings end in murder—a humiliatingly low number for the aspiring despot. Potentate Imax, on the other hand, bats a cool 0.883, with a healthy portion of waterboarding thrown in for spice. Please enjoy Chapter 7 of Magnificent Bastards of the Apocalypse, in which we see the master at work.


Overloard Weekly Planning Session Minutes

Date: Cowerday, 49 Crotchtober, 2614

Time: Hour of Dread:30-Hour of Misery:15

Location: Obsidian Keep Conference Room B

In attendance:

Potentate Imax, Supreme Overloard in Charge and Dread Autocrat of the Cromulent Zone, the Bitter Gulches, and the Verboten Chasm

Oligarchess Cheryl, Matronly Maven of Mammon, Queen Mother of Mucho, and Vice-President of Business and Finance

Vice-Honcho Dougly, Utility Overloard and Widely-Acknowledged Stud

Minutes taken by: Vice-Honcho Dougly

Call to order: Potentate Imax, Supreme Overloard in Charge and Other Stuff called the meeting to order.

General Remarks: Previous meeting’s minutes approved. After some vigorous discussion about superfluousness of the “Call to Order” part of these meetings, Potentate Imax instructed Vice-Honcho Dougly to be silent. Vice-Honcho Dougly entered an objection to these instructions on the basis of “fuck that shit.” Potentate Imax slapped Vice-Honcho Dougly harder than the situation warranted. Request was made for Division Reports.

Reports:

• Vice-Honcho Dougly reported that renovations to Torture Chamber 3 are progressing smoothly, and that upgrades to bolt-in shackles are coming in on-time and under-budget. There have been a few minor delays in re-grouting the blood drainage channels because the #121 Mojave Sand low-porosity grout that we selected (over Vice-Honcho Dougly’s suggestion of #54 Starlight) is on backorder at MaxMart. Otherwise, all good.

• Oligarchess Cheryl reported that the Imperial Coffers are “filled to bursting” as a result of new and oppressive taxes to wring the last remaining bits of wealth from the miserable scum over which we Overloards rule. Vice-Honcho Dougly objected that “filled to bursting” was not a standard accounting category. Oligarchess Cheryl replied that this was a planning session, not a budgetary meeting, and so unoriginal and vague generalities were fine even though they provided virtually no usable intelligence on the state of the land’s finances (Nota bene: not Oligarchess Cheryl’s words). Vice-Honcho Dougly uttered a regrettable epithet that is not necessary to recount in these minutes, at which time Oligarchess Cheryl knocked over a cup of coffee with her fat hands and swore vulgarly before leaving the conference room briefly to get some paper towels. Potentate Imax sighed heavily.

• Potentate Imax reported that Operation Totle Destrukshun was moving into a new phase: his assets in the Bonanzasphere were making progress on locating a crucial piece of technology. Once that was in hand—not kidding, he actually mimed holding something at this point—dimensional rift closures would begin immediately. This was excellent news, according to him, and he declared that he had full confidence that new extra-dimensional incursions would be prevented in the immediate short term, and that other advantages would become clear as the process continued, at which point, Imax cackled horribly without blinking for an uncomfortably long interval. Additionally, he had received assurances from one of the top scientists still alive in the CZ that dimensional rift repair was not only possible but totally easy, so just relax.

Discussion:

Oligarchess Cheryl questioned the reliability of said scientist, one Gibson Taylor, in that he was extremely irritating and had been wrong about the timing and intensity of last year’s Kaiju mating season, had incorrectly identified a Class 4 CHUDquake as “probably just some loose tectonic plates,” and had gotten himself marooned from his own timeline. Oligarchess Cheryl was convinced, she stated very shrilly, that Gibson Taylor was likely not a scientist at all but just a run-of-the-mill idiot that did Imax’s bidding in exchange for a few cans of beans.

Potentate Imax denied this vehemently and accused Oligarchess Cheryl of botching her own overtures to the AIs. Oligarchess Cheryl shrugged casually and did a poor job of concealing a smirk. Vice-Honcho Dougly emitted an exaggerated series of snoring sounds to register his boredom. Potentate Imax narrowed eyes at Vice-Honcho Dougly and then scowled at Oligarchess Cheryl (I’m sure he thought it was menacing but in this minute-taker’s opinion, he looked like a mummified fig with albinism). Oligarchess Cheryl returned scowl and rubbed hands together in unconscious glee at some unspoken victory or secret plot, which was easily noticed by Potentate Imax and Vice-Honcho Dougly. Both played it cool and pretended not to notice, but they both noticed that the other was pretending and clearly noticed that each noticed that as well.

At this point, Vice-Honcho Dougly wondered whether using the Auto-thought™ transcriber rather than taking handwritten meeting notes was such a hot idea as there is a tendency for point of view and dominant tense to shift unless concentration is maintained. So better not get distracted. Why the hell is Cheryl wearing ear muffs? It’s Crotchtober for fuck’s sake—the Icenami season was still a good month away. Ok. Shit. Focus Dougly. It’s fine, it’s fine. I can edit later. You have to be able edit right / oh. Whoops. Hope no one heard that / shouldn’t have had the lentils / they always do that to me / lentils don’t seem like they should smell like that they’re so small / weird / Vice-Honcho Dougly said “Whoever smelt it, dealt it” and laughed probably a little too much and you’re supposed to say that after someone says that they smelled it not before dammit they know it’s me yep they are looking at me I’m going to have to kill both of them before they find out that I have a plan too damn better edit that out///

Motion: Motion to adjourn. Carried.

/end minutes

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