New Product

Dan Halen clicked his tongue and tapped his chin with a well-manicured finger. Early Cuyler sat across his desk, glaring out from under a dark blue trucker hat. Dan’s right hand wrapped regally around the long neck of an unmarked amber-colored bottle. Idly, Dan twirled the wide-mouthed container and listened to the clear-ish liquid slosh around inside. Dan casually raised a manicured brow. Did that squid-man really expect…?

“Whell?” Early finally grunted after minutes of silence. He tilted his head upwards to get a better look of Dan’s expression, wrapping his tentacles around the legs of the chair for more balance. “Yew’s goh-na drank et, er whut?” His legs shook impatiently.

Reluctantly, Dan raised the mouth of the bottle to his lips, looking quite uncertain. “Honestly, Early, do I—”

“Yes’m, yew does.” Early stated indignantly, his tone terse and leaving no room for argument. Of course, Dan didn’t think that applied to him.

“Haaa…I don’t think I need to sample a new product, Early. That’s your job.” Dan reasoned, pulling the bottle from his mouth. Just as he did so the barrel of a sawed off shotgun was placed in his line of vision. Immediately, Dan paused and stared, his eyes narrowing. “And what to you intend to do that that?” he queried.

Early smirked in that drunken way of his and laid the shotgun over his lap. “Motervayshun.” He drawled.

Apparently, Early was serious – a little too serious, if you asked Dan. But you didn’t, so shut the hell up. Without another word, Dan tilted the bottle, hovered it over his mouth (Early could have had his lips on it) and took a nice long swig. From the position of the bottle, a few drips splattered down his chin and he wiped them away, a look of utter disgust passing over his face.

The squid-man leaned forward over the desk and said, “Whell?”

Dan smacked his lips together thoughtfully, licked his sharp teeth and said, “Disgusting.”

“Then eet’s PARFECTIFIED!” Early shouted and jumped to his feet, arms above his head as though he had just rescued a pack of orphans from a burning building. “WOO!”

Dan leaned back in his chair, tossing the bottle onto his desk haphazardly (he could replace it if it spilled). “Pardon?” he rumbled.

Early took the bottle gleefully and shook his emancipated hips, his tentacles wrapping around his waist and thighs as if in congratulations. “I reckon iffin’ yew d’n’t lyek it, than e’ryun else wuld.”

The business opened his mouth to protest that, but paused, because the squid-man was partially (if not wholly) correct. “Fine. I’ll manufacture it. But only if I get 99.9% of the earnings, and you get .1%.”

“DEAL!” Early hollered, then ran for the door, feeling as though he had won, but in all reality, while he raced down the hall, Dan smirked and laughed at the idiocy that was his CEO.