Graham, at the door, his back to the wilds, and Arlo, holding a plate of angel-headed noodles smeared with marinara, stared unapologetically at each other for a good bull ride before Graham, ever the dramatist, lifted one hand, his right, skyward, to a point, and Arlo made his move, clearing the path of innocent bystanders with great sweeping motions as he stomped forward, poised, his fingers twitching just above his missiles. Here it was… Graham unmoving, Arlo treading heavily, recommending cover, until he was just forty paces and he let it fly, a good six noodles spraying the wall behind Graham, who had ducked at the last moment, with bolognese blood. But Arlo didn’t let up, aware of his genetic inadequacy, and Graham was left, unarmed, scrambling towards cover as a volley of obvious noodles pounded around him.
He managed to dive behind two unmindful executives, each darkened by red pasta strings, one lengthy bit dangling from a dominant nose, and acquired two portions of chocolate pudding in nude bowls, while Arlo jockeyed for a line, the barrage finally ceasing. The crowd was hiding, peeking out from behind overturned chairs and the safety of large cafeteria tables, silent witnesses to the showdown, occasionally crying out names as cheerleading (most for Graham) rhymes.
Graham, darting out his head to find his adversary’s current position, barely turtled his head back into his sanctuary as four or five sticky arrows whizzed by with menacing speed. But Arlo had revealed his location, still crouched, unprotected, a tactical plunder obvious to all those observing the great melee, in the middle of a wide aisle-way between tables, until a careening bowl, like a Winchester buckshot, felled him in near finality. Graham, uncertain of the condition of his foe, took the stolen few seconds to get his hands on a Caesar salad nearly half-eaten and a saucer of fresh fruit (grapes, melons, a halved strawberry wedge), while Arlo, smarting from the bowl to the head, his spaghetti arsenal dumped upon his chest and belly (unfortunately covered by a smart white and blue pin striping blouse, accentuating the blunder), took to his feet and finally sought refuge behind refuse receptacles kindly placed tactically abouts the saloon, it occurring to him immediately that he’d found a store of weaponry truly demeaning, if he could only get a few shots off.
He was unaware of Graham’s whereabouts however, and his spying over the rim of a particularly large canister gave him no advantage. The canteen was quiet, save the soft sounds of whimpering by cowards and an errant fart. Arlo surveyed the field, searching for any movement. He reached in and got two large handfuls of retched compost, one of which he immediately shot off at the head of an accidental target with a crown seemingly Graham-like, a decoy just so, as when Arlo reached back in to reload, a bowl of muddy dessert rebounded off his now shitty shoulder. He breathed heavily, fearful, realizing his predicament against such a sure-shot, but unwilling or incompetent enough to refuse surrender. He would go down before he would lose passage to the missus’ spacious peachy trough. He sided carefully on his haunches to the other side of his fort, one hand armed with sticky, stinky projectiles. He had to make a decision, look up and chance another hit or remain hidden and chance missing an assault.
He darted his head over the can only to feel the whirl of romaine lettuce and croutons whisk just over his hairline. He army soldiered it midway and went for it, jumping to his feet, recoiled, fully loaded, waiting for any sight of the enemy. But, regrettably, depending upon your affiliation, lurching backwards as his already soiled chemise was pounded by overly refrigerated produce and yet, still unaware of Graham’s position. He had but one option:
“Face me,” Arlo challenged, but with no response. He strutted out into the central aisle, passing trembling bystanders, grabbing first a plate of lasagna and second a tri-partitioned platter of pork tenderloin doused in onion gravy with green beans christened with It Very Well Might Not Be Margarine. “Face me coward,” he tried, and this time, to his side, where he had no idea he was, in an obvious commencement of a flanking maneuver, Graham rose boldly, clutching a marang pie and two gelatin snacks in tidy little containers — peeled open. Graham moved swiftly to the walkway, never taking his eyes off Arlo, who obliged with, “we end this now.”
“Agreed.”
“Take your position…”
“Taken.”
“Say when you’re ready…”
“Ready.”
“Ready,” Arlo repeated and let dash his first handful, followed almost immediately by his second, the thrusts sending him reeling forward, and then, nothing. As he lifted his head, expectant, hoping Graham would be filthy with rubbish, there stood his superior, unmarred, clean, unmoved. “No…” he sniveled as he was blinded by lemon squish and knocked to his knees by one, then two painful collisions to his crotch. Arlo collapsed in a mess, curled around his fly.
Graham moved towards him, scooping up a heaving basin of steaming clam chowder with both hands. He stood over his fallen rival and ceremonially ever so slowly poured the boiling broth with seafood chunks and a nice smattering of veggies onto the fetal body, now screaming from burning.
Arlo writhed, dog paddling in potage. They surrounded him, standing just behind the victor, everyone watching as the fallen squirmed.
* * *
GOVERNMENT BY OBJECTIVES
The GBO, as it is called, was developed by Arnold Doukhobor, arguably the most influential political thinker of his time and certainly the most widely read, with over eighty books credited to him. Doukhobor’s five basic principles of government — setting objectives, organization, motivation and communication, providing performance targets, and citizenship development — paved the way for the Unified Social System (USS). The central purpose and accomplishment of the USS was a cohesive power structure. In the past, government and business competed for much of the same power and control. This, according to Doukhobor, intervened in both institutions ability to grow and manage citizens/employees efficiently. Doukhobor envisioned a government of CEO’s and presidents of industry, an economy of politicians and representatives. There would no longer be two forces fighting for the time and energy of the citizens/consumers, there would be one, general power that would control all aspects of their lives, a truly Benthamian system.
Doukhobor’s theory of GBO was gleaned from 20th century management strategy and his experiences as an advisor of the grand chancellor’s office. He advocated a plan that assigned representatives from local districts a profit center and set targets of 18 % return on sales and 40 % on investment to achieve. These targets were non-negotiable and those who failed to meet them were incapable of running for re-election. Representatives adopted partnerships with local employers, hiring management as advisors and assigning their staff to key positions in the companies. Doukhobor believed that a government is ultimately judged by its ability to provide for its citizens, how it profited them and what it lost for them, no matter what its other advantages or contributions to the community. He further stated that with a strong consumer base and high profits, all other purposes would fall into line. Government goals, he reasoned, should be divided into a list of objectives and targets to be attained and each assigned to consumers and citizens. GBO would then ensure that each individual in an interlocked society would perform efficiently. They would be both consumer and provider, their own financial success would depend upon this two-fold position. They must produce as well as consume. For Doukhobor, government was an extension of the worker and had the same purpose, it must provide for its citizens while at the same time it must perpetuate its own survival by consuming. The only way he believed this was possible was through a partnership between government and business.