I hasten to add, I'm all Swiftsoil now.  It's chockfull of nutrients.  Duplicant too--plant two seeds and germinate four.  More, more, more, more!  Do the math--it's a money bath!

Just wanted to get that straight.  Gal in the next cubicle got blanched the other day, bounced on her trademarked buns, no severance, no nada.  She'd been thinking non-company.  And that after leasing her cerebrum to Swiftsoil as a condition of employment.

They tefloned her.  Most of her skin is unpostable now.  Not much left besides the bar codes on Dede's backside, and of course that's genetically engineered.  I mean, duh.  Entre nous, I happen to know that the following gen-en stuff remains as well: a Kona-Kona hologram inside her lids and a Rameses relief where a tongue can graze it.  Mum and Dum logojunkies for Silvertone and A g e l e s s, went into hock, she told me, had to have all the accessories, fetal included.  Her birth yelp was a Silvertone jingle.  The usual.

We weren't really friendly, I hasten to add.  Never within scent of my GuardBreath - because it's smart to be afraid!  Water cooler acquaintanceship our limit.  I am a company man.  The only folks I'll stand beside are the ones with na tattooed across their foreheads to finish the Ko across mine.  But you should see us in a line of four: more, more, more, more!

I knew her slightly, it's true, back in our nologo days.  Skinned oscarmeyers all of us, clean of copy, watching bears forage at the dump of a Nikéday or BOAday evening, we might have exchanged your occasional hello^TM.  As I've confessed, and the rights to the story belong to NBS--

--a bunch of us fishbellies conspired to keep the bear fur logo-free.  I hasten to add, I've seen the error of my ways, and all thanks to Thera-Pee, the diuretic that goes right to work on brain and bladder both!  (As I'm told hypnagogically each time I blink.)

We'd adida on down with a pair of binocs and generic sunflower seed munchies roasted in bulk virgin olive oil.  One night this buff marlboro cases Dede.  Biceps like the Monitor^TM and Merrimack^TM, condom adverts holoing from each bulge.  "Honey, you've got ITT."  Dede is smitten.  By me, this individual is strictly Windows, but next time I see Dede she's naing his Ko.  She's gone logo.

Not that I care, I hasten to add.  More, more, more, more.  If you think I went logo to get on Dede's radar, baby, you need to 

Watermarking was just coming in then.  Love the effect.  Catch me aslant, and I'm all "It's better in the Bahamas!"  Scored a gasp off Dede when she spied it at the Galleria.  I knew she malled there with her marlboro.  I tattooed all my visible parts one by one at the plaza parlor, waiting.  Not that bumping into Dede was my sole purpose there, I hasten to add.  I'd had a subcutaneous TV installed--had to keep returning to the mall for upgrades to fully appreciate the newest commercials!

And it is totally a coincidence that I wound up working for the same multinat as Dede.  I hardly know her, really.  It was Swiftsoil that drew me, I hasten to add, not Dede.  More, more, more, more!  It's a Job With A Future--For A Future With A Job.  And if you don't believe it,

So the marlboro dumps her, and suddenly Dede's all "Ban the brand," again.  Pas moi.  I mean to keep my job, sure as Odorfree.  Can't fall behind in my rentals, God^TM knows: don't know what I'd do if Kona-Kona blanched my forehead.  It gives a fellow pause to think of the repo squads pulling the dye out of his pores like they did to poor Dede.  Not that she didn't deserve it, I hasten to add.  Banish fishbelly heresies!

Okay, grant that Dede's slipstream, all pheremone and funk, brought me to my present cubicle.  I'm like a glider that stays high when the carrier plane has crashed.  Skimming that cloudless sky^TM forever.  Dede's scent, Dede's dimples, the snap of the bad latch on her attaché--who needs those reruns, anyway?

Love comes and goes, after all, but B L A S T O P E R M is forever.  ("Hair today, hair tomorrow!")  Possibly I'll get her cubicle.  The light is better there: they haven't pulled her electrofax fixture, and maybe they won't.  You gotta love the way the el from the logo on the tip of the bulb shadows the bookcase and the ectr splays across the desk, elongating down the front of the file drawer and spilling onto the bearskin rug smack on its old tattoo: Choose nooz.  They let the fish in her bowl die, though.  The ax darkles across the . on their bellies.

My dream is to land my own network affiliate and run ads from all the big companies, Kona-Kona, Swiftsoil, Rameses, Silvertone, A g e l e s s, GuardBreath, Thera-Pee, Odorfree, B L A S T O P E R M, electrofax, and yes, yes: NBS!  The big ones.  To have their logos pulsing from my tower.  Ads longa, vita brevis, my motto.  More, more, more, more.  Strobing through the ether: