Jan 3, 2024.
the jackfruit cartel
Philanthropists of Pleasure. Pt. 1
A breathtaking view of a city’s coastline from a penthouse sets the stage. Plush leather chairs surround a sleek, glass table. The serene atmosphere turns thick with arrogance as four powerful business magnates, of the VICE ALLIANCE, gather.
Seated around the table are: Ashton Smokewell - Tobacco Tycoon. Peggy Drinkwell - Liquor Baroness. Ham Friedwell - Fast Food Giant. Marc Trendwell - Social Media Major.
Smokewell: (leaning forward) New Year Resolutions are making a cameo again. Worried, anyone?
All exchange glances, a shared understanding passing between them.
Friedwell: (with a scoff) Ha! You mean… those weak promises people make to feel less pathetic about themselves for, like, a week? You gotta be kidding me. Smokewell, my man, are you worried your cigarettes are losing their addictive charm, huh?
Smokewell: (interjecting) I’m not sayin’—
Drinkwell: (cutting him off) Smokewell, sweetie, you? The Puff Daddy of tobacco, getting worked up over this “resolution” sham? Too cute!
Smokewell: No worries on my end. Losing smokers is like shedding old skin, you know? Always a new one underneath—just the way it goes. Now, here's a nugget of truth for both of you: Someone prolly lit the first smoke immediately after they lit the first fire…
Friedwell coughs a muffled smirk
Smokewell: People crave the smoke, especially with a drink or after a greasy meal at your joint. It's more than just smoke; it's a legacy, my friends. A bit hard to digest, like your food. And your beverages.
Drinkwell: (rolling her eyes) Oh darling, come on now. Even the gods knew how to pick their poison. Alcohol was already flowing even before some caveman tried to spark a flame—something your cigarettes and fast food practically depend on. Don’t you compare ambrosia to a smelly smoke, or a loud off-key belch after a greasy meal.
Friedwell: (leaning in, with sarcasm) Alright… alright… folks, now please do me a favour and shush for a minute…
Smokewell: (eyebrows raised, looks at Drinkwell and then at Friedwell) The floor is yours!
Friedwell: Let me break it down for you in caveman terms – eat, or die. Food is the primal truth. Cavemen didn't stroll outta their caves for a smoke or a drink; it was the growling belly that got 'em moving. Survival gig, my friends, not a lifestyle choice.
(smirking) Now, your cigarettes, your alcohol – they're like the opening acts to the main show- my fast food feast! So, when the stomach growls, and it will, let's see if you're reaching for a smoke or an aperitif, or perhaps, praying for a bite.
Drinkwell playfully bites into an imaginary burger, giving a mocking nod of approval.
Trendwell: (chimes in) Seriously, the irony here is richer than all of us combined.
Drinkwell: Whadyu mean?
Trendwell: I mean, look at you- tobacco, liquor, fast food big shots - and we're just here admiring an empty table? Can we put out the campfire stories and focus on fixing this emptiness, shall we?
Smokewell claps. And a team of servers wheels in a lavish spread - top-shelf liquor, premium cigars, and a feast fit for royalty.
To be continued…
Jan 6th, 2024.
the jackfruit cartel
Philanthropists of Pleasure. Pt. 2
Previously, the four business magnates got together to discuss the threat posed by resolutions to their respective businesses. And the uncensored discussion continues revealing their ruthless perspectives on consumer weaknesses tied to tobacco, alcohol, fast food and social media.
Smokewell claps and a team of servers wheels in a lavish spread - top-shelf liquor, premium cigars, and a feast fit for royalty. Each helps themselves to their preferred vices.
Trendwell: (with a smirk) Well, speaking of new year resolutions, Smokewell, you've aged like fine tobacco yourself, tell us, over the years, how many consumers have actually sworn off your smokes? And your alcohol? And your greasy delights?
Smokewell: (nonchalantly) You know, over 2500 new smokers light up every single day, in every nook and cranny of the globe. And once in a blue moon, a lone quitter will try to break free. The drain is nothing compared to the constant influx- it’s like trying to empty an ocean with a teaspoon!
Sure, I lose a bunch of loyal smokers each year to the natural course of life, but their descendants are already lining up. Tradition prevails, my friends.
Nicotine is as addictive as cocaine, yet the state doesn’t outlaw us. Because the fat stacks of taxes we toss in could practically bail out a smaller country. So that's just how the smoke swirls, you dig?
Friedwell: (sipping his drink) Quit junk food? Ha ha! Unlike alcohol, cigarettes and social media, fast food faces no restrictions. I got Ivy League scientists working round-the-clock to ensure my fast food isn't just a meal, but a ceremony of surrender.
These gluttons are battling a chemistry experiment gone deliciously wrong! It’s true they may ask for a salad and green tea, but they're still on my menu they’re hardwired to. I just have to run a week-long ad campaign to remind them of what they’re missing, and soon I’ll have ‘em back begging for a serving of heart attack on a plate!
As Smokewell rightly pointed out, similar to smokers, we hook 'em when they're young, weaving a web of nostalgia bullshit. As they grow up, they pass on the cravings to their kids, who, in turn, ensure the tradition lives on.
Drinkwell: (with a sly grin) Quitting the bottle? Well, good luck with that fantasy. Despite the chaos we've sown in homes and lives, the booze keeps flowing, shares keep rocketing, and resolutions keep plummeting.
God forbid, even if we decide to shutdown, the authorities won't let us cut ties, let alone our consumers. We’re like tobacco, probably even better for their budget. Imagine a sober world. Well, that’s all you can do - imagine.
Trendwell: (blowing a deep puff) Read my lips- people unfollow resolutions faster than a boring account. I admit, they might dodge social media for a bit, but when the “fear of missing out” knocks, and trust me, it always does, they'll be back to hashtagging #cheatday.
Business will stay booming as long as they play the game, projecting their staged happiness in exchange for those digital pats on the back – a game my platform is crafted for. They’ll keep chasing likes, shares, followers, subscribers, forever feeding that hunger for attention, even if it means trading their privacy.
I see ‘em as dung beetles, but each hustling for a different dung, thinking it sets ‘em apart, but let's be real, they're all just rollin’ in the same pile, craving for a moment in the spotlight that I, generously provide.
Friedwell: We’ve haven’t sold them mere products; we’ve sold them a lifetime subscription to their own cravings!
Drinkwell: We own their brains, lungs, livers, stomachs, and money!
Trendwell: We’re the architects of their addictions!
Smokewell: Or the philanthropists of pleasure! (winks)
The magnates clink their glasses together and erupt in laughter.