by Gump
Somebody had called the police, who showed up an immediately begun beatin people on the heads with nightsticks. Meantime, the lion had got loose in the bulrushes, where he surprised the Reverend Bakker an Jessica Hahn, who was havin some kind of relationship minus their clothes. They come tearin out right in the middle of things, with the lion in hot pursuit. When the police got an eyeful of this, first thing they do is arrest the reverend for "indecent exposure," an cart him off to jail. Last thing he says before they tossed him in the paddy wagon is "Gump, you idiot, I'll have your head for this!"
Chapter Eight
After that, it was all over for the Reverend Bakker. One thing led to another, an in the end he gone on to jail hissef—where he can now help rehabilitate the prisoners full-time, not to mention his own pious ass.
Me, however, it looks like, will be returnin to jail also, but that was not to be.
The national media had got wind that there was a riot at Holy Land, an somehow my picture got into the papers an on TV. I am actually waitin for the bus to take us back to prison, when a feller shows up with a document in his hand, says it is my "release."
He is dressed all nattily in a suit with suspenders an has big flashy teeth an spit-shined shoes, look kinda like a stockbroker. "Gump," he says, "I am gonna be your 'Angel of Mercy.' "
Ivan Bozosky is his name.
Ivan Bozosky says he has been tryin to find me ever since the Capitol Hill hearins with Colonel North.
"Have you seen the newspapers today, Gump?" Ivan Bozosky ast.
"No, sir, I haven't."
"Well, then," he says, "perhaps you'd like to," an hands me a copy of The Wall Street Journal. Headline reads: STOOGE SHUTS DOWN IMPORTANT ECONOMIC THEME PARK.
A recent releasee from a Washington hospital for the criminally insane ran amok yesterday in a small Carolina town, ruining economic opportunities for thousands of hardworking American citizens by setting off a chain of events that caused the downfall of one of Carolina's most revered citizens.
According to sources, the culprit's name is Forrest Gump, a man of low IQ who has been identified in similar disturbances in Atlanta, West Virginia, and elsewhere.
Gump, who was serving time for expressing contempt for the U.S. Congress, was on a work-release project at a Bible-oriented enterprise under the tutelage of the Reverend Jim Bakker, a devout entrepreneur of our American way of life.
In his role as the giant Goliath, Gump, who is said to be a large-figured man, apparently began to disport himself yesterday in a manner described by authorities as "inappropriate," at one point hurling his fellow Bible character David over several stands of trees and into a lake inhabited by a mechanical whale, which, in the words of Holy Land authorities, "became distressed by the intrusion," and began to seethe and set upon the guests and visitors.
Somewhere in the confusion, Reverend Bakker and his secretary, one Jessica Hahn, became embroiled in the exhibit's biblical bulrushes, which tore off their clothing, and they were swept up in a police dragnet, which the spokesman described as "unfortunate."
An shit like that. Anyway, ole Ivan Bozosky, he took back the newspaper an turns to me.
"I like your style, Gump," he says, "because way back before all this, you had every chance there was to rat on Colonel North an the President, but you didn't. You covered it all up an took the blame yourself! Now, that's what I call real corporate spirit! My outfit can use a man like you."
"What outfit is that?" I ast.
"Well, we buy an sell shit—stuff on paper, actually. Bonds, stocks, bidnesses—whatever. We don't buy an sell anything really, but when we get through talkin on the phones an shufflin all the papers, we wind up with a shit-pot of money in our pockets."
"How you do that?"
"Easy," Ivan Bozosky says. "Meanness, dirty tricks an stuff, peekin over people's shoulders, goin behind their backs, pickin their pockets. It's a jungle out there, Gump, an right now, I am the big tiger."
"So what you want me to do?"
Ivan puts his hand on my shoulder. "Gump, I am starting a new division in my company in New York, called the Division of Insider Trading, an I want you to be its president."
"Me? Why?"
"Because of your integrity. It took a lot of integrity to stand up there and lie to the Congress and take the rap for that fool North. Gump, you are just the kind of feller I've been looking for."
"What's it pay?"
"Sky's the limit, Gump! Why, do you need money?"
"Everbody needs money," I says.
"No, I mean real money! The kind with half-a-dozen zeros behind it."
"Well, I gotta earn somethin to keep little Forrest in school, an pay for his college someday, an stuff like that."
"Who's little Forrest—your son?"
"Well, sort of. I mean, I'm in charge of takin care of him."
"Good godamighty, Gump," Ivan Bozosky says, "with what you're gonna make, you can send him to Choate, Andover, St. Paul's, and Episcopal High School all at once, and when you're done, he'll be so rich he can send his shirts off to Paris to be laundered."
So that's how I begun my corporate career.
I had never been to New York City, an let me tell you: It was a sight!
I didn't know there was so many people in the whole world. They was millin in the streets an sidewalks an up in the skyscrapers an in the stores. The racket they made was unreal—horns blowin, jackhammers jackin, sirens wailin, an I don't know what-all else. I had the immediate impression that I was in a anthill, where all the ants was half crazy.
Ivan, Bozosky first took me to his company's offices. They was in a big ole skyscraper down near Wall Street. They was hundrits of people workin there at computers, all was wearing shirts an ties an suspenders, an most of em had little round horn-rimmed glasses, an their hair was slicked back. To a man, they was talkin on their telephones, an smokin cigars so much at first I thought the room was on fire.
"This is the deal, Gump," Ivan says. "What we do herein is, we make friends with the folks that run big companies, an when we learn they are gonna issue a big dividend or earnings statement, or sell their company, or start a new division—or do anything else that will make the price of their stock go up—why, we start buying their stock ourselves before the news officially gets in the papers an lets every sonofabitch on Wall Street have a fair chance to get in on the profits."
"How you make friends with them people?" I ast.
"Simple. Just hang around the Harvard or Yale clubs or the Racquet Club or any number of places where these morons do their thing. Buy em a bunch of drinks, play dumb—take em to dinner, get em a girl, kiss their asses—whatever it takes. Sometimes we fly em out to Aspen to ski or to Palm Beach or something. But don't you worry about that, Gump. Our fellers know how to run that scam—All I want you to do is be the president, and the only person you'll report to is me—about, oh, say, once every six months or so."
"What I'm gonna report?"
"We'll figure that out when the time comes. Now, let me show you your office."
Ivan took me down a hall to a big ole corner office that has a mahogany desk an leather chairs an couches, an a Persian rug on the floor. All the windows look out over the city an the rivers, where there is all sorts of boats an steamships goin up an down, an in the distance I can see the Statue of Liberty, shinin in the evenin sun.
"Well, Gump, what do you think?"
"Nice view," I says.
"Nice view my ass!" says Ivan. "This shit cost two hundred dollars a square foot to lease! This is prime real estate, my man! Now, your private secretary will be Miss Hudgins. And she is knock-dead gorgeous. And what I want you to do is, just sit at this desk here and when she brings you in some papers to sign, sign your name on them. You don't need to bother to read them—they'll just be a bunch of bullshit and details anyway. I've always thought bidness executives shouldn't know too much about what's going on in their bidness—you know what I mean?"
"Well, I dunno," I says. "Yo
u know, I done got into a lot of trouble in my life doin stuff I didn't know what it was."
"Now, don't worry any about that, Gump. All this is on the big-time up and up. It is the chance of a lifetime for you—and your son." Ivan puts his arm around my shoulder an flashes a big ole toothy grin at me. "Want to ask anything else?"
"Yeah," I says. "Where is the bathroom?"
"Bathroom? Your bathroom? Why, it's right here through this door. You wondering if you got a private bathroom? Is that it?"
"Nope. I got to pee."
At this, Ivan jumps back a little. "Ah, well, that is a rather straightforward way of putting it, I must say. But you go right ahead, Mr. Gump—in the privacy of your own bathroom."
An so that's what I did, but I was still wonderin if I was doin the right thing with this Ivan Bozosky. After all, seems I had heard some of his kind of shit before.
Anyway, Ivan, he gone off an left me in my new office. Big brass nameplate on the desk says Forrest Gump, President. I had just set down in the leather chair an put my feet up when the door opens an in walks a beautiful young woman. I figger this to be Miss Hudgins.
"Ah, Mr. Gump," she says. "Welcome to the insider trading division of Bozosky Enterprises."
Miss Hudgins is certainly a looker—enough to make your teeth chatter. She is tall an brunette with blue eyes an a big toothy smile an skirt so short that I am afraid her underpants might show if she bends over.
"Would you like some coffee or anything?" she ast.
"No. Thank you, though," I says.
"Well, is there anything I can do for you? How about a CokeCola—or perhaps a whisky sour?"
"Thanks, but I really don't want nothin."
"Then perhaps you would like to see your new apartment."
"My what?"
"Apartment. Mr. Bozosky has ordered you an apartment to live in, since you are president of the division."
"I thought I was gonna stay here on the couch," I says. "I mean, since there is a bathroom an all."
"Heavens, no, Mr. Gump. Mr. Bozosky asked me to find you suitable living quarters over on Fifth Avenue. Something where you can entertain."
"Who I'm gonna entertain?"
"Whoever," Miss Hudgins says. "Will you be ready to go in, say, half an hour?"
"I am ready to go right now," I says. "How we gonna get there?"
"Why, in your limousine, of course."
In no time, we is down on the street gettin into a big ole black limousine. It is so big I think it cannot turn a corner, but the driver, whose name is Eddie, is so good that he can even drive right past the taxicabs by goin up on the curb, an in a few minutes we is arriving at my new apartment after scatterin people all over Madison Avenue. Miss Hudgins says we are now "uptown."
The buildin is a big ole thing of white marble with a canopy an doormen dressed up like in one of them old-time movies. The sign out front say Helmsley Palace. As we is goin in the door, a woman wearin a fur coat come out walkin a poodle. She be eyein me pretty suspicious an lookin me up an down, account of I am still wearin my work clothes from Holy Land.
When we get off at the eighteenth floor, Miss Hudgins opens the door with a key. It is like goin in a mansion or somethin. They is crystal chandeliers an big gold-leaf mirrors an paintins on the walls. I see fireplaces an fancy furniture an tables with pitcher books on em. There is a library all paneled in wood an beautiful carpets on the floors. In the corner is a bar.
"You want to see your bedroom?" Miss Hudgins says.
I was so speechless, all I could do was nod.
We gone on in the bedroom, an let me say this: It was a sight. Big ole king-size bed with a covered top an fireplace an a TV set built into the wall. Miss Hudgins says it gets a hundrit channels. The bathroom is grander than that, marble floors an a glass shower with gold knobs an jets that spray in ever direction. There are even two toilets, although one is kinda funny lookin.
"What is that?" I ast, pointin to it.
"That, is a bidet," she says.
"What's it for? It ain't got no seat on it."
"Er, well, why don't you just use the other one for now," Miss Hudgins says. "We can talk about the bidet later."
Like the sign out front announces, this place is a palace, an "Sooner or later," Miss Hudgins says, "I imagaine you're gonna get to meet the nice lady who owns it. She's a friend of Mr. Bozosky. Her name is Leona."
Anyway, Miss Hudgins says we got to go out an get me some new clothes that is "fittin for the president of one of Mr. Bozosky's divisions." We gone on over to a tailor shop called Mr. Squeegee's, an is greeted at the door by Mr. Squeegee hissef. He is a little short fat guy with a Hitler-lookin mustache an a bald head.
"Ah, Mr. Gump. I have been expecting you," he says.
Mr. Squeegee done showed me dozens of suits an jackets an pants an cloth patterns an materials—ties an even socks an underpants. Ever time I pick out somethin, Miss Hudgins says, "No, no—that won't do," an she picks out somethin else. Finally, Mr. Squeegee stands me in front of a mirror an begun to take my pants measurements.
"My, my, what a fine specimen you are!" he says.
"You got that right," Miss Hudgins chimes in.
"By the way, Mr. Gump, what side do you dress on?"
"Side of what?" I ast.
"Side, Mr. Gump. Do you dress to the left or the right?"
"Huh?" I says. "I guess it don't matter. I just put on my clothes, you know?"
"Well, er, Mr. Gump..."
"Just dress him for both sides," Miss Hudgins say. "A man like Mr. Gump looks like he can swing any way he wants."
"Right," says Mr. Squeegee.
Next day, Eddie picked me up in the limousine an I gone on down to the office. I had just got there when Ivan Bozosky came in an says, "In a little while, let's do lunch. I got somebody I want you to meet."
All the rest of the mornin I signed the papers Miss Hudgins brought in. I must of signed twenty or thirty, an even though I sort of glanced at what was in a few, I could not understand a word that was in them. After a hour or two, my stomach begun to growl, an I started thinkin about my mama's srimp Creole. Good ole Mama.
Pretty soon, Ivan come in an says it is time for lunch. A limo took us to a restaurant called The Four Seasons, an we is showed to a table where there is a tall skinny guy in a suit with a wolfish look on his face.
"Ah, Mr. Gump," Ivan Bozosky says, "I want you to meet a friend of mine."
The guy stands up an shook my hand.
Mike Mulligan is his name.
Mike Mulligan is apparently a stockbroker who Mr. Bozosky does some bidness with. Mike Mulligan deals in somethin he calls junk bonds, though what anybody would want with a bunch of junk is beyond me. Nevertheless, I get the impression that Mike Mulligan is some kind of big cheese.
After Ivan an Mike had done some chitchat, they get down to bidness with me.
"What will happen, Mr. Gump," says Ivan Bozosky, "is that Mike, here, is going to give you a call from time to time. He will tell you the name of a company, an when he does, I want you to write it down. He will spell the name out very carefully, so you will not make any mistakes. When you have done that, give the name of the company to Miss Hudgins. She will know what to do with it."
"Yeah?" I ast. "An what is that for?"
"The less you know, the better off you are, Gump," says Ivan. "Mr. Mulligan and I occasionally do each other favors. We trade secrets between us, you know what I mean?" At this, he gives me a big ole wink. There is somethin about all this I don't like, an I am about to say so, but then Ivan, he springs me the big news.
"Now, Gump, what I'm thinking is, you need a proper salary. You gotta have enough to keep your son in school and put yourself in the catbird seat financially, and I am thinking about, oh, let's say, two hundred and fifty thousand a year. How does that sound?"
Well, I was sorta dumbstruck. I mean, I have made a bit of money in my day; but that's a lot of bread for an idiot like me. An so I thought about all this for
a few seconds, an then just nodded my head.
"Okay," says Ivan Bozosky. "It is a done deal, then." An Mr. Mike Mulligan, he be grinnin like a Cheshire cat.
Over the months, my executive duties went into full swing. I am signin papers like crazy—mergers, acquisitions, buy-outs, sell-outs, puts an calls. One day I come across Ivan Bozosky in the hallway, chucklin to hissef.
"Well, Gump," he says, "this is the kind of day I like. We done bought out five airlines. I changed the names of two of them, and shut the other three down flat. Them sombitchin passengers ain't gonna know what the hell is happenin to em! They get their asses strapped into a city-block-long steel cylinder an shot up in the air at six hundred miles an hour, an when they come down, they ain't even on the same airline as they was when they left!"
"I reckon they will be surprised," I says.
"Not half as much as those turkeys that was flyin on the ones I shut down!" Ivan chuckles. "We sent out orders by radio for the pilots to land immediately, wherever the nearest field is, an let the bastids off, then and there. There's gonna be assholes thinkin they're headed for Paris, gonna be put off cold in Thule, Greenland. Or those who booked in for LA, they gonna wind up in Montana or Wisconsin or someplace!"
"Ain't they gonna be mad?" I ast.
"Screw em," says Ivan, wavin his hands. "That's what it's all about, Gump! Base capitalism! The old fuckeroo! We gotta consolidate, fire people, get folks scared, an then, when they ain't lookin, get our hands in their pockets. That's what the deal is, my boy!"
