Mad Worlds Collide Read Online Free PDF Page A

brains?"
    "I’m gonna manage Jack Shit! I haven’t told Gill yet, but I’m quitting.  I’m tired of all this corporate crap. I’m going to quit early and buy a house in the country somewhere, make wine or something."
    "So you don’t care? You’re going to sell out and leave us? We’ll be stuck fixing the master of all computers and you’ll be making cheap wine."
    "Not cheap, Jimmy, good wine, and not before its time."
    " Heh , you dumb fucker.  I’ll be stuck with Gill by my lonesome…you really going to leave?
    Robert nodded.
    " I’m jealous, you shit! Shit!" Jimmy shook his head,  "And I’ll have work directly with that ass, Gill."
    "Hey, Gill’s an ass, and he’s one hell of a dumb ass, but he’s probably the best we’re going to get—probably best in the world."
    "Maybe the richest—well, at least until today.  Did you hear that Guilianni Labs went up thirty-five percent today?"
    "Holy shit, I own some of that stock! What happened?"
    "Seems they have a confirmed side effect to their famous barnacle remover."
    "Really?  Never knew that would move the stock up.   What’s the effect?"
    "Seems like if you drink the shit for a few months, your dick grows or something."
    "Oh cut it out!"
    "No, really.  Gill’s going to blow a fuse when he hears that one.  It was in the news today." Jim continued, "And they other news is that Japan is pissed . And get this---a fucking Japanese gambling group called Pachinko Japan is suing the US and Japanese government, and won’t install AD—I hear they’re all mob guys. You know while you were gone they sent over a new Big Blue server and it’s fucked."
    "What? He was supposed to wait for me to get back. Every time I take a vacation he does this shit and then tries to get me to fix it."  Robert wiped his face.
    Jim shrugged, "Well things got a little more than fucked.  I read his self-flattering, or should I say self-flatulating , Applebee Confidential Reporttoday.  Have you read it?"
    "Naw, it’s in my e-mail.  I walked Buddy this morning, haven’t had a chance.  By the way Shakespeare , self-flatulating isn’t a word, only flatulence and flatulency."
    "Where the fuck did you go to school?" asked Jim.
    "Yale and Carnegie Melon, and I’m telling you there ain’t no such word as self-flatulating."
    "Well, Jesus Christ! You talk like a hick lost in the West Virginia coal mines. I went to Rutgers and I know people make up words all the time, Einstein, and I like the word self-flatulating.  If I use it long enough—who knows, maybe it will make Webster’s and I’ll be a big smart guy like you and grow wine."
    "Right... grow wine.  So what did the Gillman’s report say?"
    Jim smiled, "That your self-flatulating ass is going to Japan to fix up a fubar."
    "What the fuck?  Are you sure, are you kidding? "
    Jim nodded his head no.
    "Gill can’t send me to Japan.  Are you really sure?" asked Robert.
    "That’s what it said.  There were problems with the installation while you were on vacation---hey, maybe you can make sushi wine? Or maybe sake…"
    "Fuck you Jimmy!  This is terrible!  In two months I‘m quitting…I need to prepare."
    "I’m just a low working coal miner," Jim said. "You’re the big shot who went to Yale with Gill. Check out your e-mail."
    "Fuck!"
    Robert looked at his orange juice and wondered if anyone had made orange wine before. Robert’s brain had constant motion; the wine business would be relaxing. Robert assured himself that MicroIntel and Robert Davichi were finished.  In two months, bye-bye.
     
     
    Robert wanted to talk to Gill Applebee like he wanted talk to his dentist: only in times of pain and with lots of Novocaine.
    Robert knew Gill well; the good, bad and the horse dung.  Robert built things and Gill sold things.  Gill sold so well that even when MicroIntel didn’t have the product, they still had it—in beta, or some lab, or just in Gill’s head. Robert made it to the top because he made the shit Gill