Decameron: The Biz [VII/10]
“Sir, people are growing tired of our erotic literature. With the plague on, it seems like 70% of our users have gone through all our content and have simply grown bored. Views are down, and at this rate, our advertisers will start to pull out.”
I timidly hand him the report, as he stares at me from across the small table in his cramped, smoky office. The Boss furrows his brow, small creases growing at the corners of his mouth.
“What about that new piece My Pole is Longe and Harde?” he says, glancing down at the report. He ruffles through the pages.
“No dice, sir. After a spike in views the first week, we’re back to a decline.”
“Citrus Thieving Wenches?” The Boss picks up his damp, smoldering cigar from his ash tray and thoughtfully chomps on it.
“Again, a small boost and then nothing. We just don’t seem to hold interest once they’ve seen it.”
“Don’t tell me that we’re losing market share in the Real Single Matrons in Your Area listings?”
“It’s all on page 14, sir. Things aren’t looking up for us, unless we find some way to hold viewers’ attention…”
The Boss abruptly stands up, clasps his hands beneath his back, and turns toward the wall, deep in thought. I shuffle nervously, and he surprises me by facing me and lowering his gaze.
“Bartleby, what keeps people coming back to us?”
“I suppose basic human urges…” I probe.
“Wrong!” he yells, a bit of spittle flying from his mouth. “They can read erotic writings from any of our competition! No, people don’t come just to fulfill basic urges. They come because of the fantasy. Tell me, what is the most holy thing that we hold sacred in our society?”
“The trust between God and a Christian.”
“Yes, yes, but it wouldn’t do to dress someone up like God, it would fall flat. We need something more grounded, a bit of fantasy that has a small chance of becoming real. People need to be able to put themselves in the situation so they can fuel their own fantasies from it…” he trails off, clasping his hands again behind his back, deep in thought.
The silence hangs for a few moments. “What if…” I venture.
“Yes? Anything, Bartleby!”
“What if we took…”
“Took what?” he roars.
“What if we made a piece where the father of a child and the child’s godmother were to couple?”
A few more moments pass while the Boss absorbs my words.
“Bartleby!” he says, aghast at this new development. “The trust between godparent of a child and parent of a child is a holy thing!”
“Y-yes,” I stammer. “But nothing real forbids it, and every person has both godparents and parents. The appeal would be massive.”
The Boss furrows his brow even further. “You sicken me, Bartleby, but I like the way you think. Give it to the boys in the writers’ room. This had better work…” The Boss settles back into his chair, pulling his wet cigar back from the ashtray. He waves me off and I scuttle out of the room.
~ 5 days later ~
Godson’s father! Help me, for I am stucke in the washe basin!
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Decameron is a newsletter recounting the 14th Century set of quarantine tales for 2020. Read the original story.
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