Being a visionary in the jungle

About two weekends ago, one of the guys who owns some land in my street dropped by so he could show his plot to a potential buyer. It was the same show as usual; the prospective buyer eyed the land and the ramshackle house upon it with an unconvinced grimace etched on his face. The land is rather neat and is well maintained as I’m the one resposible for  cutting the fast-growing crabgrass every three weeks. There are even some spots where some more civilized grass has begun to take a strong hold and only needs to be mowed once every two weeks.

As always, it was the house (and the distance involved to drive) that was a deal breaker. Very soon, it became evident that the whole affair wasn’t going anywhere, so I turned my attention to my so-called neighbor. As many of my fellow countrymen, he behaves like a crazed hen trapped in the drying spin cycle of an industrial washing machine. You’d think he was about to patent the invention of intravenous coffee, sometimes.

At the moment, he was amply extolling the virtues of the place; peaceful, quiet…and that it needed someone with a vision to take advantage of it. That last one bit certainly killed the whole thing, as the visit ended very promptly with these two guys boarding the car in which they rode on in an leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Yeah, the place certainly needs someone who’s visionary enough to make good use of it. Someone like me. You see, I had many plans for it, ranging from raising cattle to create a tourist attraction. My two favorite ideas for this place are as follow:

A) Raise sheep here. I love lamb; I can never get enough of that tender meat. There’s lot of space here, plenty of grass everywhere and I have at least 40 000 square feet of land (20 000 of my own) that the little critters could easily take care. I could start small, and then grow from that point as females were added to the flock with each passing generation, sacrificing or selling off any new males that my initial investment generated from that point.

B) Create a Fat Farm… where obese American Capitalist Pigs could come by, stay a month or so and pay me $2 000 to rid them of all the extra flab disgracing their monumental, gargantuan and titanic bodies. And why not? They would be secluded in a very faraway place, where I could rule their diets with a tyrannical fist. They’d be strip-searched for any smuggled candy and their luggage would be closely scrutinized (of course, some of my customers could attempt to sneak in a few candy bars the same way that guy from the Papillon movie hid his few valuable items… and if they went that far in their road to fulfill their disgusting desires, I’d allow them to keep them).

Then? They would have to eat he low calories diet I’d allow them and participate in the few camps activities I’d organize, burning off calories and justifying the fee they’d pay me. What else? This place is so off-the-road that they’d have to walk 5 miles to get at more food than the one arranged in the menu… burning some extra fat.

And they wouldn’t find any candies there, just some fruits and vegetables. For candies, they’d have to walk another 10 extr amiles just to buy a few stale and moldy Oreo cookies…

Yeah… the plan would work…


For plan A I lack the necessary connections to get the few starting sheep for it… and, for plan B, a few associates of sorts would be necessary, like some in-house diet specialist and a doctor to send off his victi… errr… fatties to me so I could shrink them in size. Also, a doctor would be a must in this plan, to monitor the quick weight loss. Problem is, I don’t know anyone who could get interested on this scheme.

Sigh… Yeah… I may be the visionary that this place requires, but I lack the necessary contacts.

Some visionary.

Edwin Stark

Signing Off

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