Eat the Poor

EAT THE POOR                    by Vasilika Vanya Marinkovic        Secret World Entertainment ©

BLAKESFIELD: Thank you all for attending my sixty second birthday, even though I’m told I only look forty!

The crowd laughed. There was a lot of glitz, glamor, suits, finely dressed waitstaff in this large decorative hall and a birthday cake so large that it screamed even extra wealth. Fine delicious meals, cocktails, fine wines, and champagne were being consumed all across a few hundred beautifully decorated tables, fine table clothes and all.

BLAKESFIELD: A very hot and young woman better jump out of that cake pretty soon. No older than twenty-two or someone’s going to get themselves fired.

The crowd laughed, albeit some of it seemed on the edge of nervousness.

BLAKESFIELD: Oh, there’s my ex-wife mingling in the crowd, probably trying to find her next man victim. Unlucky for her, she only got eight million in the divorce and no alimony since our greedy bastards are already grown. Some of them have bastards of their own.

lots of laughter at this and a beautiful raven-haired woman about forty scowled from the dining hall, as she paused conversation with a table of nice looking men.

BLAKESFIELD: Gotta have a sense of humor when you’re this rich babe if some people actually still think you’re a babe. Anyhow, I want you all to continue and enjoy the fine dining, delightful cocktails and five hundred dollar bottles of champagne going around the room because we are getting ready for an extra sweet birthday treat!

Curious and drunk faces gazed up at Blakesfield from the stage at the enshrined podium in which he stood behind. The man worth at least thirty two billions dollars believed himself to be god-like. He possessed a staff of one thousand employees, not counting his thugs and dark web surfers.

Fifty of his favorite employees were in attendance of his birthday party, but not the dark web surfers. This specific group of favorite chosen employees had to have special qualities that the billionaire counted on for these extra special events.

At present, his chosen and esteemed group of employees were feeling privileged, lucky, and possibly God grazed. They had pleased their mega rich employer so much that now they were in attendance at his birthday party bash; an event that was known for drawing celebrities and world leaders.

Blakesfield’s privileged group of employees were eating expensive food and drinking the best wines and champagnes in the world. At this time, Blakesfield turned his gaze at the cherished top fifty employees all sanctioned off together at half a dozen dinner tables near the back of the ballroom.

Blakesfield beamed his infamous smile, white pearly pearl teeth shining shimmering their million dollar smile into the gala of the night.

BLAKESFIELD: I’m so thrilled that you worker bees, I mean my cherished employees could be here for this special evening on my birthday. Thank you for your attendance and your years of service to me.

CHARLOTTE: We’re happy to be here and have this fabulous champagne!

BLAKESFIELD: Oh good. Soak it up baby, soak it up.

CHARLOTTE: Huh? (Burp!) Yeah, I will, cause you’re not paying us enough.

There was a gasp from the attendees of Blakesfield’s birthday party.

JOHN G.: Don’t listen to my girl, she kinda drunk. I mean, I guess if you partially pay us in parties where the shit is expensive it can kind of compensate, ya know what I mean boss.

There was uncomfortable laughter around the ballroom and Blakesfield pressed his mouth right up against his microphone.

BLAKESFIELD: Very funny that you don’t think you’re being compensated enough. After all, you are being paid at least a dollar fifty more per hour than the national medium for each of your respective positions. I might say, you people are expressing some very greedy and ungrateful sentiments. At my birthday bash no less.

There is a hushed gasp throughout the hall and the drunken Charlotte gets up heading for the exit.

CHARLOTTE: I don’t need this boss, um former boss. Now that I got eighty thousand followers posting smack about working for your cheap ass, my influencer career is taking off. Worth over thirty billions dollars and you’re this god damn cheap. Kiss my ass!

BLAKESFIELD: Well, I might decide to eat your ass instead of kiss it, how’s that?

There is a gasp from all around the hall and suddenly Charlotte is kept from exiting the ballroom by guards who are now blocking both exits.

CHARLOTTE: Excuse me, what the hell is going on here? Get these stupid horny toads out of my way.

JOE THE WORKER IN ACCOUNTING: Hey boss, what do you mean, you’re going to eat her ass instead of kissing it, ha ha, Holy crap, these cocktails are strong!

BLAKESFIELD: Well, I’d prefer to eat breast meat. This tends to be the best meat in folks, especially young beautiful women.

CHARLOTTE: Uh, you wish, Dr. Hannibal Cannibal Lecture giving us a stupid lecture on your birthday. You know what? You’re billions of dollars don’t mean crap. Get your stupid body guards out of my way. I’m leaving.

The crowd gasped and more body guards stood at every single entrance now.

BLAKESFIELD: Um yes, actually my billions do mean a lot, a lot more than crap young lady. And you’re not leaving because you are part of the birthday festivities tonight; my meal and those in attendance that are brave and curious enough to try human meat, yes cannibalism. Because once every five years, I gather my finest worker bees and well, you know, fire the barbecue grill right on up……!

There was an explosion of drunken laughter from Blakefield’s friends but also some gasps with half a dozen people in fine gowns and tuxedos rushing toward the exits, but to no avail as Blakesfield’s security detail stopped them from leaving.

MAN WITH ENTOURAGE OF GUESTS: Excuse me, let us out! My wife needs to use the bathroom!

BLAKESFIELD: Roger, I’m disappointed in you. We’ve known each other what, thirty five years and are good business affiliates and now you and your cow of a wife and sub-par friends want to run out on me during my birthday celebrations?

ROGER: Well, all this talk of cannibalism and…and…my wife needs to use the restroom.

GUEST SHOUTING: Let her pee in her underpants. We’re just getting started here and you idiots are trying to ruin the fun.

Laughter and shouts echoed throughout the large ballroom and a tray of glassware shattered.

BLAKESFIELD: Like I was saying before I was rudely interrupted on my birthday, every five years I like to really treat myself. I’ve got my favorite employees here, most highest ranking, hardest working and most importantly, young, and healthy, in their prime; their meat will taste good!

There were screams and shouts and silverware falling to the floor. Security shuffled more folks and especially the Blakesfield’s tables of cherished employees.

CHARLOTTE: (filming herself) This is on my live feeds to Tiktok, YouTube and Insta. This crazy billionaire asshole Blakesfield is playing the stupidest joke of his life and claiming he is going to cook us and eat us because we are his hardest workers and in our prime. Our meat is prime. What an idiot. I have enough followers, enough endorsements, that I don’t need this job as a personal assistant to this greedy guy anymore. And by the way, his rear end is really hairy, he has polyps on his butt and lots of other personal problems, if you know what I mean.

The crowd laughed and Blakesfield’s cheeks flushed red. He snapped his fingers at several guards who briskly walked towards his worker bee, the beautiful influencer girl.

CHARLOTTE: (talking into her live feed on her phone) Oh my God, he’s actually sending his thugs after me so they can all cannibalize me. Lame ass party joke! If you so much as lay one hand on me, I will sue you guys so bad-

The guards swooped her up in the air and she screamed into her camera. The crowd gasped, but some of them laughed in merriment, nervous waitstaff immediately refreshing empty cocktail glasses and setting down more hors d’oeuvres.

CHARLOTTE: Are you crazy? Put me down! You bastards, put me down!

Then the uninitiated crowd members and Blakesfield’s staff screamed and hollered loudly as the beautiful girl was unceremoniously plopped down onto an XL Beast open fire grill. Her screams were sickening as she tried in vain to kick her way off. She was losing the battle in a flaming hurry as her phone dropped to the ground still filming and flesh could be smelled burning. The crowd gasped with many people running to the doors, and body guards shoving them back a full assault of attempting fleers in progress.

BLAKESFIELD: And I am generous, do you understand me, I am generous!

Blakesfield jumped off the stage as two chefs went about the business of turning the dead burning girl on the grill as people screamed and wailed. Blakesfield had the microphone in hand and headed for his service table of prized employees ready for the slaughter.

BLAKESFIELD: Yes, I am generous indeed! For you, my prized, cherished employees will have the honor and privilege of feasting on Peggy…..

Blakesfield stares back at the grill of the burned and charred woman, the chefs now basting her in demy glaze and other fine sauces.

JOHN G. (screaming/crying) It was Charlotte, it was Chalotte, not Peggy you cold hearted killer!

BLAKESFIELD: I think Peggy fits her, I mean fit her, past tense since she is dead.

Screams, shouts, sobs, and the Blakesfield’s uninitiated friends and Blakesfield’s employees all trying in vain to exit, with the fallen now be trampled.

JOHN G: You bastard!

BLAKESFIELD: I told you I’m extremely generous. We’ll settle on Piggy! Because Piggy is being roasted like a pig. Ha ha ha! But no joke, human beings taste much better than pigs, even though we, I mean they are! Yes, you commoners are the pigs, and we will work you, to the death and eat you at your prime if you are lucky!

A few dozen finely adorned people shot out of their seats, with napkins around their necks holding up forks and knives.

FRIENDS OF BLAKESFIELD: Happy eating, happy eating!

THE END