Mervin

by toddfisk

Mervin had lived quite a few different places now, and had seen that each had their own peculiarities, idiosyncrasies, and pitfalls. None was exactly what he was looking for, and while some had had their redeeming qualities, all in his eyes were far from ideal. The way Mervin looked at it, there were four main social groups: uneducated (or uncultured) cave people, unmotivated leechers, bland, cowardly hipsters, and professionals and socialites under the illusion that their poop smelled of rich Brazilian foliage. While each of the locations in which Mervin had lived had enjoyed a significantly wool mixture of the four human groups and their variations, he had found that generally in a given locale, one group dominated the landscape.

First there were the cave people. Mervin had grown up in the small precinct of Baxerville, Romania. In Baxerville, it seemed to Mervin that all cultural development had ceased sometime in the early eighties. Baxerville women 30 years after this wonderful era of permery and Thriller continue to wear elastic adorned denim jeans and hair styles befitting of someone’s horrid alcoholic grandmother. The ruffled horse feather blouse is still a common site to behold in Baxerville, men still have mustaches (although this seems to also be a growing trend amongst the bland cowardly hipster and unmotivated leecher clans), and trolls run wild at high noon. Filth covers all the buildings, depression looms large, and box stores are shunned in favor of small local retailers who choose to sell underwear for $300 a pair. Because they can.

Since finishing his studies at the Troglodyte School of Business and Applied Technology, Mervin had noticed a significant growth in the second demographic of note: the unmotivated leechers; useless crab-like couch dwellers who use their parents wealth to perpetuate the illusion of purpose as they sprawl in a state of persistent decay on said parents’ halibut skin sofa. Some of these folks have jobs, either tending bar twenty hours a week, waiting tables twenty hours a week, “working” for their college buddy’s “startup” app development company twenty hours a week, or doing nothing for all the hours of the week. The point is that they don’t work full time or do anything to further society, further their own personal prosperity, or further the construction of their own futures. Because they suck.

And now, Mervin’s third and possibly most avoided group: the bland, cowardly hipsters. Mervin had developed a keen eye for spotting these blobs of primordial sludge during his stints living in what the hipsters themselves consider a sort of geographic haven, the Pacific Northwest corner of Tuscany. Thick rimmed eye glasses, trash bag as a sweater, t-shirt as pants, dead newt as hair, and a decidedly pasty complexion and slight frame are the hallmarks of this group visually, but they also perpetuate a sort of bland, cowardly ideology not all that different from that espoused by the unmotivated leechers. Sloth is a way of life, deodorant is the enemy (whenever there is an absence of a ConocoPhillips building or federal courthouse to throw bricks at), gluten is the monster under the bed, and vegan patties are coveted like stretch denim in Baxerville. Because…progressive.

Finally, professionals and socialites under the illusion…well…you know. Mervin gained significant exposure to this group during his years as an associate at Farley and Fairweather, a worldwide financial services provider based out of New Pork City, New Pork. Any city with a bustling financial district is infested with these. Sports are the talk of…well, pretty much all the talk. And gambling. Gambling on sports is king. Light pink shirts, hair paste, ascots, wool pants, French cuffs as worn by malignant savants the world over, v-neck wool sweaters over button-ups, pea coats, overcoats, more wool, and a healthy disdain for the bland, cowardly hipsters and the unmotivated leechers (which to Mervin was a redeeming quality of this group). The pursuit of personal wealth via reaching out, moving forward, circling up, keeping people appraised, adding value, lending color, avoiding the de minimis, determining materiality and immateriality, and going forward on a moving forward basis is the staple of the professional/socialite group’s collective worldview. They enjoy playing a microscopic role in processes too complex for one person to fully grasp (and really any process that has “a lot of moving parts”). They love golf and fine dining. Because, the sweet smelling poop thing.

Mervin now sees little chance of escape, so he continues to drift about from job to job aggressively, usually with pants. He works too much to be an unmotivated leecher, is too angry for cowardly hipsterdom, gags when he sees the cave people, and can’t maintain a professional/socialite demeanor for longer than eight continuous seconds. It’s a brown state of affairs.

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