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Moore and Cain become directors of the
Carling brewery company.
Weeks later, Cain was scouring the local paper for jobs.
“Look in the executive section Cain!” Moore said as he turned. He’d been
looking through the window of their motorway motel room at the constant
stream of rush hour commuter traffic below.
“Sir. I’ve located what appears to be an executorship at Carling brewery
“Excellent work Cain”. Moore looked at the thinning traffic levels. “Looks
like we’ll have no trouble getting down there by 0800 hours in time for
Moore had correctly supposed that the Carling brewery was not only nearby
but also easily accessible on the duel carriageway, as well as successfully
predicting the eight o’clock interview time. The two of them hastily exited
the room and boarded the ex-army humvee parked up in the service station car
Eight minutes later they pulled up to the car park of the Carling brewery.
“You wait here Cain” Moore instructed. “We get this assignment, and we’ll be
out of the Travelodge in no time”.
“I’m not sure how many more service station ready
meals I can take”.
“Quite,” Moore replied. He began to psyche himself up in the same way Cain
had seen him do a hundred times before as he prepared to hunt terrorists
back in the army.
“Awaiting further orders sir. Here’s your tie.” Cain said as he sat back and
waited to become a new director of Carling.
About an hour later Moore returned to the humvee. He was
sporting a victorious glare and holding up a large
case of Carling beer like a trophy. The interview had been a
success and they were now both directors of the company. Their first
assignment was to go to a photo shoot for the company’s annual report. Each
director was required to have a profile photo taken, the photo shoot taking
place in the brewery so that cans of Carling moving along the production
line would be seductively on display in the background.
Moore and Cain waited with the other directors of the company for the photo
team to arrive. Cain eyeballed them sceptically. He took a slurp from one of
the cans of Carling Moore had obtained as a golden handshake earlier.
He offered more cans to the directors. No
one accepted, with the executive directors amongst the group refusing to
even acknowledge the new recruits.
Eventually, the photographer showed up, the pictures were taken and the
uncomfortable silence with the cynical directors was brought to a merciful
The self evident conflict between Moore and Cain and the old guard
directors, however, proved to be disastrous to their newly found careers.
Days later, the chief operating officer of Carling got wind of the photo
shoot. An email was sent to him with all the photos added to the provisional
annual report. Moore and Cain had been sold out. Their profile images in the
report appeared to show the two of them looking absolutely cunted. The COO
was furious and immediately summoned them to his office for an explanation.
“What is the meaning of this?” He shouted as he chucked an open copy of the
annual report across the desk to Moore.
“What’s your beef?” Moore said staring
directly into his eyes.
“I’ll tell you what my beef is,” the COO flamed, “The two of you looking
absolutely obliterated in your profiles, that’s what! Him!” he turned to
Cain. “I don’t even know who he is. He’s actually
being sick in his one!”
Moore lit a cigarette. “You call this an alcohol company?” He said. “You
mean you run a fucking alcohol company and your not supposed to drink?”
Moore was hammered.
The COO looked through the slats in his executive office. Moore and Cain’s
humvee was lying on top of his executive Jaguar car, evidently after it had
come to a rest after taking out a large part of the security fence.
“Get the hell out of here before I call the AA,” he fumed. Cain was sick
again. The COO was about to unleash another volley of abuse but was
interrupted when his executive saloon exploded in a huge fireball.
“Better call for more vehicle back up, Cain, the hummer’s dead”.
“Sir!” cried Cain, on his knees and throwing up
intermittently in the COO’s filing cabinet.
“Looks like we’re not the only one who’s fired,” Moore said as he reached
into his executive backpack and pulled out the rope
and grappling hook he needed to escape the office.
They arrived back at the Travelodge in time for rank donuts and tea.