Excremental Opportunities

The sleepy, but respectable, community of Miller's Grove was roused one morning by the arrival of a most curious personage. The personage in question had a thin, black moustache with corners that curled up at the end and eyes with pupils that seemed to be slit the wrong way. And he was dragging a large, odoriferous sack.

"Greetings! Greetings, fellow citizens!" gushed the snake-eyed, moustachioed sack-hauler. "I am Hiram T. Snakeoil, and I have the opportunity of a lifetime for you!"

Hiram Snakeoil's sack was hideous to the nose, but Miller's Grove seldom got visitors, so Mr. Snakeoil began to draw a crowd of the bored and the curious.

"What's that you've got there?" asked one of the curious, obligingly.

"Ah, well you may ask!" replied Mr. Snakeoil, with the sort of projection beloved of speech teachers. "This is an excremental opportunity! And it's yours for only a buck fifty!"

"Good price," murmured the crowd.

"... plus a hundred billion simoleons in surcharges, once you sign on the dotted line," added the huckster, sotto voce.

One curious townsperson - let's call him Dennis - peeped into the sack.

"This is a sack of shit," he said simply.

"No," corrected Mr. Snakeoil. "No, it isn't. It's an excremental opportunity!"

"It'll stink up the whole town," said Dennis. Some of the other citizens were nodding in agreement.

"Oh, no no no no no!" insisted Mr. Snakeoil. "It might smell a little strong right now, but that odor will go away as soon as ownership passes to you, and will be replaced by the sweet smell of success, which is what this great opportunity will bring to your lovely town. And don't listen to that guy. He's just a Miller's Grove-hating malcontent who doesn't want you to prosper."

"Won't it draw flies?" asked another townsperson.

"No, it won't," said Mr. Snakeoil.

"What about all those flies we're seeing right now?" asked Dennis. "How do you explain those?"

"Nobody cares what you think," said Mr. Snakeoil. "Any other questions?"

"Well, I'm afraid the shit will get into everything," offered another person. "We'll be up to our knees in it. We'll wind up eating it, breathing it, and sleeping in it."

"Oh, pshaw!" scoffed Mr. Hiram T. Snakeoil. "Stuff and nonsense!"

"Gosh, the word of this fine, trustworthy gentleman is good enough for us!" cried the citizens of Miller's Grove. Except for a few Miller's Grove-hating malcontents, of course.

So they bought the excremental opportunity and wound up with a sack of shit. Every objection anyone had raised came true in spades. The town reeked of shit from top to bottom, from east to west, and from north to south. The flies were so thick, you couldn't see past the end of your nose. There was shit everywhere and in everything.

"Well," said Dennis, "I hate to say I told you so, but I told you so. And not just me, either. Others warned you, too. But we were Miller's Grove-hating malcontents. So let's get busy and clean up this mess."

"What mess?" asked the mayor obtusely. "Nobody listens to you. I trust Mr. Snakeoil. We just have to give it more time."

More time passed, but the shit just got deeper, so to speak. People finally started to say, cautiously, that maybe the excremental opportunity was really just a sack of shit. Even the mayor began to come around.

"Yes, I think maybe we should start cleaning this stuff up," admitted the mayor. "But it's my original idea to do that, and nothing I heard from any of those Miller's Grove-hating malcontents."

Just as the clean-up began, Miller's Grove had a visitor. It was none other than Mr. Hiram T. Snakeoil, Purveyor of Excremental Opportunities. And he was dragging another odoriferous sack.

"Hi, guys!" boomed Hiram T. Snakeoil. "Have I got an excremental opportunity for you!"

"You'd best get out of town now, on your own two feet," growled Dennis, "before we send you out on a rail. And we won't use tar to stick the feathers on, either!"

"Now, wait a moment," interceded the mayor. "Let's hear the man out."

"He's dragging another sack of shit!" screamed the Miller's Grove-hating malcontents.

"No," corrected Mr. Snakeoil. "No, it isn't. It's an excremental opportunity!"

"Look, we've been here before," cried the malcontents. "It's going to stink up the town!"

"Oh, no no no no no!" insisted Mr. Snakeoil. "It might smell a little strong right now, but that odor will go away as soon as ownership passes to you, and will be replaced by the sweet smell of success, which is what this great opportunity will bring to your lovely town. And don't listen to these guys. They're just Miller's Grove-hating malcontents who don't want you to prosper."

"Remember the flies!" warned the malcontents. "Remember? Heck, just take a look at them!"

"Nobody cares what you think," said Mr. Snakeoil. "Any other questions?"

"It's going to get into everything!" repeated the malcontents. "It is in everything. Now, it will only get worse!"

"Oh, pshaw!" scoffed Mr. Hiram T. Snakeoil. "Stuff and nonsense!"

"Gosh, the word of this fine, trustworthy gentleman is good enough for us!" kvelled the mayor and the town council. "I mean, has he ever lied to us before?"

Iraq. Iran. Why isn't this obvious to anyone who walks on two legs?