“Read your contract, loser,” snarled his boss. “There is an exclusivity clause that forbids your working for anyone else for five years.”
“If you ever thought about anyone but yourself, Henri, you would realize I have the Triumph family reputation to maintain. Triumph Enterprises must project an aura in every respect of absolute luxe. Sure, I pose with hamburgers to fool the voting proles. But the right people must always see me at the very pinnacle of the food chain, eating food no one else can even dream of eating. So it’s business. Nothing personal.”
As an astute mega-mogul, Mr. T. instinctively moved on without delay to step 2: dump liabilities onto someone else.
“Hmmm….” he mused. “How can I unload that poisoned aardvark meat?….. Let’s see….yeah, foist it off as steaks under my premium ‘Triumph Steaks’ brand… and feature their exclusive mystery ingredient! ”
This shock immediately mobilized the mercantile mind of the mogul Mr. T. Without thinking, he greedily grabbed the first asset in sight – the carcass of the last edible aardvark – and tore into it tooth and nail, slurping, grunting, and emitting sounds like “mine” and “all mine“.
The serving staff was agog! Normally they would see such behavior as bestial and vulgar. But in someone with the net worth of Mr. Triumph, it quite correctly came across as alpha male, and only showed his superiority and masculine vigor.