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I Can Dream, Can’t I?

CEO Dad’s Tuesday Tirade You may not think that a comic strip character can dream. I am fictional, after all. And I know my creator, Tom Stern, might be a little freaked out to learn that his two-dimensional, three-panels-on-the-weekdays, six-color-panels-on-Sunday brainchild has a life when he’s not looking. Well, Tom, you’ve created a monster. As Frank Pitt, the CEO of Pitt Packaging, and manufacturer of the finest Styrofoam peanuts in the world, I find myself struggling with the very work-life balance issues that have been written into my character.

CEO Dad’s Tuesday Tirade

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You may not think that a comic strip character can dream. I am fictional, after all. And I know my creator, Tom Stern, might be a little freaked out to learn that his two-dimensional, three-panels-on-the-weekdays, six-color-panels-on-Sunday brainchild has a life when he’s not looking. Well, Tom, you’ve created a monster. As Frank Pitt, the CEO of Pitt Packaging, and manufacturer of the finest Styrofoam peanuts in the world, I find myself struggling with the very work-life balance issues that have been written into my character.

And so, I had a dream last night.

I was at Starbuck’s, taking a breakfast meeting with a rep from Amalgamated Widgets.

Every single time I had an important point to make (usually about how he was going to bend to my will whether he liked it or not), the cappuccino machine went off right next to me, its guttural howl distracting me from achieving dominance over my client. By the tenth time I was cut off in mid-sentence, I pushed back my chair angrily, strode over to the acne-ridden barista and angrily forked over a hundred bucks cash in exchange for their not making any cappuccino for thirty minutes.

But no sooner was my plan put into action, than a construction crew arrived outside. Now, every time I went to speak, a jackhammer rattled the foundations, and drowned out my voice. Furious, I stepped to the sidewalk and paid the construction worker five hundred dollars cash to cease his jackhammering.

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Relieved, I sat down and began my negotiations anew. But, each time I opened my mouth, a police siren screamed by, causing everyone, including the guy from A.W. (Amalgamated Widgets) to hold their fingers to their ears. Distraught, I stepped to the curb and flagged down every police car and ambulance that went by, slipping each driver a thousand dollars cash to stop using their sirens for the next thirty minutes.

Suddenly, I began walking down the street, and handing out ten dollar bills to everyone with the request that they shut up. I repeated this process while walking all over the world. Finally, when the universe was completely silent for thirty minutes, I arrived in India on foot, where I was hired by a telemarketing company to work in phone sales for a cappuccino machine manufacturer.

If anyone has any interpretations of this dream, I would welcome the feedback. Otherwise, I have to wait until Tom Stern does another series of strips featuring CEO Dad in therapy.

Yours fictionally,

Frank Pitt, CEO DAD.

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