It is a bare-faced lie reluctantly acknowledged that a not entirely single girl in possession of half a jar of peanut butter and some talkative milk, may best express her predicament through the medium of two dimensional cartoon rodents. To which end we ponder:
Gee, Brain, what are we going to do tonight?
The same thing we do every night Pinky, try to take over the world!!! ….. Because quite frankly in the current economic climate – which incidentally is bearing an increasing resemblance to Snowball Earth
What, wet and surprisingly painful?
No Pinky, as in the controversial hypothesis regarding paleoclimatic global glaciation which may at a satirical stretch be compared to the creeping descent into monetary inhospitability and huddles of almost identical experts using their collective genius to conclude that, well golly, I dunno… but hey, I’m sure we’ll get out of this somehow…right? *gasp*
Oh, well that doesn’t sound nearly so fun at Christmas.
Sigh, The point Pinky, if it hasn’t been lost in a fug of over explanation, is that given this spherical situation the prospects of even two ludicrously cunning talking mice such as ourselves finding alternative employment is slimmer than an anorexic stingray in a mangle.
So we’ll be taking over the world again then Brain?
I guess so Pinky, I guess so.
But alas here we reach the quandary: will Brain and his trusty foil be able to continue unchallenged in their chosen field? Surely as unemployment rises and the number of out of work despots grows competition for global domination will become even more fierce, with the likes of Baron Greenback and Stiletto clawing for a piece of dastardly-duo action.
When graduate roles are filled by escapees from the Big Smoke with five years top flight marketing experience and a couple of languages kicking around is there any hope for the girl with the unconventional CV and roving intellect? Is it still possible for dreams to take flight when one has to time-share on the wings with Trevor the hair-gel junkie who pawns them at the weekend to pay off Big Dave and Saskia who refuses to don said flight apparatus until Daddy has them re-cut to match her Jimmy Choos? Still, my parents didn’t drag me up to go down whimpering: my career aspirations might have been down-sized by a wrecking ball, trampled and laughed at but they’re still (just) my dreams of meaningful remuneration and I’m jolly well going to fulfil them! Or at least not die trying.
