With the framework of a the multi-national cooperation that is Lombardo Barnyard set in place, and its prestige growing beyond the bounds of any normal business, it was time for the business of Lombardo Barnyard to utilize yet another powerful means of American mind-control and pervert its already perverse meaning into a double negative, thus negating its original purpose and converting it to that of our own. It was time for Lombardo Barnyard to enter the banking industry and get a business bank account.
Having never before created a business bank account, Jarmo and I walked into the bank with our guns drawn. We had our business suits on, and in our hands we wielded the power of the actual DBA. In our hands was the power of a business, ordained by the state, given by God, utilized through us. We walked in the Independent Bank of Alpena, Michigan demanding service. Seeing our vision projected from our eyes, the Real World, and its perverse system of tax collection and weighted scales, made us jump through the symbolic hoops of Real World frustration.
We asked about creating a business account and all we were given was dirty looks and verbal abuse: “You guys aren’t a business.” We are a business! We are a business! I thought as we showed her the DBA. The air of the bank became heavy and the light became dark when the dark side of the bank’s teller became infused with the Real World’s inverse light. “Come to my desk,” she said in an almost demonic tone.[1] Her lips were a double speak of real world possession and sin.
Jarmo and I walked with our heads held high; we were sitting at the desk of a Real World boss, and she was our servant. She was doing the bidding of their yet to be known rivals. She was helping in their destruction. Sitting quiet while the teller caller her supervisor, Jarmo and I participated in mental discourse with the inhabitants of the Bank. Our ears listened to the speech of the teller as her lips pressed closer and closer to the lips of the man on the other end of the line. “But the ‘and’ isn’t circled.” We sat in silence as our minds moved. “I know…they aren’t a partnership.” She hung up and leaner forward onto the desk; her breasts were supported by a pile of unsigned papers on her desk. We stared into her eyes and the heart of the Real World.
“I’m sorry, but the ‘and’ isn’t circled. That means you aren’t a partnership. Sorry you can’t have a bank account. These papers aren’t correct.” We could have complained, caused a scene, revealed our identity. That would have only led the Real World to our master plan. Instead we walked past the table of smoothie machines that slipped out of our grasp and sat quietly in the car. We imagined the power of a bank account. Without a bank account we were not a true business. We needed the debit card; we need the forms, transactions needed to be made. In desperation we went back to the county clerk’s office to discuss the circling of the word ‘and’ and the frivolousness of the bank teller’s demands.
Talking with the straight-laced superstars of the county clerk’s office, we learned that our DBA was correct; it was the bank teller’s mind that was not. The Real World had turned her mind in the myelin-less mush of real-world demons and other worldly beasts. We walked to our car knowing that the Real World’s minions tricked us. We sat in the car and felt defeated. It was then that an angel spoke to us and gave us a real-life continue. The words came forth from the mouth, “Let’s go to the other Independent Bank across town.” First gear, second gear, third gear; the clutch of Jarmo's Mazda 626 moved at quantum speed. The burnout caused the stalagmites of hell to fall. The double-clutch burnout caused the end of a Real World demon, and ushered in a new era of monetary exchange.
Before time began we walked in the other Independent Bank. We walked in, once again guns drawn, suits on, and DBA in hand. This was no effort; the angels were on our side, a circle of protection was given that circumnavigated the globe. We asked for a business account and after a few minutes of the bank tellers typing random numberings on her computer, we gained a bank account. That day we walked out with not only a business account and the promise that our debit cards were in the mail but also a new smoothie machine.[2]
With a new account, our minds grew and shifted to fit out new female beauty.[3] Our hands absorbed the power of the smoothie machines and we knew, in victory over the real world, we had to celebrate by making a victory smoothie with our newly acquired artifacts that were given to us by none other than the Real World.
“Do you know any smoothie recipes?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
The mental picture of the bank teller’s breasts leaning on a stack of papers reawakened in our mind’s eye. In our minds we were their standing above the bank, with DBA in hand. In our mind’s eye we saw the past and we saw a table, on that table was a smoothie machine, next to the smoothie machine was a recipe. With careful vehicular discernment we drove to the boss who beat us, we went to the home that said no to Lombardo Barnyard.
Once again we walked into the Independent Bank with guns drawn, we had business suits on and in our hands we wielded a DBA. In our mind’s eye we saw the recipe; in reality we walked to it and wrote its contents down. As we walked out our undefeated boss of the Independent Bank verbally stopped us.
From across the room she yelled, “Excuse me, boys, can I help you with something?”
Both me and Jarmo turned to confront the Real World demon who denied us the gateway to the next level. “No we’re fine. We just needed to get a recipe for our new smoothie machine.” She knew. She knew and it killed her. Her heart melted and failure dripped from her eyes. Her hands shook and we smiled. As we stared at each other in an eternal moment of silence, we gained a level, we defeated a boss. Once the teller and her Real World demons felt alive, felt like winners. Little did they know, they were dead, and they always have been. Jarmo and I walked out winners; the bank teller sat back down in her desk and contemplated her fate. There was nothing left for her to do.
As winners we went to Wal-Mart and bought the ingredients to make our smoothies. Somewhere between buying the ingredients and going home we lost the recipe, so we guessed on all the measurements. When we supped the smoothie we had created it became apparent that the measurements were all wrong. The smoothie tasted awful. It didn’t matter though, we tinked glasses, laughed, and drank up. The taste of victory was better then any smoothie man could ever make.
[1] That lady was a butthole
[2] For creating a business bank account, we were given a complimentary smoothie machine. We were also informed that we would be given another complimentary smoothie machine for referring someone to Independent Bank for a bank account. Vandermolen told the bank that he referred Lombardo Barnyard and he got another free smoothie machine. Then Lombardo Barnyard referred Jake Brege, owner of Urizen, to get a business account at Independent Bank. For this we got another smoothie machine. When Jake got his bank account, he got a free smoothie maker. That’s four total. We frigging beat that game.
[3] See The Naming of Lombardo Barnyard
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