Chris’ spread-sheet personality is as warm and inviting as Kevin Rudd berating a Chinese insulation batt salesman. He discards thousands of employees like yesterday’s Armani suit and ruthlessly goes full Monty Burns as he rapidly morphs into a pompous parody of a profit procuring power player. To battle the growing public disdain he signs himself up to sleep rough for a night in the biggest 1%’er circle-jerk of them all: a CEO sleepout.
Newscorp are quick to get their tongue the arse of self-indulgence and interview Chris about his heroism. The gleam of PR gold shines off Chris’ botoxed face as he describes how he was basically Jesus Christ when he washed those peasants manky feet. “It’s important that we raise awareness of homelessness and so far we have raised $2,631 for the cause”. Of course, while this silver-spooned PR-whore is sucking the conceited chode of self-promotion, his disenfranchised employees are the ones donating from their minimum wage coffers.
The Messiah is pleased that every major News outlet in the country has run a piece on his stunt. He must now prepare for the unforgiving harshness of a night on clean cardboard and the warmth of a thousand flashing cameras. He sends his personal assistant to Kathmandu with a corporate credit card to purchase the latest in Gortex and thermal undergarments. Unlike homeless people, he is at serious risk of being as toasty as a spare bed that has been warmed by the relentless flatulence of your drunk uncle on Christmas night.
Chris fights his way through media personnel to claim a spot next to some other cosy looking elites. The room looks like a grim collection of dads that don’t smile and women that choose not to have children. It’s a Swiss watch infestation of “do-you-know-who-I-am-cunts” that are swapping their Linkedin details like English backpackers swap chlamydia. Chris gets to the business of hourly Twitter updates and feeling awesome about himself. He begins to hate homeless people for existing and pulling him away from his 2000 thread count Egyptian cotton for the night. He sends his PA a text, “can I go home now?” Sorry Scrooge McFuck, you have to stay.
Fortunately, Chris manages to get through the night with the help of 2 Stilnox, earplugs and a moisturising eye mask. In the morning, he receives a stylist to give him the “work a day for world peace” look. He then gets to work milking the PR cow by giving a press-statement, so self-serving it makes the Sizzler salad bar feel inadequate. “I now know the plight of our City’s forgotten. It was tough, and I’m sure none of us will forget the sacrifice we made last night. Thanks to everyone who donated, we raised $5000, you beauty!”
Chris takes a sip of water and ponders to himself, “why simply drink this when I could probably walk on it now
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?