*Hugo. Post EVP Showdown*
Strangely enough, nothing much has happened to him, and he is unaffected by Doris' vintage Voodoo techniques! Hugo has his hard-won piece of EVP Blueprint in hand, and is a lot more interested in the "Aphrodisiac of Unlimited Potency" which, according to the online delivery tracking, is apparently on its way...!!!?
___
*9696.7km away from a certain Librarian and Voodoo Practitioner*
*…At an Unnamed Nursing Home*
To be perfectly honest, Nicklaus Claus had seen better days.
In truth, his OG claim to fame was that he could allegedly trace his lineage back to the original Santa Claus, St Nicholas of Myra, but as the generations had gone on, this 'boon' had been berated, his connection to the legendary man considered overrated, and - after his children had checked him into the local nursing home and made him take his prescribed medications - his mind body and spirit, sedated 💀.
Indeed, perhaps the most striking thing about Nicklaus now is that he currently sports a long, white, free-flowing beard, which has taken him exactly 18 months, 6 days and 7 hours to grow.
…Ohhh no…!!!!
Was this going where we thought it was…!?
___
$621.69.
~9001 hairs (Yes, so they could market it as "over 9000")
$0.069 per strand.
This is the basic maths behind the boutique beard business, a top-secret trade that deals in premium, authentic Santa Claus beards and costumes...
___
It-It hadn't always been this way.
Mor Mun Ni sighed, as he reflected on his life and achievements to date - which largely consisted of him being born as the heir of a wealthy trillionaire, waking up, eating, going to sleep, and then telling other people that they too could make it big so long as they adopted and adhered to a strict regime of 5am cold showers, motivational post-it notes, and a relentless work ethic.
He was doing well, at least, from a financial perspective. For one thing, he had made it onto the Forbés Richest List this year once again, by virtue of inheriting his Father's company, and... staying alive!
But despite his best efforts! It hadn't been enough.
Valentine Richést…!!!
This handsome, charismatic man had, seemingly, come out of nowhere, cruising away with Mor's crown for "Consummate CEO" without a care. Not to mention that he seemed to be self-made, apparently hacking his way out of the jungle slums armed with only something called "The Art of Rizz" and a plastic butter knife, before making his Fortune!?!?
It… irked. Valentine was better looking, richer, better at business, more charismatic, and had essentially taken away the limelight that he, Mor Mun Ni, believed was his - his Divine birthright!
As a result, Mor had doubled down, deciding to become even more ruthless.
His father's extensive portfolio of Nursing homes and Ponzi-esque Pension Investment Schemes provided him with the bulk of his income, allowing him to fleece countless old people of their assets, reallocating and reinvesting them in a far more worthy cause - this being namely Mor's overall net worth, as well as buttressing his bid to reclaim his rightful place, at the top of the Forbé's Richest List!!!
But still. Despite maxing out his nursing homes' capacity, to the point of even installing multiple bunk beds per room, Valentine's Future of Humanity Project had still somehow 'debunked' and outclassed him - on every level.
His businesses were now considered, literally, old, and much like the residents they housed, approaching their use-by-date… but Mor, well he wouldn't just lie down and accept his fate!!!
That was when it occurred to him.
Of course. Everything was a resource. And Resources had value - value which could be extracted. How then, could he extract maximum value from his business?!
Morals. Dignity. These inconveniences were just social constructions, minor obstructions in the way of pure profit, surely?!
So, His chief capital came from 'fleecing' old geezers… But if so, then what if he took this business model to its logical conclusion… with a pair of tweezers!?!?!!?
And so, Mor Mun Ni had ushered in a new, utterly ruthless rollout, adding in a contractual clause…
that would soon prove, to live up to the very word 'claus(e)' itself…
___
Nicklaus had been existing in a kind of stasis, a living death of sorts pre-packaged as 'retirement'. He got his little TV in his room. Three meals, kind of, of some mushy stuffs that was meant to have the minimum required nutrition to pass the industry standards. 30 minutes of sun a day, if he was lucky.
Opportunity for visits every week, up to an hour at a time. At least initially, until his money in his accounts dried up, and the wills were signed.
Well, he had accepted his lot. It was basic Supply and Demand. Without Value, he was… nothing.
This was why he had thought nothing of it, when the beard-harvesting contracts had been rolled out, worded in fine print as an additional clause to his Nursing Home Agreement, and so he had signed, almost gratefully, amidst the stupor of his surreal, soggy nursing home life.
This additional clause in the contract, the "Santa Claus clause", was, simply put, an opt-out process where nursing home staff would harvest his beard hair every 18 months or so (or whenever it met the requirements) in order to craft 'authentic Santa Claus beards' for 'discerning clients'…
His contribution would be going to a good cause, suggested the clause, and Nicklaus, of course, had no cause, or indeed any recourse, to resist.
____
"A-a-and that's enough Rizzmaster for today…"
In the Audience, many were in disbelief at the… hair-ifying spectacle that they were app[hair]arently witnessing...
"-By Merlin's beard!!!"
"-Well, Santa's actually…"
And yet, as always, there were others who saw past the… layering - through the fringe of fantastical flippancy.
"A critique on Capitalism?! And a confronting conclusion on the dangers of reducing everyone and everything down to a 'What can you do for me' bottom line of perceived value?"
Reedink Intuit, the latest erudite addition to the as-always amazing Audience, and who was originally drawn in by the seemingly penetrating profundity of what had become his favourite webnovel, Rizzmaster: The Adventures of Bob, pushes up his glinting glasses, as he eloquently posits his postulated premise.
Unfortunately though, being an academic, he was immediately skimmed over and ignored.
"GG, bro."
"..."
___
Back to the story. After a quick break, the esteemed readers quickly realised that… although unhinged… maybe this was actually peak?!
T-they kind of wanted to find out what happened next, they mused, even as they doublechecked their bank balances, and made a mental note to avoid all suspicious nursing home and pension investment schemes in the future if they could help it.
___
"On average, a human beard consists of 10000-20000 hairs..."
Mor Mun Ni had done the math, and this was why he had come up with the optimal figure of 9001 hairs per premium Santa beard - adhering to the principle of Minimum Viable Delivery, which allowed him to include the "I-It's over 9000!!!!" Slogan in all his marketing, and also allowing him to *just* barely meet the minimum hairs per beard guidelines - and yes, you got it - it was by a… hair.
___
$6.70. In the end, after all the middlemen and taxes, This was the overall amount that Nicklaus received for 18 months of beard growth.
Little did he know that, this time, he really had been clipped short, for his hard-grown premium plush Santa beard - which may or may not have been part of a certain Santa costume pillaged and worn by a certain Hugo… had in fact retailed for $621.69, resulting in a net profit of $614.99 minus delivery and targeted advertising costs, which focused on click-throughs to cart and Santa-themed subliminal brainwashing…
___
"Hold still, Nicklaus."
"-S-shan't!!!"
Currently, the nursing home lady was attempting to weigh Nicklaus' beard - which was currently still attached to his chin - on some scales, but understandably, Nicklaus wasn't too keen on having to rest his gradually-garnered growth on the polished platform of cool metal, and having his beard tied up in little bunches to best preserve his premium fibers, not to mention that the sharp scissors in the nursing home lady's hands also seemed quite formidable.
"Nicklaus~!!!" A stern reprimand.
"Oh… wait? What's this, Nicklaus?"
Suddenly, the nursing home lady has taken out a magazine featuring some busty, scantily clad women.
She sighed, questioning her life decisions that had led her up to this point, shaving an old man's beard in a nursing home for some extra cash, but at the same time, i-it was probably best not to dwell too long on, or delve too deeply into, such things. It paid the bills, and in truth Nicklaus could be considered lucky - after all, the first time had, in fact, been the first woman's touch he had received in approximately 10 years...
Nicklaus' eyes widened at the sudden swimwear-saturated stimulation.
"Good boy."
"Now hold still Nicklaus~, or there'll be no reward…"
Nursing home lady gingerly places the magazine down, even as she gingerly and dextrously ties off Nicklaus' 'Santa-stic' beard into little bunches with a practiced hand, dry-combing out the tangles and tousling through his coveted cuticles, before the harvest.