I want you to know that Jesus Christ, who art in Heaven, who died on the cross for Humanity's sins, is worth about 108 Korgi Korgi Whoppercones.
Well, okay, that's not fair. If you try and equate a Whoppercone to a semimythological figure, that implies that they have some sort of intrinsic dollar value. A Whoppercone is invaluable, see. Technically, it's priceless. It's two scoops of ice cream or so in a waffle cone, with a chocolate tip, and has a chocolate shell on the top scoop. Sold in packs of about six, wrapped in a shiny grey plastic, they retail at Salmart for $10.61, $11.09 with tax. So, a single Korgi Korgi Whoppercone goes for something like, $1.75 a cone, given a rough estimate.
Since a Whoppercone is intrinsically priceless, it is simply invaluable, despite being given a price of about $1.75 per, you have to assume that the 108 Whoppercones I'm pretty sure Christ's dessicated corpse is worth is also just as priceless. It's like holy water; it touches regular water once, the whole water is holy. Because otherwise you'd be saying Jesus' body is something close to about $190, and that just simply isn't true, considering no one can fucking find the damn thing.
Well, here's the thing, though: if a Whoppercone is dearly invaluable, so great in its richness alone that it ought be granted to anyone so that they may witness it, why is it almost two dollars?
The manufacturer's suggested retail price for a single Whoppercone---that is, Korgi Korgi's own mouth---puts one cone at $.80. Why double it? Wouldn't it at least be so great as to be more expensive?
...What're the odds I can just go and make a Whoppercone, as perfect as it comes out of the box and the packaging, myself, for cheaper, without the difficulty and the rarity involved?
I called up my friend Redd, that's not his full name, but I pitched the idea of raiding the Korgi Korgi manufacturing center out in Sunnybale about three towns out from us. We pass through sleepy Scropp and Bordenscoupe; Redd lives in Karr Grand, that last town just before Sunnybale. He suggested, "why not just go and apply for a position as a laborer at the center?" and I was like, "what good is cutting my $██████-a-year job off for a $█████/hour position, just to find out how they manufacture ice cream?" to which he said, "why break in for that in the first place?"
"Besides, ██████████, you'd also have to figure out where they get their supplies from," and then it hit me, fucking, duh? Of course I need to get that. "Okay, so we need to get their shipping manifestos, is what you're telling me." He's of course looking at me, all, 'no, you can't do that, █████,' but naturally I've got intents and desires. "Look, Redd," I tell him, "if you and I figure this out, we might blow the lid on a whole scam that Korgi Korgi might be running.
"Korgi Korgi isn't running a scam on us, not on you, not on me, not on all of Garside." He's adamant about that. "Just becuase of that whole, what..." I tell him it's about double. "So that's almost a whole dollar? A dollar per cone?" The fuckin guy shakes his head. "████████, I don't know where you get these crazy ass ideas, but frankly, trying to break in for that is gonna be your dumbest one yet. Where the hell are you gonna get funding, anyway? You gonna sneak around?"
"Well, that's where I was hoping you could come in, ol' Redd, ol' pal," I grin, and I sit forward while we're sitting on his porch, discussing these things. "Don't you know some folk who are good with sneaking around? Didn't you know a thing or two about robbery way back when?" He gives me this dry ol' stare, he goes, "well, yes, I do, but... I don't think I'd ought go out of my way to call these guys up to bat just to rob an ice cream plant."
"It's not robbery, ol Redd ol' pal, think of it as... a ... warm-up!" Of course, I'm just making shit up as I go with that one. "We're ... warming up to possibly dealing with a big bit of trouble on our hands! Imagine all the strife we might have to put up with when we go ... ummm, bust the Korgi Korgi scam."
"Look, █████, they wouldn't agree if we didn't have some sort of payout for it. It might be dangerous! Think of it that way." He's describing things that simply are true. So, I take out my old pal, my .38 Special revolver, I set it on the table in front of me. "See, I've got this as my insurance, just in case." "What the fuck are you doing with a random ass revolver, ██████?" He replies, obviously unknowing to my ways. "I just fucking told you, Redd! My insurance. I call him 'Dave'. He and I are great friends, he's a real mean man on some Griller Lites, though." Of course Redd isn't enthusiastic about me just bringing Dave out. "You fucking moron! That's not silenced or anything, you shoot that fucking thing in a factory, they'll know." I shake my head and smile. "Then we best find a silenced tool to nail the job, huh? An ol' Quiet Quincy. A real Silent Steve. A Steal--"
"Shut your damn mouth already, we gotta get financing at least." He's still grumbling. "Let me make a few calls and I'll set up your stupid ass plan."
He comes back to me after he's walked in his house, he says, "alright, ████, so... here's the deal."
"If we're hitting the Korgi Korgi plant in Sunnybale, we're going to first need some method of easy get-in and get-out. Since neither of us work there, and since the architectural plans aren't public, we'll need to get those, too...
Not only that, but we'll also need to know what it is we're taking. You mentioned shipping manifestos..." He takes a second to think, he's got this adorable look to him when he's like this. All pacing back and forth, grumbling, he's so focused. "We might not need that if we're able to get a detailed work-listing for a given manufacturing job. Really, that one shouldn't be too hard..." While he's pacing, I sit there, I'm admiring all this guy's stability. I've known him for years.
"...If we get the manufacturing-engineering documents, really, that should be all we need. It has all our formulations, all the processes of treatment..."
He's always been like this. Always trying to do things the right way, make it simple, and he does a damn good job of keeping me safe while he's at it. I remember one time, when we got into a spat with the police while doing a job, he'd deliberately thrown himself onto me, since he knows the cops would want him alive. Effectively, he was my meatshield, and...
He was so warm, really. So soft, so comfortable, it felt nice to hug him then. "...we're going to need to find someone who would be willing to pay for the trade secrets of an ice cream company..." I wonder if he still thinks about that. He lives a few cities out, but I think about it a little frequently, that and the other moments like it. How, when we lived together, he would just lounge on me, and--
"Hey, jackass, are you even listening?"
"Nope," I respond, with an earnest, pleasant smile.
"Whatever." He shakes his head, this vacant deadpan to his expression. "I'll need to make a few more calls, see if we can't get a sponsor."
Haha, what a guy, that Redd is. "Sure, take your time," I say, looking on to the sunny street. "I'll be here."