Gerri Yang had known Stephen Ballmer for a long time.
They used to go to the same parties. They would watch the same, lesser people smoke substances on terraces facing the golden sunset.
But neither of them ever thought they would end up together.
Gerri thought she would marry someone younger, someone with the body of a builder and the mind of an astrophysicist.
The reverse had never crossed her mind.
Now, here she was, in her later years, knowing in her heart that Mr. Right had passed her by and all that was left was a selection of Mr. Ohnos. And not one of them Apollo.
All of them, in fact, were not quite as buff as they used to be, which was a little disturbing.
Gerri and Stephen knew that, at least in some ways, they made a good, sensible match.
But when they were alone together, they argued a lot.
They didn't argue about whether they loved each other, or how many kids they should have.
They had, after all, been around the block so many times that the block was now a freeway.
(Credit:
Suleiman Poher)
No, the only times they raised their voices was when the subject was money.
"But, Stephen, I am used to certain standards. If you left me, I would need to know that those standards would be maintained," said Gerri.
"I'm not going to leave you," said Stephen in an unusual whisper. "Our families are coming together to create a new dynasty, one that will rise up against the Brin-Pages and make the Ballmer-Yangs the First Family of Tech."
"You mean the Yang-Ballmers, don't you, buttercup?" said Gerri, furiously batting her eyelids.
"Whatever you say, sweetums," said Stephen.
"Well, why can't you give me $37 a second for the rest of my life? Or even $38?" griped Gerri gently. "I am a loyal and faithful partner. And you, well, you do have a bit of a history, don't you?"
"I've been young. I've been impetuous. But that is all behind me. All I have in front of me is you and our marriage," declared Stephen. "You know I am giving you everything I have. And if you don't agree to this pre-nup, I will talk to your parents."
"To my parents?" shrieked a shocked Gerri.
"In fact, I already have," blurted Stephen, his impetuousness having not quite left the building. "They agree that I am being more than fair, given your age and, you know, your, um, internal problems."
"I am as fit as a fiddle," said Gerri, her bottom lip hanging dangerously low.
"Fiddle-dee-dee is what my inner circle tells me. And your inner circle appears to be steadily deserting you," said a suddenly calm Stephen.
"They are not deserting me. They simply don't think I will need them as much any more. Because I will be spending all of my time with you," explained Gerri.
"That's not what your Uncle Carl says," said Stephen, evenly. "He says some of your family, especially your cousins and nephews, are turning against you. He says you need new mentors to help you conclude a successful marriage. And a successful marriage starts with a successful pre-nup. Uncle Carl wants what's best for you."
"HE'S NOT MY UNCLE!" shouted Gerri. "That's just what my parents told me to call him."
"Because your parents trust him. And he has told them that the Trust Fund I have prepared especially for you, my precious, is a fund that can be trusted."
"Oh, I am lost," sniffled a forlorn Gerri. "I never thought that love would be like this."
Stephen allowed a silence to fall gently, like a dusk at summer solstice.
Then he whispered: "Perhaps I could add free vet visits, all expenses paid plastic surgery, including any scientific advancements in facial, bodily or cryogenic preservation. And a new Maserati every year."
"And a Tesla and a hybrid Smart car?" said Gerri with renewed excitement.
"A Smart car? Of course, my ever-clever petal. Of course," said Stephen.
Gerri took Stephen's hand in hers.
They both smiled.
"Now, then," said Gerri. "How many guests? I was thinking something small and intimate. Say, 30,000 people?"
The Chief Yahooey, Jerry Yang, has had enough.
Enough of journalists, bloggers, analysts, and all those who claim to know more about running his business than he does.
The simple fact is that he should have slipped down to Shutters on the Beach last weekend and met with two of the world's most important people, people who themselves have endured criticism from Lesser Beings.
Actor Tom Cruise and President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela.
Is there any question that these two could help Mr. Yang solve the Yahoo crisis? Here's how it might have gone.
"I am glad you called me," begins Mr. Cruise. "As I've said before, when you see a car crash, only a Scientologist can help."
"I'm don't know what Ballmer believes," replies Yang, "so that explains a lot.... Hold on, Yahoo is NOT a wreck. We're very profitable."
"Have you ever had an audit?" asks Cruise.
"Of course. Our numbers are great," protests Yang.
"I mean an audit from the great firm of L, Ron and Hubbard," says Cruise.
"Who?"
"In the Church of Scientology, we give you an audit that looks at your purity, your morals, your ethics. You know, the big stuff," explains Cruise.
"Everyone knows I am completely ethical," insists Yang.
"That severance plan, though," says Cruise. "I mean, come on, Jerry. That wasn't exactly helping your would-be Thetans, er, I mean, shareholders."
Before Yang can answer, President Chavez, who has been smiling beatifically in his direction, leans forward, gesticulating wildly: "Man, I LOVED that severance thing you did. Now that was socialism at its finest. Just when the Great Satan wants to take you over, you give your people an extra incentive to leave. I tried that with my enemies in Venezuela. But you're doing it with your friends. Incredible."
"Oh, thank you," says a touched Yang.
"Now you need to rise above all those capitalists," continues Chavez.
"How do you mean?" asks Yang, chewing on his second strawberry shortcake.
"Well, I have a brother who's education minister, a cousin who is in charge at our oil company and my Dad is a state governor. You must have SOME family you can put in charge of everything.."
"There's my wife," says Yang.
"Ah, I've had two of them. I prefer blood relations. Just remove your Board of Directors and keep it all in the family. You know, cousins, uncles, that sort of thing."
(Credit:
Danny Sullivan)
At this point, Mr. Cruise chimes in again: "I love that family part. Can you go on Oprah, jump up and down on her sofa and tell the world how much you love your wife?"
"Won't people think I'm crazy?" wonders Yang.
"There's no such thing as crazy, Jerry. Just don't take any anti-depressants."
"Well, I've been a little stressed lately," admits Mr. Yang.
"Jerry, you are an immortal, spiritual being," says Mr. Cruise, firmly.
"Unless the Great Satan tries to eliminate you," gruffs Chavez, looking a little tired of Cruise's science fiction.
"You can survive elimination, Jerry. Go to scientology.org. Life is eight dynamics. You just get all eight to work in harmony and you will survive anything."
"How do I do that?" asked Yang, temporarily mesmerized.
"By selling Yahoo to the Church of Scientology, Jerry," says Cruise. "We can help your searchers find. We can help your groups discover everlasting union. And we can show you how to make a lot more money. I mean, do you know how much Travolta gives the Church every time he makes a movie?"
"Callate, hijo!" exclaims a suddenly heated Chavez. "I came here to make an offer myself. I want to buy Yahoo on behalf of my country. I would make it compulsory for everyone in Venezuela to become a Yahoo member. That's 26 million new customers. And each would have a share in the company. Naturally, my family would have all the voting shares."
"But that's corrupt."
"No, business is corrupt, my friend. I am talking the Ideal Paternalistic Socialism. Like your original Yahoo. Think about it. No more Wall Street. No more bigmouth shareholders. No more uncertainty. And we can find out what Jenna Bush is writing to her friends," concludes Chavez, a sweet smile imposing a military coup on his lips.
As Jerry looks on, wondering how it is that these are his two remaining white knights, Mr. Cruise gets up on the hotel sofa and screams: "YES, ICAHN!!!! NO, HE CAHN'T!!!"
The Venezuelan President joins in the chant. But at this very moment, Jerry Yang decides to go with Tom Cruise. The man was in Mission Impossible, after all.
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