AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSOR
(2008) - short story by A.R.Yngve
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This nasty little story first appeared on my homepage at its old address, many years ago. Much later it was included in my short-story collection THE FLATTERED PLANET (2008). Some of the names in the original version have been changed, since I discovered that the fictional brand name "Moka-Coka" had already been used by Robert A. Heinlein in THE MAN WHO SOLD THE MOON. (Oops! A coincidence, I swear.)
HOOLA-COLA IS MORE THAN REFRESHMENT...
Is your relationship under strain? Need that extra push to mend those tense heartstrings? Let the HOOLA-COLA COMPANY (TM) become your own personal Relationship Sponsor (TM)!
Couples who sign up for Hoola-Cola Lifestyle Program (TM) are provided with a complete relationship package, including:
1. A complete set of fashionable ScreenWear (TM) clothing, updated every month, which automatically displays Hoola-Cola information to your surroundings;
2. Wearable, body-customizable biometric sensors that measure heart rate and mood, helping us to help you find harmony;
3. Fabulous prizes, gift certificates and cash incentives, rewarding you as your relationship improves - aim to be the "Hoola-Cola Couple of the Month" and win a car or other motor vehicle!
4. Regular sensor-induced FREE consultation with the famous relationship therapist Dr. Rutebaga Wissenblum.
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"Hoola-Cola - Refreshing Your Thirst And Your Relations."
***
"I dunno if this is such a good thing, honey," I said to the wife when she showed me the booklet. "I mean, I don't even drink Hoola-Cola."
Paula Mae sighed in that exasperating why-won't-you-listen manner that never failed to aggravate me. God knows our relationship needed some mending. I just couldn't see how this commercial offer was going to help us, beyond the extra cash and free clothes.
"I talked to Beverly," she said, emphasizing the name, "and her daughter's been on the Hoola-Cola program for two months. All their money problems went away, and now they're Couple of the Month. Rhoda won a new moped. Beverly says she's never seen Rhoda so happy before."
I wanted to ask how happy Rhoda's husband was, but I kept that to myself. I had a gut feeling this was just like buying the kid a goldfish - it was Dad who ended up taking care of it. Paula Mae's tone changed from lecturing to shrewish.
"If you have a better idea of how we're going to afford a proper holiday together this year, cough it up. Don't just sit there and mope. Ed? Ed, are you listening to me?"
"I'm thinking."
"Think faster."
Deep down I knew a "Hoola-Cola Lifestyle Program" wasn't going to save our marriage. Dr. Rutebaga Wissenblum couldn't change the facts: I loved Paula Mae but she was driving me nuts and our sex life had been dead for five months. Why did I try to keep this doomed relationship alive? Fear of loneliness, nothing else.
One of these days I was going to tell Paula Mae I was sick of her mood swings, her frigidity and her phobia of having children. One of these days... one of these days she'd hire a bloodsucking lawyer and rob me of all the things I'd bought for us.
I wondered, as I sat on the couch staring into thin air, past Paula Mae's pudgy face, if she knew what I was thinking. She always claimed to be a better "mind reader" than I was. Well, then, I thought, read this: I'm only going along with this crazy scheme for the extra cash - you fat frigid bitch.
"We could try it," I said, looking blankly at her. "What's the worst thing that could happen?"
Paula Mae smiled and kissed me on the cheek - briefly, so as not to give me any ideas about intimacy.
"I'll call them today."
***
The sales agent from Hoola-Cola showed up the next day, and we signed the ten-page contract. I did read the document before I signed it, but the clauses were so densely written as to be almost unintelligible. The ever-smiling agent took his copy of the contract, shook hands with us... and held out an open palm which, at first, seemed empty.
"Compliments of Hoola-Cola," he said. "Welcome to our extended family." We looked at his hand again. It wasn't quite empty. At a closer look I could make out two oblong, flesh-colored buttons, similar to earplugs. "Put one in your ear," he urged me. "Go on! It's perfectly harmless.
Paula Mae poked me in the ribs. Reluctantly, I put one of the plugs into my right ear. The sales agent pressed a button on his wristwatch and I heard the plug chime. A wireless; I should've known.
Welcome to the Hoola-Cola Lifestyle Program, whispered a seductive female voice in my ear. I am your Virtual Relationship Therapist. This device works in concert with your Hoola-Cola body sensors. When your body sensors detect anger or sadness, or harsh words directed at your partner, I will help you by quoting from the database of Dr. Rutebaga Wissenblumer's book "The Zen of Your Relationship and You." Please apply your personal Hoola-Cola body sensors.
The agent held out his other palm, containing a strap-on wristband with a small visual display. I put it on my right wrist and switched it on.
Thank you for activating your personal Hoola-Cola body sensor, said the soft voice in my earplug. Please check that your partner has inserted his or her equipment as well.
The sales agent helped Paula Mae put on the gizmos; she seemed astonished and delighted when the small earplug started talking to her.
We looked at the sales agent, who pushed another button on his wristwatch. The doorbell rang, and I went over to open. On the doorstep stood a delivery boy with a clipboard, wearing a Hoola-Cola cap and a bored expression.
"Your first delivery of free Hoola-Cola ScreenWear plus the free gift. Sign here, please."
In the driveway stood two large cartons with the soft-drink label, and a six-pack of Hoola-Cola cans.
I still wasn't going to drink the damn stuff.
***
Should've read the contract more carefully before I signed it. The fine print stipulated that we must wear the ScreenWear clothes all day long.
The t-shirts, caps, and pants were covered with very thin, soft digital screens, powered by solar power and body heat. The screens constantly showed commercials and animated shorts with one purpose: to tell the world what a great product Hoola-Cola is.
The sales agent politely refused to leave until he had seen us put on the pants and t-shirts. Then, smiling so wide it must hurt his face, he shook hands vigorously and left our house.
I looked at Paula Mae, wearing her XXL t-shirt: a cartoon dog and cat chased each other round and round her huge breasts, then stopped briefly to refresh themselves with frosty cans of Hoola-Cola. The cartoon repeated a few times, before it was replaced by one-foot letters scrolling around her body, down into her pants, constantly changing color:
HOOLA, HOLA, MUST HAVE MY HOOLA-COLA!!
I hated it already. She saw it and sighed, glaring at me.
"Straighten up, will ya?" she said; I felt another rant coming from her.
Then, unexpectedly, she stopped talking and held one hand against her earplug.
I heard the soft seductive voice in my own plug: Your body sensors detect rising stress levels and harsh language. Dr. Wissenblum says: "Never start the day with negative vibrations. Forgive your partner's shortcomings until you've had your first meal of the day." Now kiss and make up!
Paula Mae looked at me with uncertain, searching eyes. She looked so much nicer when she wasn't sore at me. I felt annoyed at the computer telling me what to do, so I stood still. So did Paula Mae.
The earplug computer insisted: Now kiss and make up!
"I'm..." Paula Mae said. "I'm sorry. Gimme a hug, ya big lug."
I eased forward and hugged her, kissed her - and that earplug voice said soothingly: Good. Your stress level is sinking. You have taken the first step toward your next cash bonus. Remember: your stress levels are monitored 24 hours a day. Nourish your relationship and your bonus will grow by ten percent a week.
I tensed up at the thought, and I felt Paula Mae do the same. The earplug chimed in: Relax. Take a refreshing Hoola-Cola pause together.
The wife must have heard the same message, because she tore loose from me and hurried to open two cans of the free six-pack.
"Bottoms up," she said, and chugged down the brown carbonated water. I sipped mine. It tasted like any other damn soft drink, the artificial sweetener was a film of plastic against my palate. She belched.
"Honey, I don't like Hoola-Cola. You want mine?"
"Y'think I want your germs on -"
Again she stopped speaking and her eyes went blank; my earplug cooed: Dr. Wissenblum says: When your spouse gets worked up, calm her with a sudden warm kiss. Kiss her, you fool!
Dr. Wissenblum didn't know Paula Mae like I did. But I did what she said. Paula Mae stiffened in my arms, then yielded and let me kiss her. A half-forgotten stir in my pants took me by surprise, and I pressed my chest against hers. As I held her, I wondered: Will Dr. Wissenblum tell my wife to start having sex with me again?
Paula Mae relaxed in my arms and rested her face against my neck; I could feel she was listening to her earplug, waiting for the next instruction. Jeez, I thought, if only I had known she was this receptive to suggestions...
"Darling, we don't have to go into bedroom," she muttered into the hollow of my neck. Damn. She had already figured out a way to trick the system. "I'm so happy just hugging you like this."
Dr. Wissenblum was no match for Paula Mae Bogland.
***
When we went to sleep that night, I tried to pull out the earplug. The voice chip inside it gave a loud beep and a tinny, much louder voice shouted from the plug:
Warning! It is recommended that you remove this device from your ear while you sleep, but do not exceed the eight-hour removal limit. Also, do not remove your body sensors for more than one hour a day. Refusal to follow these instructions will result in a loss of bonus points.
I went to work the following day, wearing the goddamn ScreenWear. The colleagues made jokes and pretended to become hypnotized zombies at the sight of the commercials on my back and chest.
"Must... buy... Hoola-Cola!" droned my co-worker Starsky, walking stiff-legged between the cubicles. The others laughed.
"Seriously, Ed," asked my boss, "how much do you earn on wearing that stuff?"
"Depends, I guess. I heard someone won a moped."
"My brother signed up for wearing that other brand all day," admitted Starsky. "Poopsi-Coka. He won't tell me how much he's earning, though."
"I've got this thing in my ear, too," I said, "telling me to wind down."
"Does it work?" Starsky asked, gleefully staring at me to aggravate me.
"I can hear it now," I lied in a soft, lowered voice, "telling me to murder you in cold blood and stuff the corpse in the back of my car."
Starsky started and stepped back. "I wouldn't trust them to put a voice chip in my head," he muttered. "You'll go crazy in a week."
What the earplug voice had actually told me when Starsky tried to rile me up was: Take a deep breath. Have a Hoola. I took deep breaths until my head began to spin.
Maybe Starsky was right. What awaited me when I got home? A homicidal, Hoola-chugging wife, driven mad by the incessant commercials? I knew one thing, though: I wasn't going to quit the program before she did, cos' she'd give me hell for it. I'd rather go mad.
On my way home, I stopped to buy groceries and came across a shelf full of Hoola-Cola cans and bottles. Other customers stopped there too - some of them were also wearing animated commercials. A middle-aged man excused himself and ambled past me, grabbing a six-pack of Hoola; on his back, a giant smiling can spouted bubbles. Each bubble burst into a word:
HOOLA - ADDS - BUBBLES - TO - LIFE!
I saw my own hand reach for a six-pack and put it in the shopping bag. The earplug whispered erotically: Hmmm... Hoola. Maybe the body sensors on my skin communicated with photocells in the drink packages, or the digital price tags on the shelf. As if to confirm my suspicion, the voice added: As a Hoola-Cola Lifestyle Program member, you get an automatic five-percent discount on all your Hoola-Cola product purchases.
Brainwashed, I thought as I moved on, we're being brainwashed. But I didn't pull out the plug or remove those damn body sensors. Paula Mae had to give up first.
When I came home, I didn't know what to expect. The usual routine was to find the house in a mess, and Paula Mae sunk into the living room couch, chatting with her friends through the laptop in her lap, while the TV showed the shopping channel.
I nearly dropped the grocery bag in the doorway. She wasn't in the couch. The TV was switched off. The floor had been swept clean. I had a horrible mental image of my wife lying in the bathtub with her wrists cut open.
"Paula Mae?" Take a deep breath, the earplug whispered. I did. Paula Mae poked her head out from the kitchen doorway. Her t-shirt flickered with Disney-style sparks, coalescing into a shiny Hoola-Cola logotype. She was looking at me intently. And her hair...
"What's happened to your hair?" I said incredulously.
Her face shifted in the space of a second as if she was mutating before my eyes; a frown came and almost instantly faded into a smile.
"I had it done at the salon. You like it?"
"It's... nice." Then why was I frightened? The earplug voice told me to relax. I had to. I carried the groceries into the kitchen and Paula Mae helped me unload them into the fridge.
"You bought Hoola, good." She snatched a can and drank like she hadn't had water all day. "Better buy more tomorrow."
"Yeah... I will." I looked around, confused, at the kitchen. She had cleaned it. Did that earplug chip tell her?
"Are you all right, honey?" I asked her.
Her smile came a little too quickly, a little too unaturally. "Sure I'm fine, Ed. Why shouldn't I be fine? I've been busy all day. How about pancakes for dinner?
I loved pancakes, and she hadn't cooked a meal for me in a year. I anticipated the voice in my ear now, and the deep breath came like a conditioned reflex.
"Sit down, honey," I said softly. She hesitated, listened for an instruction, and sat down with me at the kitchen table. "Doesn't it feel weird? This whole program, I mean? Do you want to continue?"
Her hands, I noticed, were clasped firmly around her opened Hoola can. They raised the can to her lips, and she gulped down a mouthful. Then she took a deep breath - much like my own conditioned reflex - and smiled at me.
"I like it," she said. "Besides, we'll be getting our first bonus in a week. My own Hoola-Cola milkshake machine. Isn't it great?"
"Yeah... yeah. The guys at work teased me for the clothes, though."
"Oh, they're just jealous." I caught myself missing her aggravating, condescending sigh. "Believe you me, it won't be long before everyone signs up." She stood up and took out the frying pan. "I'll start on the pancakes."
I took many deep breaths.
After dinner we watched TV. Following ingrained habit, I sat in the armchair, expecting Paula Mae to stretch out on the big couch with a bag of potato chips.
But she didn't. She brought another can of Hoola, and munched on carrots and celery sticks. I picked up the TV Guide and suggested last night's Tonight Show on pay-per-view. It used to be the only thing we could ever agree on watching.
"Let's try something different," she said - her voice sounded strange, like she was reading from a script. "How about." I strained to hear her continue. "How about... the Playman Channel?"
My eyelids fluttered. She sat on the edge of the couch, clutching the Hoola can, taking deep breaths.
"Are you sure?"
"Sure," she said with that too-quick-to-be-true smile. "And..." Another listening pause. "Come sit here with me."
I moved over to the couch and sat at the other end.
Late at night, the earplug chip said in my ear, the tone sighing with unspoken promises, is when the inhibitions come off. Be responsive to your partner's signals. Don't come on too quick. Be confident, but gentle.
We both peered at each other from our respective ends of the couch. Neither of us wanted to make the first move and be hurt by the anticipated rejection, followed by the inevitable hurt and sullen silence.
She switched on the Playman Channel. I wasn't really interested in the breast-enhanced blondes tonight. This is a trick, I thought. She had the system figured out from the start; she's just waiting for me to make the suggestion, so she can serve a put-down disguised enough to fool the body-sensors.
I took a deep breath and stared straight ahead at the TV screen. Then I felt something crawl against my shoulder, and slowly turned my head. It was Paula Mae, leaning against me, her arm folding around the back of my neck. Deep breath.
She mumbled something; I couldn't hear it over the moans and cries from the screen. I cocked my head in her direction.
"You smell good tonight," she said softly, uncertainly.
"Thanks," I said, swallowing. Oh no, I wasn't going to fall for that one. But my balls did. Has it ever occurred to you that if women wanted to rule the world, they could do that easily? They'd have us by the balls, if they were interested.
"Touch me," she said, stuttering on the words. "I want you... to touch me."
I rested my hand on her knee. From then on, it's kind of a blur. I remember we ended up in the bedroom. But I do remember: she insisted we kept the earplugs and the body-sensor wristbands on. Even when we slept.
***
In the morning she made me breakfast - breakfast! I couldn't remember the last time that happened. I thanked her and went to work with a can of Hoola-Cola in my hand... where'd it come from? She had put it in my hand when I kissed her goodbye.
As I opened the can in the car, the seductive earplug voice hummed: Hmmm... Hoola. Kickstart the day with Hoola.
Work went fine; I received a few jokes about the commercials on my clothes, but I took it in my stride and soon everybody had forgotten about it. Around lunchtime, the boss took me into his office and had a serious talk.
"Ed," he said, "I understand you're wearing these clothes as a sponsorship deal. I hope this doesn't create conflicts of loyalty regarding your day job?"
My heart started to beat faster, and the earplug voice came to my rescue: Does your boss worry about your Hoola-Cola sponsorship? Relax. Our sponsorship comes with benefits to your employer. Talk to your boss about having free Hoola-Cola vending machines installed in your workplace. That's right, free vending machines in the office and discount prices on the cans.
"I can get us free Hoola vending machines," I said after a deep breath. "And we get a discount on the price of every can."
The boss brightened up slightly. "But suppose," he said, "we get a contract from a firm that competes with Hoola-Cola? Like, say, Poopsi-Coka."
The voice in my right ear, still as soft and seductive, told me: Warning! Your body sensors have detected the bar code of a Poopsi-Coka drink can in your vicinity. Tell the owner that the additives in Poopsi are known to cause cancer in lab rats. Warn him now, before it's too late!
And the damn computer was right - I looked at the boss's desk and glimpsed an opened can of the competing brand. I grabbed his shoulder and fixed him with my eyes. "Did you know, sir, that the additives in Poopsi are known to cause cancer in lab rats? Don't drink that stuff, it's dangerous!"
He went pale and swallowed. "Really?"
"Really." I realized I'd gone too far and released the boss's arm, but he was shaken. Wiping his sweaty forehead, he tossed the Poopsi-Coka can into the wastebasket and sat down.
"Well... " he said. "Our company can't risk that kind of bad publicity. Forget I said anything about a Poopsi contract. I appreciate your concern for my health." He looked at me and relaxed. "Free vending-machines, you say?"
***
In the week after that, things continued to improve. People at the office thanked me for the new Hoola vending-machines, it really made a difference; and the boss noticed the machines increased productivity too, since we didn't have to go out to buy soda.
The biggest change, though, was in Paula Mae. She stopped eating snacks and embarked on the Fast-Slim Hoola-Cola Diet. It's easy, nourishing and you see the results: One can of Hoola with breakfast, one can between each meal instead of snacks, and celery with carrot sticks when you need to munch on something.
It helps that Hoola-Cola contains a very small, perfectly legal amount of efedrine to lower your appetite.
And as Paula Mae slimmed down and began to take care of the house, we started to have sex again. I mean, a lot. I got some great advice from Dr. Wissenblum about how to properly stimulate women to orgasm. Who'da thought the G-spot was so easy to find, once you got the right directions?
At the end of the week, we got our first bonus: a gift certificate of fifty dollars, and a six-pack of Hoola. We celebrated by drinking all of it in once evening, and decided to go for the "Couple of the Month" - together. No more harsh words, lots of deep breaths, long embraces.
It took us three weeks to win the prize. A brand-new Lambretta with a cool glow-in-the dark Hoola logo on both sides. Then we decided to go for the bigger prize: a bonus car.
To win the car, we'd have to really work hard, but was it worth it? You bet! We ordered the Hoola-Cola Total Home Improvement package - free, of course - and installed the electronic Hoola advertising curtains in all our windows...
So there you have it... Hoola-Cola's Lifestyle Program changed my life. Paula Mae and I are finally happy together. Thanks to Dr. Rutebaga Wissenblum's advice and Hoola-Cola's technology, we now have the perfect marriage, a beautiful home and a fulfilling love life.
I drink sixteen cans of Hoola-Cola a day; Paula Mae teases me that she's three cans ahead, but I'm working myself up to her level. Everything is perfect. And my bowels never bother me anymore - I could pass rocks through my colon! Several of my colleagues have signed up for the program, and Paula Mae's even dropped a few hints that she's pregnant.
Everything is perfect. Take a deep breath, officer. Dr. Wissenblum says that you should start the day with kissing your loved ones. Have a Hoola and relax.
So you see, it couldn't have been me who chopped up Paula Mae and stuffed her in the trunk. I'm a new man. It was that other man - Ed - the maladjusted individual who was trapped in what Dr. Wissenblum calls a self-reinforcing pattern of negative thinking.
Ed's worst problem, you see, was that even though he drinks sixteen cool, frosty cans of Hoola a day, he still... deep breath... HATES the goddamn... deep breath... TASTE. The relaxing, refreshing taste of carbonated brown water and artificial sweeteners.
I'm not blaming the system, mind you. The system works. It's the product that sucks. It's so warm in these handcuffs, officer. Officer. Can't we please stop for a Hoola? I could really use a Hoola now. Officer...
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