At the start of June, Give Me Head HQ looked like an office which had been sculptured into a monthlong rave. There were a number of employees who still didn’t have a clue what they were supposed to be doing. They would come to the office each morning, smoke a spliff and pretend they were involved in something important, tagging along to meetings and taking notes.

Nobody really noticed who was surplus to requirement because even those people who were involved in projects were still confused as shit. What tends to happen in such a scenario is that everyone hits autopilot and tries to be everybody else’s best friend, surviving by dishing out affirmation. But this will only carry you for so long. Especially in such a chaotic environment as Give Me Head HQ.

The only actual boss–although nobody would’ve guessed during those first couple of months–was CEO Lawrence Cassidy. But he only spent a couple of hours in the office per day, taking pizza orders and dropping off “party supplies” before dashing off to carry out job interviews, harassing cable networks and who knows what else.

By mid to late June, however, the gloves were well and truly off. People were beginning to realise that the entire operation was a shambles and it was up to them to carve out something that resembled a television series. The key problem was that most employees had no experience and those who did were tenuously linked and would just make stuff up.

The majority of ideas fell into the “it seemed like a good idea at the time” category. During those meetings–the ones which didn’t end in death threats or fist fights–the numerous team members would get excited about an idea while smoking some cartel big bud. They would pour back into the office and begin to work on it.

But by the end of the day, they’d hold another meeting and spend an hour or two arguing what they’d agreed to. The convoluted minutes to the earlier meeting would provide only cryptic clues because the writer had been chronically stoned and just pretending to be doing something. They’d agree to scrap it and start again the following day.

Some employees did develop ideas and fleshed them out. If you haven’t already, you can check out some examples here and here although those people didn’t tend to stick around for long.

***

Cassidy’s second in command, Charlie Ryba, spent more time on deck than Cassidy himself. He also took fewer drugs so he could actually observe what was happening on the ground with a teaspoon of clarity.

Until that point Ryba would occasionally provide feedback on how things were going which usually amounted to deceitful optimism. Cassidy would swat any problems away and say things like “I’ve got my best man on the case,” which he hadn’t. For a short while Ryba believed that everything was under control even though Cassidy was making it up as he went along while writing out huge cheques.

As serious cracks began to show, Ryba had to push Cassidy a little harder to try to get him to act. After making several crappy attempts, he finally plucked up the courage to tell Cassidy a little bit of truth.

“I think you really need to visit the office,” he said shakily.

“You ran out of party supplies already? I thought I was bad, but those fellas are monsters.”

“It’s not that, Cassidy.”

“Then what is it? Is Andy trying to set his desk on fire again?”

“They’re all out of control.”

“Relax,” Cassidy said. “They’re just getting used to having a visionary leader who allows them so much creative freedom that they are still adjusting to a utopian workplace .”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

“Fuck you trying to say, Charlie?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Cassidy. You’re moving mountains here. I’m just not seeing much progression in the office. And some of them might not actually be creating anything.”

“We’ll find a use for them.”

“I still think they need the captain to take the helm.”

“Alright, alright, call a meeting first thing tomorrow. I’ll come down and work some voodoo magic.”

“Sounds great.”

“And try to relax, Charlie. I’m making big moves in the California cable network market. We already have interest coming from one of the biggest ten pin bowling channels in the country as well as some locals. And that’s just the beginning.”

Ryba smiled and disappeared through the door.

“Ten pin bowling channels,” he mumbled. “What the fuck am I doing with my life…”

***

The next morning, after everyone had arrived, Cassidy jumped on top of an office table like he was about to perform at the Tropicana Las Vegas.

“Can I have everybody’s attention please,” he yelled. Everyone immediately turned to him. “How are you all on this fine Thursday morning?”

Everyone switched over to happy mode as Perry shouted: “Never better, my soulbean!”

Another person shouted: “This company is cooler than Elvis!”

“You bet,” Cassidy said as he bowed down and high fived him. “By now you’re probably all thinking that this is the best company you’ve ever worked for. How can it be that the boss just leaves us alone to crack on? Not only that but he encourages partying hard.

“When I first got the idea for Give Me Head Productions, I thought long and hard about how I wanted to manage the place differently. And then I thought: wouldn’t it be cool if I just didn’t manage the place at all and instead have faith that they’ll come up with the best ideas.”

“Praise the Lord!”

“I remember when I was an employee, my boss was a major pain in my ass. He was always nagging at me like I’m in kindergarten.”

“Fuck that guy!”

“Precisely. And I wanted to kill that mother fucker with a pogo stick. So I’ve drawn on that experience to do things differently around here.

“And I also want you all to know that my wingman over there, Sir Charlie Ryba, he does just as much as me behind the scenes. So give it up for Ryba! And please don’t go ramming a pogostick up his ass unless I tell you to.”

As the gathering began to woop and cheer at him, Ryba was beginning to admit to himself that this project was doomed.

Next thing he’s been lifted onto the shoulders of Noddy and Marty, and is forced to crowdsurf on top of some fifty excitable yuppies. At the same time Cassidy is telling everyone that they can take the day off if they promise to return this evening for an office fancy dress party.

As somebody begins to play Faith by George Michael, Ryba tumbles to the floor, banging his head and hoping to use it as an excuse to go home and cry.

***

Later that day, everyone returned to Give Me Head HQ wearing fancy dress costumes; everyone, that is, except for Ryba. He was crashed on his living room sofa, ranking all the mistakes he’d made in his life and where this one figured. Was it top tier, finally pushing unprotected sex with a pizza delivery girl down to second place? He certainly thought so.

Nobody noticed Ryba was missing for a few hours. They were too busy consuming drugs, playing arcade games and dancing to new wave.

When Cassidy returned from his second party run, wearing a chicken costume, he was mumbling like a geriatric.

He jumped on the office table once again.

“Let’s extend the party for the whole weekend!”

Someone yelled: “Hell, yeah!” followed by cheering.

“But first,” Cassidy continued, “Are we missing anybody? I don’t care who it is or what their excuses might be, they either march here on the double and party exceptionally hard otherwise it’s curtains!”

“A cursory headcount says only Mr Ryba is ducking us,” Howard shouted.

“Really? Okay, gather round, gather round. Let’s call this mother fucker on the Scammer (he meant Skanna) and get him on loudspeaker.”

Cassidy picked up the desk phone, dialled a number and hit a button. As everyone fell silent, the ringback tone filled the room.

Meanwhile Ryba was lying on the sofa in his apartment with a cold wet hand towel draped across his face, playing with himself but struggling to get going.

When the phone began to ring, Ryba pulled the towel off his face and sat up. He knew right away who was on the other end. He thought about not answering and never going back to Give Me Head HQ ever again.

As the phone continued to ring, Ryba momentarily felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders. He enjoyed this relief for precisely two seconds. And then he picked up the phone.

“Is that Charlie Limpdick?”

“Hey, Lawrence.”

“Everyone say hello to Charlie Limpdick.”

The sound of cackling background voices made his ears bleed.

“Hi, everyone,” Charlie said while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“So where the fuck you at?”

“Yeah, I got stuck chatting with a neighbour so I’m literally about to skate down. I won’t be longer than twenty minutes.”

“I just knew that you couldn’t say no to a party. We’ll get the bong ready with some premium cartel big bud. Ciao!”

The phone cut out and Ryba sat for a couple of minutes feeling nauseous.

He entered third-person mode and watched himself as he got dressed and walked out of his apartment wearing a stupid mask

“Just another month,” he whispered. “And it’ll all be over.”

You can read the final part here.

---

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