"We're going to take out every under-utilized ride in the land, effective immediately. Lay off the dead-wood employees. We're going to get a couple off-the-shelf thrill rides and give them a solid working-over for theming -- build our own ride vehicles, queue areas and enclosures, big ones, weenies that will draw your eye from outside the main gate. But that's just a stopgap. "Next I'm going to start focus-grouping the fatkins. They're ready-made for this stuff. All about having fun. Most of those ex-fatties used to pack this place when they were stuck in electric wheelchairs, but now they're too busy --" he stopped himself from saying "fucking" -- "Having more adult fun to come back, but anyone who can afford fatkins has discretionary income and we should have a piece of it. "It's hard to say without research, but I'm willing to bet that these guys will respond strongly to nostalgia. I'm thinking of reinstating the old Fantasyland dark-rides, digging parts out of storage, whatever we haven't auctioned off on the collectibles market, anyway, and cloning the rest, but remaking them with a little, you know, darkness. Like the Pinocchio thing, but more so. Captain Hook's grisly death. Tinker Bell's inherent porniness. What kind of friendship did Snow White have with the dwarfs? You see where I'm going. Ironic -- we haven't done ironic in a long time. It's probably due for a comeback." They stared at him in shocked silence. "You say you're going to do this when?" Wiener said. He'd want to know so he could get someone senior to intervene. "You know, research first. We'll shut down the crap rides next week and can the dead-wood. Want to commission the research today if I can. Start work on the filler thrill-rides next week too." He sat down. They continued to boggle. "You're serious about this?" "About what? Getting rid of unprofitable stuff? Researching profitable directions? Yes and yes." There were other routine agenda items, which reminded Sammy of why he didn't come to these meetings. He spent the time surfing readymade coasters and checking the intranet for engineer availability. He was just getting into the HR records to see who he'd have to lay off when they finally wound down and he sauntered out, giving his wolfy grin to all, with a special flash of it for Wiener. # "Death, I'd like a word, please?" "I'd be delighted." Death talked like someone who'd learned to talk by being a precocious reader. He over-pronounced his words, spoke in complete sentences, and paused at the commas. Sammy knew that speech pattern well, since he'd worked hard to train himself out of it. It was a geek accent, and it made you sound like a smart-ass instead of a sharp operator. You got that way if you grew up trying to talk with a grown-up vocabulary and a child's control of your speech-muscles; you learned to hold your chin and cheeks still while you spoke to give you a little precision-boost. That was the geek accent.