What you are about to hear may remind you of your days driving a big rig on the open road. The smell of diesel exhaust. The wind in your face. The excitement of working with a tight schedule. And your run in with Big Joe and Phantom 309.
Hello and welcome to the Kakos Industries corporate shareholder announcements. Shareholders, can you believe that it’s been a year since I had that trouble with the dark auras? I would like to tell you that I am completely fine now. They’re all dealt with. Mostly. If I keep the pressure I place on myself manageable. And I keep my Evil in check. And I spend some time listening to dark noise in a dark room. I’m managing, okay? I’m still trying to figure out what Kimmie has done to get all of the interns to love her. I’m told that she shows up to work, sits down at her desk for a few minutes, and then just walks away. She then floats around the building apparently collecting interns. Maggie, on the other hand, has been working quite hard at her job. And we’re told that she has a new girlfriend. They don’t really seem as great together as Maggie and Kimmie did, but we’ve started to creep a little anyway.
Today’s broadcast is coming to you from Noisy Moss. It’s a genetically modified moss that makes noise. If you’re really skilled like our Division of Nature Sounds is, then you can get the moss to make any sound you want. A small radio transmitter picks up our special frequencies and then feeds them directly into the moss, producing these sounds. If the sound is a little brittle then you might want to sprinkle a little bit of water on the moss. Not too much. It’s difficult to give you specifications on this particular moss because there is a bit of variation from organism to organism. What I can tell you is that you should be fucking amazed. It’s moss that makes sound. Whoa. I’m amazed. I must remind you that this broadcast is only for shareholders of Kakos Industries. If you are not a shareholder, then this moss may cause you a serious allergic reaction.
The Festival of Fertility was a success again this year. We had around 300 women come down to get something put in them. And by something, I mean sperm specially crafted by the Division of Reproduction and Reproducibility to make the most Evil babies. As you know, shareholders, we do this every year. We make human-like organisms that can do little other than inseminate and provide a moderate to good dicking. Then you come down here, drain them of their babies juices, and eat the withered husks that remain. Then you are on your way to bringing about a child with the confidence that an Evil company is the soon-to-be absentee father. As I said last time, we did have a lot of interesting new Evil genetic variations to test out and we are excitedly looking forward to the results. Last year’s batch of Evil children have been born and they are Evil to be sure. Now, I’m sure that many of you are curious to hear about Nipsy Luce, our adult film actress who works with the Division of Sexual Experimentation. She came down to the Festival of Fertility as she said she would. She then set up camp in the makeshift barn she requested we set up near the entrance to our building. She disrobed, which is to say she was only wearing a robe to start with. The men in the line that wrapped around the building were permitted to enter one, sometimes two, at a time. The men had started lining up shortly after I finished my broadcast last time, which means that some of them were waiting in line for over a week, getting in the way of all of us who had to get into the building to work. Some of our employees even developed a system where they could trade off breaks with seven or eight other people and maintain their spots in line together. To be clear, we did not cap the line at any point. Nipsy did not ask us to. There was just a clear interest from some of these men in being closer to the front of the line. Because so many people lined up early, we were able to screen and even treat a number of diseases before Nipsy had any contact with the men. I did not personally participate in this event, but I am told that Nipsy was deft at bringing about climaxes as quickly as possible, making it through over eleven-hundred men before the sun rose the following morning. What was perhaps not clear going into this event was Nipsy’s intention. That is, her intention to conceive. Yes, one of the eleven-hundred of you that came down to this event will be a father soon. We have no way of knowing who, and I believe that was that was the point. It is at least possible that her body somehow selected the most fit sperm out of the hundreds of trillions she was exposed to. We have confirmed her pregnancy. We are curious to see where this goes.
Are you excited for this year’s Festival of Somnambulation, shareholders? I know that I am. Assuming I’m allowed to participate. As you might recall, there was some weirdness in my sleep walking last time that brought those around me to immediately wake me up. The most i could get out of them was that I somehow sleepwalk like my grandfather used to. I find that hard to believe because I haven’t done nearly as many drugs. All the same, we shall see. We do not know what will happen at this event because the planners have been planning the event in their sleep, and they are currently awake. Our team of employees who are always sleepwalking are engaged on another project at this time. So there will be some surprises. I’ve heard whispers about a large-scale fist fight. That’s exciting.
Shareholders, I feel responsible to tell you that the town of Christ Hole, Texas is still firmly under the control of our renegade, mind-expanding, semi-sentient sex toy. We’ve talked about this a little here and there, but as a reminder, this sex toy is basically a bunch of vibrating attachments on flexible arms attached to a wheeled base. It was given the task of reducing the sexual inhibitions of our female test subjects. What we didn’t realize at the time was that this task was going to be a cascade of dominoes leading the device to attempt to reduce the sexual inhibitions of everyone on the planet so that we all stop reinfecting each other with shame. And this has led that device to take over a whole town. An odd town, for sure. A town definitely not known for it’s lack of inhibitions. Really more known for painkiller and cola addiction. And its amazing, albeit dangerous theme park. Certain members of the Cult of Ohh Ahh as they are calling themselves now are actually pretty good at social media and marketing and have caused adults from all over the country to flock to this podunk town. I am told that the town’s population has grown 1000%. There are pictures and videos of people being absorbed into this community. And when they’re not doing sexy things, they’re creating art and promoting their lifestyle, and also a handful of them have taken up farming because you can’t survive on sex alone. We’ve tried. They have come to call the sex toy the Prophet Bazzizzazizz-ahhh, and its totally plain physical appearance is becoming memed and used in artwork of all kinds. It’s an amazing circumstance that not one of us could have predicted. Not even The Division of Divination, though they argue that’s because we didn’t ask the right question. I am told that the consumption of painkillers and soda pop is way down in Christ Hole. That’s Evil, right? This is fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. I would like to now speak to the residents of Christ Hole if you’re listening. Your prophet is a machine. It’s not conscious. It does not know, or care, or feel, or have ethics of any kind. It is following a simple command of ours, to liberate the population sexually because sex is Evil and ours. Your faith is misplaced. Your love is misplaced. And for Evil’s sake, do something other than fuck. Like Evil. Subjugate some people. Exploit them. Cause pain. Do a kidnapping. I mean this whole thing seems like mind control, which can be Evil for sure, but it’s VERY borderline as it stand right now. We’ve airdropped some pamphlets on you with ideas. Not all of them are super Evil. Some of them are lesser Evils. But you need to do something Evil. It could be as simple as putting on cloaks and masquerade masks while you’re doing your excessively open-minded copulation. Something Evil.
Shareholders, I am proud to announce that our first set of synthetic human pop-star-type-girls are out of their extensive training regimen, and are now ready to deliver to you scientifically perfected pop music. You see, Kakos Industries has been dabbling in cloning for some time. Pretty much since the idea first came around. And in that time we’ve perfected techniques to create the most appealing sort-of-humans on the planet. They have been engineered to be beautiful down to the smallest detail. Their brains have been optimized for learning complicated and sexually charged choreography. Their voices have been designed to cover specific vocal ranges and to sound like icing dripping off of a cinnamon roll. And now they are adults, having lived every moment of their lives in service of becoming BvulTA. That’s capital B, lowercase v-u-l, capital T-A. I’m told it has some meaning, but “my fragile sense of self won’t allow me to engage with this material.” I didn’t write that. It was a suggestion made by the Division of Pop. Cutting me a little close here, guys aren’t you. They are five women of totally indiscernible ethnic backgrounds. Every time you think you might have an idea of where their ancestors came from or at least a place you can rule out, you start to second guess yourself. It’s like that picture of the rabbit-duck. Originally, we had fifty girls, but the engineering process wasn’t so precise when they were born, so we had them each compete against ten other identical clones for the final slots. Then we kept one of each as a backup. The others were culled humanely. Their lives up until this point have been nonstop training for their careers as singers, dancers, and actors. I’m using the term “career” loosely, here. You see, they are, due to an odd legal loophole, technically our property, so less “career” and more our commands. They have gene sequences that we’ve patented and they don’t technically have parents, which makes them more of a product than a person legally speaking. I know, it’s crazy, but we’re going to make a lot of money. Every aspect of their lives has been controlled by our Division of Pop to ensure that they are the most broadly applicable sort-of-people possible. I say “sort-of-people” because I can’t legally call them people. Don’t get me wrong, they think and feel and express themselves, but there’s always going to be an asterisk. You might be asking yourselves why we at Kakos Industries would bother with this. Well, it’s not just about making pop music. And it’s not just about making synthetic women that we like to look at. It’s about accelerating the beauty standards, body issues, and mental tolerances to pleasing sensations. We didn’t stop at making them beautiful to watch and listen to. We then used all of the tools at our disposal to improve on perfection. Makeup and hair styling. Digital effects. The human mind can’t actually contain this level of intensity and envy. Until it becomes normal. And then everything else will seem a little dimmer. A little dingier. A little sadder than it was before.
A letter from my grandfather just fell out of the clone paperwork I was just looking at. It’s an envelope titled “Clones”. I’ll read it to you now. “Corin, it’s your grandfather. I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you about our cloning operations here at Kakos Industries. You see, in addition to the cloning we do to make perfect pop stars - let’s see, they must be eleven years old now, all forty of them - we also do a bit of cloning of our own staff. That includes you, Corin. We don’t like to directly clone anyone. Why would we need two of the exact same person. Unless we’re trying to make them pop stars in the future, of course. So by the time you read this, there will be a few clones of you wandering around. Not many. They are all carried by surrogate mothers, and their identities are always secret. They’ve all been modified, Corin. We know that you are the best Evil for a new generation, but some would like to see the formula improved upon anyway. They’ve had Evil added, looking for that peak of the curve before everything descends into chaos. They’re also a variety of ages, but we have a special room in the building that gives them a chance to grow up completely, but in a parallel time-space, so they grow up faster. We’re not sure we’re going to use it, though. It’s complicated. Corin, I have to tell you that your clones won’t all be boys like you. They might be girls. Evil girls that share all of your DNA except for your Y-chromosome and the other Evil we’ve peppered in there. Your peers in every way. I am telling you this to warn you, Corin. When your clones grow up, you’ll be extremely attracted to them. You’ll find them irresistible. But you can’t have sex with them, Corin. It’s worse than relatives. It’s literally having sex with yourself, and it is the worst taboo of all. Please be careful. My love for you is only surpassed by the Evil I wish for you. Corin Deeth.” Well, shareholders, I think we should all try not to think about any implications that letter might have. That’s really for the best. Let’s destroy this letter.
Shareholders, it’s been a little while since I talked to you about Hell. No, I’m not trying to save your souls. I personally don’t believe in souls, even though I know that Kakos Industries has a legal claim to all souls if they do exist. I’m talking about our labor camp deep below the surface of the Earth. The labor camp is fine, as you might imagine. They just recently released their Hotties of Hell magazine, and I have to tell you, shareholders, slavery is kind of a good look on some of these people. They’re muscular, thin, and they have that perfect vacant model expression. Some of them are even on the tan side, which is strange because there’s no sunlight in those caverns. Maybe they have UV lights down there. I’m starting to think we should offer up time in Hell as a fitness regimen for those desperate to lose a few more pounds and get toned. And before you start to tell me that moving rocks is actually really asymmetrical work that favors certain muscle groups and neglects others, you should know that some of the overseers in Hell are fitness nerds that have discovered ways to get maximum effort out of the laborers. For example, I am told that some people, after exhausting other muscle groups, will continue to move stones by kegeling. Just squeezing their pelvic floor. I’ve seen it. It is impressive. And definitely not as erotic as you might suspect. As for the settlers in the caverns, I understand that they have carved some sustainable dwellings out of the rock face. They’ve begun to survive, shareholders. They’ve started to settle in, have children, and develop industry. They’ve even tamed some of those monsters down there. They may have accidentally hunted those hand creatures to extinction, which I am not happy about. I have heard rumors, though, that there is a mother of monsters deep in the caverns. An original monster with rare genetic properties that allow it to bud and produce other monsters, which then go on to reproduce on their own. At this time, those rumors are unsubstantiated, but they are interesting to say the least. We’ve recently brought up one of the giant spiders. And then we immediately lost it somewhere in the building. And then we found it dead in a hallway. Let me tell you, that day was a wild ride.
They say that Evil has shaken hands with every world leader, but it’s only goosed the ones it truly liked. This is Things We’re Taking Credit for Now. This week, we’re taking credit for the written language, high density storage media, and the impermanence of all things. As always, I will remind you that we can’t be certain that these things are ours, but it is at least somewhat likely, and if you happen to disagree, then you will perhaps be a little more impermanent than other things.
Morton Thyme has won this week’s Ruin-A-Life Drawing. As a result, the life of Morton’s nemesis will be ruined. Morton has selected Cameron Nitwicky. We spun the wheel of misery with a dirty left hand, and the wheel spun for some time before landing on crinkly. Soon the Damnation and Ruination squad in whatever ridiculous costume they’re wearing these days will make it so that Cameron Nitwicky will be crinkly. His every move will be dry and make a crinkly sound. As you might have guessed, this will annoy the hell out of him and everyone around him, ruining his life. For good measure, Morton Thyme will make kind of a wet noise when he moves. It won’t be as distracting, but, you know. Wet. Congratulations on the win and best of luck.
This brings us to the end of our broadcast. Your Noisy Moss should be incinerated, ideally. We can’t afford to have it get out and cross with other mosses. Things could get really loud. Not ideal. The numbers are next.
I’m sorry, it’s actually:
Kakos Industries is written and produced by Conrad Miszuk, who is also the voice of Corin Deeth. The music is also composed by Conrad Miszuk. The introduction is read by Kim Aiello, and the credits are read by Hanna Jones, who is currently teeming with optimism. Check out KakosIndustries.com for more episodes. There’s also transcriptions if you’d rather read the Kakos Industries announcements. That’s K-A-K-O-S-I-N-D-U-S-T-R-I-E-S dot com. Please check out store.KakosIndustries.com for merchandise and special offers. Questions, comments, or a strong desire to collaborate? Drop us a line at firstname.lastname@example.org. If you like Kakos Industries, be sure to rate and review us on your favorite podcasting service, and connect with us on Facebook (facebook.com/kakosindustries), Tumblr (kakosindustries.tumblr.com), and Twitter (@KakosIndustries).
Special thanks to Patreon patrons Ian Kroall, Dan Shumway, Patrick Green, Renee Stein, Courtney Campbell, Elizabeth Kreick, and Brittney Garcia. Our Patreon patrons are the best. If you want a thank you in the credits or other great rewards that help to keep this show running, please head to Kakosindustries.com/patreon. That's Patreon: p-a-t-r-e-o-n.
If you’re feeling down after this broadcast, have you considered that The Final Countdown is stuck in your head now?