What you are about to hear might remind you of something very, very stupid you said one time. Please don’t be worried, though. The other person was definitely in the wrong.

Hello and welcome to the Kakos Industries corporate shareholder announcements. At Kakos Industries, we help you to Do Evil Better. My name is Corin Deeth III, and I am CEO of Kakos Industries. I had an interesting meeting with Grace Rule earlier today. Usually, our meetings are of the I’m-doing-something-wrong-and-this-is-how-it-needs-to-change variety. Today was different. Grace seemed upset about something. I have never in all of the years I’ve known her seen an expression on her face at all, so sadness was a surprise. I’ve mentioned before that Grace has taken over the child-rearing responsibilities for Dark Mother Belladonnica in the absence of her mother. She’s even gone so far as to officially change the child’s name in our registry, which is not something that I thought you could do, especially when we at Kakos Industries had the partial naming rights. Now, her name is officially Dark Mother Belladonnica, and as far as any of our records indicate, she was never Karawack Handy. This is a rare move for Grace. She is a woman made up of many contradictions. For one, she is motherly, but dispassionate. It’s almost as if the concept of Evil is the child she cares so much for, and just by extension does she even work here or look out for any of us in the company. The meeting today, in slight contrast, was about Belladonnica and her apparent emotional state. You see, the finger paintings that we have been finding all over the Kakos Industries Main Branch here started out whimsical and brightly colored. She was finding herself, shareholders. Now, the paintings have stepped up in quality, but she appears to have entered her blue phase. It’s possible that she ran out of the other colors. I’m not even sure where she got these paints, to be honest. But at the same time, the images have taken on a certain loneliness. She depicts lonely figures in the darkness. A recurring theme is a small child taking up no more than an inch or two of wall space, and then yards and yards of darkness down the side of the hallway. Really, her ability to depict darkness is impressive. I mentioned that she’s only using blue paint right? With her fingers no less. And yet chiaroscuro is what she has achieved. Grace is not oblivious to the meanings of these paintings and she has attempted to socialize Belladonnica. Certainly, she is not the only Evil child we have. The daycare is filled with the children of employees, and Evil does not skip a generation. The problem is the magnitude of the child’s Evil, and also her apparent mental prowess. In many ways she is years ahead of the children her age, or what appears to be her age. We can’t forget that she was only born last year yet she appears to be three years old. In many other ways, she seems underdeveloped for her age. Her social skills are weak. She can’t understand the meaning of the other children. They don’t say what they mean, and they can’t understand how pointless and futile their every action is. Playing in the black sand sandboxes doesn’t seem particularly appealing when the weight of the Evil cosmos has found a resting place on your shoulders. Grace tells me that the child has tried. She has played. She has socialized. But Grace worries that the feeling of loneliness has not subsided in the child. I can say that my heart goes out to her. I, too, know what it is like being a child growing up in the halls of this building. I, too, know the feelings of loneliness when the other children don’t understand you. And most of my time here was spent learning to be the most effective CEO this company would ever have. It really didn’t feel like my life was mine until my grandfather died. I know that’s not the nicest thing to say. And the other children were… less than appealing. I spent most of my time in studies, or taking long naps. I’ve gotten off the topic, shareholders. We still don’t know what has caused Belladonnica to age in this fashion or to become such an entity of darkness. The DNA tests we’ve done indicate nothing bizarre, though I will admit that our standard for bizarre is, well, bizarre. You get used to seeing things around here. Some of them so beautiful that they make you ill, others so ugly that they fill you with a warm sense of reassurance. Truly, the child could have found her way into anything. It’s possible that she may have escaped from the daycare and found her way into something. It is unlikely that Dr. Dunkelwissen had anything to do with her transformation. He does hate children. If she were a tall dark-skinned goddess, that might be different. So perhaps she found her way into an old and forgotten technology that changed her. Perhaps she found a temporal rift that we had merely attempted to wallpaper over. Her origin in this sense has little effect on the situation, though. And the situation is that Grace finds herself, for perhaps the first time, ill-equipped to handle a task of great importance to her. I told her it would be okay, and that time would heal all wounds. For all we know, tomorrow Belladonnica could be 90, or a barn owl. I told her it was best to spend time with her when possible, and these things would sort themselves out. Of course, I don’t know if that’s true. Do I seem sorted out to you, shareholders? Of course I do. Because I am. The end.

When I entered the building today, I found more lawyers hurling legal precedents like lightning bolts at LARPing events. It would seem that we are making some progress in shaking up Melantha’s operations. I don’t want to say that she seems scared, but perhaps those she pays to feel her emotions are scared. Anyway, the onslaught continues.

Today’s broadcast is coming to you from Ariel’s Aerials brand new Boom Box Drone. This sound-producing quadrocopter makes sure that the owner is never without a catchy backing track, and a backing track that other people can hear. Ariel’s Aerials have spent years making these particular drones fly quietly enough that one’s music can be heard above the din of the engines. They’re pretty close. To be honest, we got these on kind of a deal because they are the model before everything is supposed to work perfectly. Anyway, you should be able to hear me well enough. And you also won’t be able to get away from my voice, no matter how hard you try. It will follow you. Forever. If you’re not a shareholder, I would start running now. The drone also has a gun and it’s an okay shot.

The Agriculture Festival happened. Just like it’s contractually obligated to. By contractually obligated, I mean that we have a contract with Galacton imports guaranteeing that they will have the opportunity to really stretch their hazardous vegetable legs. And that’s about all that happened. Most of us tuned in from a long distance away to watch the carnage. It became pretty apparent, though, that no one else was going to show up. Not Giant Ass Foods for Your Face, nor even the Thorgonites. At first I was concerned that the representatives from Galacton Imports would be upset at this showing. After all, destroying the other teams is what they live for, and, if I’m honest, what many of them die for. They did not seem to be upset, however. Not in the slightest. They merely set up their bundle of rhubarb like last year, and then beside that rhubarb, they placed a small tree. We don’t know what kind of tree it was. The Galacton employees then ran as fast as they could back to their spaceship. What we were left watching was the reigning champion of this festival being savagely and a little disrespectfully, ripped to shreds. Both plants grew many times their original size, but their offering from last year was just no match for the horrific might of what appeared to be some sort of outer space apple tree. While Galacton wasn’t actually competing with any of the other teams, we became quite certain that they had won this festival. Our contract with Galacton is not yet up, so we are curious and apprehensive to see what this festival looks like next year. In unrelated news, Galacton sent us an apple rhubarb pie. It was delicious. Except for the rhubarb.

We also had the Festival of Doom. I am almost certain that this was a joke played on us by those that came before. We had no idea what to do. Kakos Industries had no idea what to do. At a Doom Festival. That makes no sense. And yet it was true. Without any sort of guidance or real unifying theme, a lot of us just did the best we could, and I can’t say that it was the most successful thing we’ve ever done. The Division of Goats sacrificed a sheep. Sheep and goats are mortal enemies, if you didn’t know. The Division of General Violence fired their weapons, but not at anything specifically. The Division of Dionysia bitched loudly that they’re professionals and they shouldn’t have to deal with this shit. The Division of Insurmountable Fear did their best to doom a captive, but they’re expertise tends to end right around the time when someone is no longer afraid because they are dead, so… they did the best they could, as I said. The Division of Vision claimed that they could see it coming, but, in fact, they could not. Grace was already starting to show the weight of her emotions in the corner, so I don’t think she was watching us too closely. This event was not doom, but chaos. Expecting that things were not going to go well, I did hire a DJ to liven things up toward the end. That was pretty good. At the end I got on stage and said something like “hey, we’re all gonna die eventually!” which met a lukewarm response. I shrugged and let the DJ play us out. I can just see them giggling about this. I can see these old, Evil men just laughing their asses off. “Just wait ‘til they find the book!” Asshats. We don’t have to do it again next year, but I’ve said before we have a hard time stopping once we get started on something. You know, I might try to make this one of the best festivals, just to show those ancient motherfuckers that their plan was shit. I might even try to dig them up. Well hang ‘em by wires during the light show. I don’t give a fuck.

Ordinarily, we would have the water festival coming up. In the years that we’ve been doing this festival, nothing has ever changed. They’re always just doing great. They’re doing great right now. We got the whole place rigged up with old security cameras. They’re just fine. It’s great to remind ourselves that they’re down there and that sometimes Evil intentions bring about good, but a moment of silence is enough. According to our new oh-so-reliable rulebook, next week is the Earth Festival, where we say thanks to our planet for all of the Evil things that sprout from it. I’m not a philosopher, but I’m going to go ahead and say that that includes everything. We’re going to thank the Earth, and whatever additional celestial bodies you might happen to live on right now, for making life possible, and also death. The Division of Greenery will show us some of the plants we have in the various yard sections around the building, and how they help to make a more Evil life for all of us. Then we might just sit cross legged in the dirt and talk about nature and things like that. I’m assuming we all then go to get new suits made because the old ones have been soiled. I am told there is around a 30% chance of all of us ending the festival running through nature on some sort of sudden hallucinogenic trip. Well, we can all look forward to that, I suppose.

I know you are all excited for me to get into some of the news from our various divisions, but first, I received another letter from my grandfather. These have been coming more and more frequently lately. For those of you who are new shareholders, my grandfather is dead, but he did set up a system where I would receive these letters at certain important times. Some of them have been more informative than others. Let me read this one to you. “Corin, um… what was I going to say. Damn those are good drugs. Love ya, kiddo. Corin Deeth I.” Shareholders, I would like to emphasize that even after forgetting what he was going to say, and writing down a half-assed “I love you”, my grandfather still scheduled this to be delivered to me. He could have thrown it out and then went about his day doing whatever it is that he did. Wait, there’s an additional note on the bottom. There’s a dark patch with a circle around it, and written around that circle is “I spit here. Have the people in the lab figure out what I meant.” I guess I’ll do that. I’ll have the people in the lab science the shit out of this. You know what they’ll tell me? It’s old man spit. I think he misunderstood the level of science we would have by now. I don’t know.

Our Division of Mycology has discovered a new fungus growing deep in the basements of Kakos Industries. It is green with some purple spots. They say that it is previously undiscovered, and that it no doubt developed from some accidental spill or genetic manipulation accident. They tell me that the mushroom is as tasty as it is hallucinogenic, which is to say, not very. Way to bury the lead, guys. They say it might be lethal when improperly ingested, but they are still waiting for their test subject to pass to know for sure.

Let’s talk about the delightful couple down in the Division of Dams and Water Management. They are still resisting our advances, but we are persistent. We will do science on them of some sort. Science. Maybe we’ll mix up their DNA, make some clones, and then see if those two new people fall in love. That would be interesting. Or maybe we could transfer one of them to another division. Would they fall deeper in love? Grow apart? Murder each other? We don’t have backups made of these two yet, so if they do kill each other, we won’t be able to bring them back. They’ll just die. I, for one, would be heartbroken.

We have more good news from the Division of Incredibly Boring Things, one of my all-time favorite divisions. They have discovered a new tone of voice that makes even really exciting things sound incredibly boring. I’m not an expert yet, but I have been playing with it a bit. I am now going to read for you a description of an exciting laser fight in space using the voice. Ahem.
(noise spikes)
“Fluh, fluh.”
“Fluh, fluh fluh fluh.”
“Fluh fluh, fluh, fluh fluh fluh.”
“Fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh.”
“Fluh fluh. Fluh fluh fluh fluh.”
“Fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh.”
“Fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh fluh.”
“Fluh. Fluh fluh fluh.”
“Fluh fluh fluh.”
“Fluh. Fluh.”
“Fluh.”
“Did it work?”
“Yes, everything should be back to normal now. “
“Good. That was a close one. Let’s get back to work.”
“You got it, sir.”
(noise lowers)

Well, wasn’t that something. I nearly caught myself dozing off, and I’m the one reading.

Lucy Goosey has won the Ruin-a-Life Drawing. As a result, her nemesis will have his or her life ruined. Lucy originally wrote “A person of my choosing at a later date” on her submission. That doesn’t fly, so she selected the television weatherman Herbert Bone. We’re assuming this was because the television was on the weather report when we approached her. Well, I guess that’s just what comes with the territory when you’re a public personality, Herbert. The Wheel of Misery spun around just over 18 times before landing at “Followed by a small low-pressure zone”. That’s a new one on me, shareholders. At any rate Herbert will now be followed around by a personal low-pressure zone, which will likely result in a tiny rain cloud. It will undoubtedly rain on him even in the brightest and sunniest of days. For good measure, Lucy Goosey will just be kind of wet… all over. Best of luck. Congratulations again on the win.

It is said that time heals all wounds. Sometimes, it leaves a nasty scar. This is Things We’re Taking Credit for Now. As you know, we can’t be certain that anything we’re taking credit for is actually our work, but it’s a pretty good chance. This week, we’re taking credit for aerosol shaving cream, disposable razors, and those shaving snobs that insist on a straight razor. If you disagree with anything we’ve taken credit for, we will cut you down, and we will insist on a straight razor.

And that brings us to the end of the broadcast. You may now destroy your Boom Box Drone any way you see fit. Please note: It will fight back. You may come to understand the terror that is the constant threat of drone strikes. The numbers are next.

4×10^-3
8
4×10^-4
9
4×10^-5
10
4×10^-6
4
4
4
4

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 preparing for a Galaga competition. Special guest appearance in this episode by Sean Hennessy and Mike Hennessy. 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. Questions, comments, or a strong desire to collaborate? Drop us a line at inquiries@kakosindustries.com. That’s I-N-Q-U-I-R-I-E-S @ K-A-K-O-S-I-N-D-U-S-T- R-I-E-S dot com. If you like Kakos Industries, be sure to rate and review us on iTunes and Stitcher, and like us on Facebook.

If you’re feeling down after this broadcast, have you considered the warm tones of Peruvian flute playing?