Sucker Born Every Minute (eBook)

CHAPTER 1

P. T. Barnum and Freud
Walk Into A Bar

“Bobby, do you believe in Bigfoot?” Frenchy asked. Zilm and Frenchy were lounging about on the couch, surfing through YouTube videos and munching junk food.

Zilm was a 40-year-old under-achiever, at least he saw himself that way. He was always hungry and on the lookout for the next rung on the ladder up, and he did not care what it was, as long as it was upwards. Fit and trim, close-cropped blond hair and blue eyes, he was the Aryan poster child.

Frenchy was slim and attractive but had that look of a woman who had been through a period in her life that was self-abusive. In Frenchy’s particular case, it had been cocaine. She was reformed now but had no airs of self-righteousness as some of the rehabilitated have.

She had gravitated toward a partnership with Zilm. Fraud and crime fascinated them both, and they practiced it, but so far, it had not got them where they wanted to be. Something always seemed to go wrong. They were well-suited to one another.

“No, I don’t believe in Bigfoot.” Zilm answered.

“Some people do, actually lots of people do. People that haven’t even seen him.” Frenchy informed.

“Well, I know why they haven’t seen him.” Zilm answered.

“Really? Why is it then?” Frenchy said.

“Because he isn’t there. The only place he is is in their imagination.” Zilm said.

“They just believe it?” Frenchy said.

“Exactly.” Zilm said.

“It’s on TV, you know. I watch those Bigfoot shows.” Frenchy admitted.

“Well, ever notice that the Bigfoot never shows up? And ever notice how no bones have ever been found?” Zilm said.

“I know. I keep waiting for something.” Frenchy lapsed into thought on the subject.

Zilm was at another crossroads in his life, barely with a grip on the middle class ladder. He felt his talents were being wasted, and yet, he needed to pay the rent, taking jobs that most people should be thrilled to have, however, they left him feeling empty somehow…not living up to his imagined potential.

It was paycheck to paycheck each month at a regular job for Zilm. Though his job paid wages that were the average, it was a struggle to make ends meet and saving was out of the question. He worked for his pal Rick, picking up discarded toys, furniture, appliances and whatever else cluttered the garages and yards of households who sought their services-junk removal in other words. Every household that shops at a Big Box store needs to make room for more junk; it’s the rules.

“The thing is, if what you say is true and there is no Bigfoot, then that guy is making bank off a lie.” Frenchy emerged from her thoughts.

“Basically, yes.” Zilm said.

“Anybody can do that.” Frenchy stated in a matter-of-fact manner.

Now it was Zilm’s turn to think about it. He added up the Benjamins in his head: if you get a thousand believers to donate $200, that’s $200,000. All it takes is a little song and dance…give them what they want to believe… and presto! The money comes in.

“Anybody, you say, French?” Zilm said, engrossed in thought.

“Anybody. That orange guy collected 225 million dollars in two months from people who thought he won an election that he lost by 11 million ballots.” Frenchy said.

“Seriously?” Zilm wasn’t too political, didn’t even vote.

“Yeah, and he didn’t have to account for a dime of the money.” Frenchy.

“Sweet; a big, bold lie that was worth millions.” Zilm was pondering and before long, he spoke again.

“I think we need to look into this, Frenchy. There’s a rich vein of revenue out there. A legal and renewable resource.” The wheels were turning in Zilm’s head.

“Ýeah Bobby, renewable-I like how it sounds. We could sure use some of those ‘renewables’ around here; real green ones. What’s the resource?” Frenchy asked.

“Stupidity.” Zilm replied.

* * *

Zilm was driving down the freeway the next day, and he was consumed by the thought of the possibilities of donations – through the internet. The math possibilities were beyond comprehension, and they stretched on toward infinity.

He was on his way to a stop on the junk route. It was a good job, but it certainly was not the path to wealth. He knew there were bigger fish to fry for him, real big fat ones. Frenchy had put the bug in his head. With the internet, the path to wealth might just be achieved with he help of lots and lots of little fishes.

Sitting in the truck alongside him was his co-worker, Jesus.

“You like this job, Jesus?” Zilm asked.

“Es okay.” Jesus replied.

‘Yeah, it’s okay I guess, but I can’t help but think lately about the fact that people are making millions through the internet.” Zilm said.

“Millions? What millions?” Jesus said.

“Well, this guy says what people want to believe on TV, then they throw money at him.” Zilm said.

“Stupid people get fooled.” Jesus said.

“Yeah, and there are lots of ‘em.” Zilm replied.

“Internet is a wonderful thing for some peoples.” Jesus remarked.

“Well, wonderful or not, I just gotta find an angle and work it.” Zilm supposed.

“You be fine, amigo.” Jesus said.

“Like, before the internet there was no JUNKRIK.com.” Zilm said.

“No Junk-Ricky?” Jesus was surprised.

“No. Now people click…and POOF – a clean garage is ready for more stuff.” Zilm said.

“A good job for us.” Jesus.

“I noticed your side-hustle on eBay, Jesus, re-selling the good junk. Good for you.” Zilm said.

“My sister sells stuff on the internet-Etsy.” Jesus informed.

“Heck, that’s how I hooked up with Frenchy; on the internet.” Zilm realized.

“You even get woman on eBay?” Jesus.

“No, no. A dating site.” Zilm said.

“Free 2 day returns like Amazon?” Jesus said.

They cruised on in silent thought and when they arrived at their destination; stuff was piled in the driveway.

“Look at this pile of sh*t.” They could open their own Walmart in the driveway.” Zilm was visibly disgusted.

“I get dibs on that Big Wheel.” Jesus said.

Plastic toys and old clothes littered the pavement. Jesus poked at an old TV, once on the cutting edge of TV technology, now made obsolete by a new flat screen that hung in the TV room.

The equation of the economy: consume, discard, consume. The endless discards had to go somewhere and JUNKRIK became the enabling vehicle. JUNKRIK was now an integral part of the consumerism/ landfill symbiosis. It was no wonder that Rick’s business was going great at dumping people’s old stuff to make way for people’s new stuff. In fact, Rick was thinking about branching out with a storage facility, for those who couldn’t part with their extra “stuff” and will pay monthly rent to keep it.

“Good TV, maybe?” Jesus said, poking through the load, spotting a TV.

“Set it aside then, take it home.” Zilm responded.

“I sell this on eBay, no problem.” Jesus replied.

“Well, whatever. Let’s get this stuff loaded, I gotta be home by three.” Zilm said.

They went to the transfer station to dump the load and got waved into a special loading bay where the trash got dumped. A giant loader was pushing the enormous pile around toward a tractor trailer headed for the landfill. Off to the side was a guy selecting items from the trash and putting them in a truck for resale. All the good stuff was being high-graded. His box van was almost full of two by fours, appliances, furniture, old windows and doors.

Zilm was getting home early today; he had a side hustle he was working on. He was going to form his very own non-profit for establishing Sasquatch as a thing to be protected in the wild. The fact that he knew that Sasquatch was nowhere to be found helped him. Frenchy was on the couch doing her nails.

‘Hi Bobby.” She said as Zilm walked in the door.

“Hi French, what’s doin?” He replied.

“Oh, nothing much, just putting a gloss on the old nails.” She replied.

“Nice.” Zilm said and sat down beside her.

They were silent until Zilm spoke.

“It occurred to me today that there are two kinds of people who believe.” Zilm said absently.

“Yeah? How’s that?” Frenchy replied.

“Well, there are those that believe because they see it’s true, and those that believe just to believe in something.” Zilm explained.

“Like Jesus? Nobody sees Jesus, but lots of people believe in him.” Frenchy said.

“No, not exactly. With Jesus, people believe in a way of being and most don’t even expect to actually see him-until they’re dead, of course. I’m thinking more of an idea that people want to believe.” Zilm explained.

“Like those Q-anon types? The ones that said the pedos were in the basement eating pizza and molesting children? Those kinda believers?” Frenchy asked.

“Now you’re on the right track. Unbelievable stuff packaged up for those that want to believe it’s true.” Zilm said.

“Why do you suppose they want to believe that pizza-stuff, anyway?” Frenchy asked.

“I...