MSM's Studio

Saith the Boss:

As a follow up to the leadership team meeting this week, please send me the anticipated ends for the contractors in your area. … Answer as creatively as you like.

[Actual useful answer redacted.]

D__ F____, during the closing bars of his first gig at the Grand Ole Opry, began to float above the soundstage. The tips of his boots scraped the snare drum head, tipped over a microphone, knocked the hat off of a stage manager. He rose on waves of applause out into the dark amphitheatre, above the heads of the aging country-western fans and the families tired and sunburned from their day at the amusement park. As the last echoes of steel guitar faded, so did Mr. F____. Some say he dispersed in a cloud of hydrocarbons, and is evenly deposited on the bricks and boards and curtains of the house. Others claim he merely rejected the limelight and still haunts the cheap seats, only visible in the reflection of lost sequins and cracked picks. A small, fervent few believe he ascended into some higher plane and now lives in the AM radio band, racing along the conductive Tennessee dirt, speaking to the blessed in monophonic whispers on the Interstates and in 3am Waffle House hallucinations.