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"…nobody seems to understand that this economeme is falling. Tag yourself ended just as soon as it begin but we need a new meme." Twerk for Sloths stumbles around the desk, Poperah grimaces.
"Poperah, what the heck is this all about?”
“We need a new meme, sir.” He laughs, rolling his eyes and tilting up Poperah’s chin.
“…what?” He runs a hand through his blond hair and leans against the wall.
“The Economeme is going to fail, Twerk. We need. a new. meme.”
“It’s a bittersweet tragedy you think we need a new meme. Pepe, Fieri and Cena lasted us a good while…”
“...and Poot.” Poperah pipes up, Twerk for Sloths nods in agreement.
“...so why now? Why do we need a new meme?”
“It’s been a rough start in the year I’ll admit. Memes came and went, Tag Yourself being the recent one that seems to be showing rapid growth. Bernie vs Hillary is doing okay, but Buzzfeed might come again. They might strike and our defenses will falter."
“--what the frick frack are you saying? The Tag Yourself meme is doing well, we’re finally getting somewhere in the DOW Jones. Look!” Twerk for Sloths pulls down the board, projections show and Poperah squints to see it. “I’m Timmy!” Twerk for Sloths points to the Shrektastic butterfly.
Timmy:
-Lil bitch
-Bossy Pants
-Possibly Matt the Radar Technician
-A hoe
“You sure are. But goddamn! Buzzfeed is already posting about Tag Yourself.” Twerk for Sloths falls to his knees, clutches his chest and Poperah watches it all unfold. She crosses her legs. "If you stand for nothing, not memes, not presidents, not the school board…what do you fall for? The captain goes down with the ship, but there’s the rogue inmate who sinks us faster. Are you going to be the Captain? Or the inmate? The Economeme is FAILING. We cannot mess with these--These futile devices! It’s been a year since Kim K, Left Shark, and the goddamn dress. We cannot continue like this. Tag Yourself has lasted longer than 4 days, I’ll admit. But...is it good enough to hold us over until the next meme?”
"I hope you're right, Poperah. I really do."
Twerk for Sloths paces are the back alley behind the office building, Poperah's motorcycle leaned against the bricks. Donald Trump scurries across the floor, picking up pizza as he runs.
"Pizza rat, not again." Twerk for Sloths mumbles, rolling his eyes. "Where's Bitch U is Now Blessed?"
Bitch U is Now Blessed stumbles onto the pavement, Poperah kicks him over. "Go away Bitch U is Now Blessed, we've got important matters to talk about."
"Nah fammm hahahaha." Bitch U is Now Blessed laughs, Poperah is unamused.
"Go away before I fuck you up."
Bitch U is Now Blessed leaves, Donald Trump rat follows, only to be run over shamelessly by a hobo trying to steal Poperah's motorcycle. Slay Tayler engraved on the side. "Nah fam." Twerk for Sloths mentions, using his nerf gun to shoot the hobo who is actually 7 trees with faces. "Now about the economeme--" Twerk for Sloths picks up his sidebag, slinging it over his shoulder.
We've got a pressing matter to discuss.