The current corporate currency runs thus, and these things are invariably anecdotal:
I mentioned the corporate sponsorship we ponied up for the Super Bowel, the 200 tickets, the egregious shining of Velociman in distribution thereof, right? Well, in addition to the seats for customers in the Bud Zone we also have the corporate box. This is reserved for politicos, and such. There are only 25 seats in the box, and with the 14 slaves in livery serving pâté de foie gras it's a little too cramped for the run of the mill customer.
And yet I am told on good authority the NFL called, and asked if the Craven Corporate Entity would find a place for Leonardo DiCaprio in the box. What the everloving fuck? Don't they know that Leo, the eminence grise of the Polesmoking Set, travels with a party posse of at least six? I only travel with two: my dealer and my attorney.
Apparently the Entity agreed, and so they called back a day later and asked to place Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie in the clubhouse as well. The Craven Entity said No. The girls are too controversial. Wouldn't want to see a state senator getting blown on Super Bowl Sunday, eh?
And that is precisely why I should be running this operation. DiCaprio? Out. Fuck 'im. Paris and Nicole? Certainly. Scrub them down with lye, toss a little delousing powder on them, you have a decent party. They would make excellent naked footstools. Unfortunately, the Board of Directors refuses to return my urgent calls. Despite the fact that as a shareholder I'm just trying to get jiggy with the stock price. Leo ain't gonna get it done.