The board of directors negotiated with the oil magnate. Sylvia wore a black suit and said, “Mr. Baleen, we want The Fucking Masterpiece.” Jonathan had a hangover and said, “We will give you the Pacific Ocean. It is worth a lot of money.” Deborah was horny and said, “Sign here.” Mr. Baleen signed there; he had plans for the Pacific Ocean. The board of directors drank champagne. “A toast,” Jonathan said, “to The Fucking Masterpiece!” They toasted and had an orgy and ran naked through the museum, tossing jars of sulfuric acid at old works of art. Mr. Baleen had plans for the Pacific Ocean. The board of directors rented a battleship and sailed it to the Gulf of Mexico. The Fucking Masterpiece floated on the water and was visible from space. The board of directors hitched The Fucking Masterpiece to the battleship and towed it out of the Gulf of Mexico. Sondra and Charles fell overboard and drowned in the Panama Canal. Deborah had never had sex with Charles, inexplicably. The battleship reached the Pacific Ocean; it turned north. Mr. Baleen had plans for the Pacific Ocean. The board of directors put The Fucking Masterpiece on display. The Fucking Masterpiece filled the museum; it dripped from the ceiling. Visitors wore galoshes and carried umbrellas. The board of directors drank champagne. The Fucking Masterpiece dripped into their champagne glasses. They drank The Fucking Masterpiece. And Mr. Baleen had plans for the Pacific Ocean.
He drowned himself in it.
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