Cyrano sits at the head of a conference table in a dimly lit board room. He's well groomed, professionally dressed, but his face is that of an undertaker. Across from him a homeless junkie, a demented clown, a disfigured transvestite, and a twitching research scientist, sit in agitated anticipation. Finally Cyrano looks them over and addresses the group.

"Listen, we've been together for a long time. But this team has failed to achieve the modest goal that was our charge, world domination...Addiction."

The junky does his best to focus his eyes.

"You have a long history of very poor decision making. You're also really bad with money. While we chose to get into pharmaceuticals, we had no idea you'd be part of the package. At any rate, recent reorganization of the company has made you a useless liability. You're fired...PT and SD."

The transvestite and the demented clown cringe.

"There was a time when you kept our little start up safe but look at what you've become. You're clearly stunting the growth of our organization by failing to adapt. Since you cannot let go of the past, we're letting go of you...OCD."

The research scientist was already sitting at perfect attention.

"You're work is perfect. Too perfect. You work so slowly that you grind the whole place to a halt. I'll be sure to dot every I and cross every T on your pink slip...I thank all of you for your contributions over the years and I'm sorry about the red button."

The scientist squeals as Cyrano produces a small remote. He presses a shiny red button and each dejected illness is immediately incinerated by jet engines mounted flush in the ceiling.

As the group burns Cyrano leans back in his chair and cackles maniacally at the heavens.

Cyrano