Plaztik's House of Urgery

(continued from page one)

	he first applicant Plaztik interviewed after his return was an attractive well-dressed woman in her thirties.
	"I feel an urge for size D cups."

"Cups?" Plaztik said.

"Cups!" the lady answered while pushing up on her breasts. Shocked, Plaztik dismissed her without further ado. "What's so wrong with that?" she yelled as she was being led away. "You’ve granted the same wish to all my other friends."

Unfazed, Plaztik signaled for the next petitioner, an aging movie star. "I sense the urge to be free of these hanging jowls, this . . . this neck that makes me look like a turkey." Astounded, Plaztik sent her packing.

But so it continued. "I need a thinner waist and tighter chin. I need to be rid of these ugly eye bags, to grow more hair across my scalp." A young man came in wearing only a low slung pair of jockey shorts. "I need a thicker—" "Stop!" Plaztik yelled before his assistants could see his face turn red.

Perplexed by the seemingly endless stream of frivolous requests, Plaztik questioned whether eradicating disease and alleviating human suffering were still as valued as they had been before his ill-advised sabattical.

"There’s no money in that game," the accountant said to him once they were back in his private office. "Besides, you're the big shot with special powers. Me, I had to scrounge just to make ends meet. Our balance sheet was on fire and we were burning through our money. I had to reinvent this business around the mortal skills I had."

Plaztik's mouth dropped open.

"And don't give me any of that self-righteous indignation," said the accountant. "Even you couldn't believe that lavish vacation of yours was being funded off measly fees we might extract from the sick and dying."

Queasy in his stomach, Plaztik lost all interest in maintaining what had gone from his simple humanitarian project to a complicated for-profit venture.

Heavy of heart, Plaztik put the House of Urgery up for sale.

A deal was completed quickly and netted him a surprisingly nice return . . .

. . . which he used to establish a non-profit media company for maverick writers and illuminators burdened by the urge to diverge.

Plaztik phoned the bewildered Aladdin and begged for his forgiveness. The conversation did not go well.

Aladdin finally agreed to stick Plaztik back into his cramped brass quarters under lock and key on the condition that he promise to forever after refrain from abuse of his specials powers.

Plaztik consented readily but was never seen again. Some believe that the old Aladdin, angry with Plaztik for letting, so to speak, this other genie out of the bottle, put the saddened magician away for good.

The new owner, Narcissus, Inc. (formed by the merger of Kosmesis, Ltd., with Gread & Co.), demonstrated the good business sense to retain the original company's name, although they did cut it down in length to give it a catchy ring.

Through the use of clever marketing, the company managed to generate a strong demand for services where almost no need had existed previously.

The enterprise became enormously profitable with franchises in nearly every corner of every continent, even in those blighted countries where the provision of basic medical care was far beyond the reach of tight social budgets.

Predictably, imitators emerged en masse, flooded the marketplace, and confused consumers with their use of shameless and endless self-promotion.

Over the years, the business name of the original concern came to be equated with the entire industry of cookie-cutter copycats,
in much the same way that Kleenex came to stand for any generic version of facial tissue.

Even today, you can page through any telephone directory or newspaper until you come across those slightly embarrassing sections chocked full of ads for investment advisors peddling annuities to seniors and attorneys chasing ambulances.

Somewhere between them all, you will surely find a solicitation for