He was like a wizened and cunning fox. A knower of truths; a mastermind, possessor of a brain so nuanced and complex it seemed implausible for lesser men to have exercised sufficient intellectual cultivation to keep up…lest they had the temerity to try. For if they did (try that is), they would be instantly rebuked. He was, after all, operating on a cerebral plateau at the very pinnacle of human consciousness and thus, to all intents and purposes, he was (in his mind), a fucking god.
And to compound this enviable percipience of all things, he had perfected an aura (underpinned by a view held by his peers that his judgment was somehow paramount), that meant he could use this perceived erudition as a sort of invisibility cloak, a reality curtain, a shroud to hide what he was really like.
In a way he was a salesman. Peddling not a product or a service but a persona; a solid gold, triple A-grade persona…the all knowing, big daddy of decision making. Every opinion, every suggestion and proposal other than his own, was irrelevant; an infuriating noise and an annoyance to be subjugated. It was his way or the highway.
Those who possessed even a modicum of sensibility, however, were well aware that his aloof, confrontational style was merely a diversionary tactic designed to cloud and confuse; a way to divert the dogs from the scent. And employing this rather Machiavellian strategy meant he could get by not knowing very much and doing very little. A masterstroke, he thought.
However, the cunning fox inevitably always gets caught and of course, he ultimately succumbed to the happy happenstance of inevitability. Although he wasn’t a fox. He was just an overweight, lazy twat.
