On Monday he ate through two union organizers, but he was still hungry.
On Tuesday he ate through a promising start-up’s IPO, securing his company’s dominance for at least the next five years; he would have to send a thank-you gift to Myers for the inside scoop, nothing traceable, maybe some bond certificates, but he was still hungry.
On Wednesday he ate through his employee's 401ks, but he was still hungry.
On Thursday he ate through his wife’s trust fund; they hadn’t signed a prenup; he knew she always assumed SHE was the one who was going to rip the rug out, to take advantage of HIM, the fool, although now he would have to find a way to get rid of her (preferably for good…) before she filed for divorce, but he was still hungry.
On Friday he ate through three interns’ requests for letters of recommendation, but he was still hungry.
On Monday he ate through five audit requests from the SEC, he’d like to see them try sending their little chickenshit audits again, he’ll make sure their descendants for ten generations never know a day off food stamps, but he was still hungry.
On Tuesday he ate through four letters from deadbeat cousins, but he was still hungry.
On Wednesday he ate through a long-time business partner who tried to double-cross him, at first he was like, “McAllister fuckin said that? No goddamn way would he try to pull that shit on me. What with all the dirt I have on him? That vacuum-nosed, herpes-crotched, washed-up nobody? I made him. He’d be nothing without me!?” But McAllister tried it, the bastard, though really he would have done the same, but he wouldn’t have fucked it up, that’s where he was different from all the pretenders out there, the boot-lickers, the coat-tail riders. What was it exactly that made him different? How is one to say? Maybe he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, some things are beyond explanation, like all the stars in the sky, shining just for him, but he was still hungry.
On Thursday he ate through his mahogany desk by accident, but he was still hungry.
On Friday he ate through two environmental impact reports, but he was still hungry.
On Saturday he ate through his new 22-year-old girlfriend’s monstera plant; it was so lush and delicious and it reminded him of the old days back before he needed to eat all this bullshit just to feel alive, and he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and saw the eager caterpillar new-recruit deep down in there somewhere, and a tear almost fell from his eye, but he was still hungry.
On Sunday he ate through a hammock of cocaine, but he was still hungry.
On Monday he ate through one hostile takeover, one issue of Forbes 30-under-30, one Congressional subpoena, one muffin, one Japanese businessman, one stock buy-back, one DVD of HBO’s Succession Season 2, one Grand-jury injunction, one vote of no-confidence, one rehab stint, and one rock bottom. He had a stomach ache.
He was no longer a “little” caterpillar executive. So he built a small house, called a cocoon tax haven. He stayed inside for two fiscal quarters.
When he finally nibbled his way out, he was no longer a caterpillar, had become a beautiful butterfly Senator.