Featuring Kristen DiMercurio!

in which you see some pretty lights, you get angry at the angry, you may have laid an egg, you prepare to get your genes all mixed up, more strangeness at the Division of Erotic Experiences, we may have created a black hole, and Brit Brit Britney Brit “wins” the Ruin-A-Life Drawing. Do Evil Better.

Transcription:

Hello and welcome to the Kakos Industries corporate shareholder announcements. At Kakos Industries, we help our clients, most humans, and even sometimes small animals to Do Evil Better. My name is Corin Deeth III, and I am CEO here at Kakos Industries. Shareholders, in the last announcements, I told you that there was no war on Anti-Celebration here at Kakos Industries. I believed, like many reasonable people, that it was a ridiculous idea. We support Anti-Celebration here at Kakos Industries. In fact, I think we may have invented it, which is why I found it to be so strange that anyone would consider there to be a war on it. I mean, aren’t the holidays hard on all of us? They’re so exciting at first. Sometimes we go home. Other times we are home and others come to visit us. There’s the promise of feasts and gift exchanges. Seeing people that make us happy, and also inexplicably frighten us. It’s a time of intense emotions, and it is immediately followed by a time of sparse feelings of any kind. Winter continues if you’re in the geographic north. And things turn gray and lifeless. A few scattered holidays, but nothing to get excited over. For that reason, isn’t it appropriate to reject at least some part of this arrangement? To Anti-Celebrate? Well, it seems that, as with most of the best things, Anti-Celebration has been infiltrated by extreme ideology, which has, I am told, fucking ruined it for everyone else. First it was about taking a break from the holidays. But then, for some it became about shunning the holidays entirely. Then some devout Anti-Celebrators began to critically judge those who celebrated, or at least celebrated part time. Anti-Celebration became less about getting away from the holidays when you needed to, and it became more about destroying celebration. Most of this has gone on behind the scenes, and I can say for certain that it was easy to miss. Even in the reports I got from the Society of Creative Anti-Celebration, I couldn’t detect the changing tides. So it seems that some in Kakos Industries have taken up the cause of ruining the days of the anti-celebrators by whatever means necessary, up to and including minor mischievous harassment. You know, toy guns with foam darts. Envelopes filled with fake snow. Being hit by large foam candy canes. So, in a sense, there is a war on Anti-Celebration. And they kind of deserve it. We’ll try to get this resolved by next year.

Today’s broadcast is coming to you from a firework that was launched through your incoming projectiles window, or another window, and it is now threatening to detonate at any moment. Sparks are flying from it, and also, the sounds of this broadcast. I do apologize if you’re struggling to hear my voice over the sound of all of the multicolored flames shooting through your home, vehicle, or place of work. I would say that you should turn up the volume, but this is very difficult. There is a knob. Even on this firework. But it is very close to the blaze that is threatening to spread at any moment. I would recommend instead that you just listen carefully. If you’re the type of shareholder to get ahead of me during these announcements, then you are already anticipating what is going to happen at the end of this broadcast regarding destroying your radio. Well, don’t get ahead of me. And please, continue to anticipate.

Kakos Industries recently celebrated its first Nestival. You know, a nest festival. It was voted on, beating out the chestival and the questival, as well as many others, because deep down, I don’t think you shareholders are fully over the fact that adults can’t build pillow forts. So a Nestival we had. When you shareholders arrived, there were only ingredients in the basement ballroom. Folded blankets, couch cushions, pillows, sofas and loveseats. We had a separate section for those of you wishing to nest out of plant debris as some people have allergies, and also that shit is dirty. Most of you arrived in pajamas, some of you even bringing out the animal shaped onesies you hide in your closets. And then, construction began. Honestly, shareholders, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take anything as seriously as you took this task. I’m a little disappointed in that fact, but not really surprised. After a few hours, multi-story structures were engineered and constructed, allowing all of you to find the perfect level of comfort in your chosen lounging position. And because we love you at Kakos Industries, we turned on the Basement Ballroom Ceiling Monitors, which are hooked up to all of the streaming services. You got to build your nests. You got to lounge. You got to binge. And then some of you ended up laying actual eggs. It was an experiment. Nothing to be worried about. As usual. At Kakos Industries, worrying only prolongs your suffering.

We also recently had Yule. Long time shareholders will remember that we at Kakos Industries have three monsters under our control, sort of, that we call the KakoKrampi. They are Krampus monsters, genetically engineered to embody the traits of those germanic monsters of old. Anyway, this year, we sought to keep them busy by engineering a bunch more of them so that they could go start a village and not come to our party. But that does not mean that I did not run into trouble. As you probably know, at Yule, I am also a Krampus Monster. It is my responsibility for some reason to bend some of you over my lap, and strike you with a bundle of sticks to punish you for your misdeeds. This is totally optional, and I would rather that no one did it, but some of you insist every damn year. So, dressed as Krampus, the other krampus monsters have given me trouble in the past. This year, however, I was hassled by my own support staff. The Tabithas, the two that don’t actually do work, but are instead just waiting for me to exercise my power and ask them for sex, sex that they have told me in no uncertain terms is ready and willing whenever I wish, were also dressed as KakoKrampi. Sexy KakoKrampi. As I’ve complained in the past, their physical appeal to me has never been an issue. I’m mostly not into the power dynamic they expect me to take advantage of. But they’ve come up with more and more interesting ways to proposition me. I really have to give them credit for this one. Not only does it remind me of a somewhat traumatic experience in a humorous way, it was also well executed. Do I have a weakness for a strong sense of humor? Perhaps. I was not expecting them to change to the tactic of basic human friendship. This may truly be my weakness. Until Tabitha grabbed me by my forearm, looked me square in the eye and said, “I climaxed this week by bumping into the corner my desk the wrong way. Please help me.” I pointed out several of the thirstiest, handsomest partners she could hope for from our ranks. She shook her head and stormed off. Let it never be said that Kakos Industries employees are not up for a big challenge.

Shareholders, we are now preparing for the Festival of Genes Mark II. We’re coming up with some fun new combinations of genetics that you can expect to work into your own code soon. Our geneticists have been asking themselves, why don’t humans have trunks? Why don’t humans have tails that can be detached in dangerous situations? Why don’t humans hunt at night with their amazing claws? Why don’t humans have physical proportions that simultaneously scare and arouse us? Those questions will be answered empirically soon enough. Come on down. Get mixed up. It’ll be fun.

Coming up, we have the Festival of Darkness. To prepare, we’ve been turning off all of the power in Kakos Industries periodically, immersing all of our employees in darkness, and occasionally fucking up their work if they’re not being vigilant with their saving habits.

The Cult of Ohh Ahh has taken to their new leader Kimzzzzzzzzzz without too much friction. The Ohh faction have decided it is better to unify under her leadership than to continue their struggle for dominance. They decided that the spirit of Bazzizzazizz-Ah must have moved on to everyone in the group, and not just the last person to experience its attachments. I have seen Kimzzzzzzzzzz recently. Oddly, she still doesn’t seem happy. I mean, she never did before. Not even before she and Maggie broke up. But there’s just something in her eyes now that is resigned to this feeling. I commend her on taking on the responsibility. She needed something to do. She could have gone back to work, but we also could have stopped giving her paychecks for doing nothing. Sometimes, entertainment is costly, but worth every penny.

Shareholders, I have news regarding the Division of Firey, Firey Horror. They write—

(Fanfare)

Dorothea: Hahahahahaha!

Corin: Leopold? You’re supposed to be dead. And I don’t want to sound insensitive, but you sound like a woman. You know it wasn’t your gender that was getting in the way of us, right?

Dorothea: No, simple Corin, it is I, Dorothea, the new King of Evilon. My older brother has passed, and now the responsibility of ruling over this backward, podunk Evil kingdom falls to me.

Corin: You don’t like ruling? I think Leopold always loved it.

Dorothea: Let me paint you a picture, Corin. Up until my brother’s demise, I was sailing the Evil seas. The open, fresh, salty air in my nose and lungs. Hundreds of women serving under me. Hundreds of women serving me sexually, Corin. I was living my best life as pirate prince of the seas. I buckled swash. I hauled keel. And I rescued thousands of women from the confines of heteronormativity. Many of them found their way into my employ. Many others found their way through my bedroom. I built an empire, Corin. I built an empire out of broken cruise ships and broken social structures. I was fulfilled. And now? Now I’m back in the landlocked plot of dirt my ancestors have somehow maintained control over all these years. I had to sail my flagship up a river through CasEvilvania and through the disputed territory of LiberEvilLandia to arrive in my home country because domestic matters needed my attention. You have no idea how happy I was to let Leopold take care of all of this. You have no idea how happy I was to be the prodigal daughter all these years. I was a pirate king. Now I’m just a king. And it blows.

Corin: That sounds kind of awful. There’s also a lot to unpack there. These women that you liberated, are you certain they wanted to be liberated from heteronormativity? As hard as it may be to believe, there are some women who are just plain straight.

Dorothea: Don’t lecture me on women’s sexuality, Corin. Once they saw my ship and crew and the lives they could be living, some of them were jumping overboard to get a chance to join us. They were relieved to be rescued by me. Others were more tentative once they crossed over to my ship, but they did so willingly, and then once the chains of oppression fell from them, you would be surprised how quickly their fluid sexuality melted in the work-hardened hands of my band of pirates. Does that threaten you, Corin? Are you afraid that you might not actually have anything to offer a woman sexually that another of her kind wouldn’t do a hundred times better? Perhaps you should be.

Corin: I, um, don’t believe I commented. Did none of them resist you?

Dorothea: Oh, some did, and we dropped them off safely on land. You can’t force these things, Corin. But you wouldn’t believe the number of those women we found waiting for us in another port some time later looking for a chance to board with us once again. The pirate life is an irresistible thing, and so are my charms.

Corin: So far, I don’t know about that charm thing.

Dorothea: My charms are not for you, Corin! Anyway, my kingdom of the sea will go on without me. I left my most trusted confidant and bedfellow in charge. And now I’m here. In Evilon. Because you, Corin, killed my brother.

Corin: I… I did do that.

Dorothea: I only found out because my cousin Andre somehow snuck onto one of my boats, and attempted to assassinate me. Once my crew had cut his throat, I was notified that I was the last living heir to the Throne of Evilon, and as such, I must return. Andre had killed everyone else at a dinner party a month prior and then spent the remaining time trying to track me down in my sapphic paradise. Royal business, you understand.

Corin: That makes sense.

Dorothea: It turned out that my brother specifically left the kingdom to me, but that doesn’t really matter. And when my posterior first touched the golden seat of the throne, I was presented with a document of all of my brother’s unfinished business. As the new King, I am honor bound to finish my brother’s unfinished business where at all possible.

Corin: I don’t think I like where this is going.

Dorothea: First, there was a sub sandwich that he had left in the refrigerator for over a month. I was sick for two days, but honor is honor, Corin. Then there’s the matter of you.

Corin: Fuck.

Dorothea: Leopold wanted you for his Queen. Were you aware?

Corin: Yeah, I think he might have told me once or twice.

Dorothea: The records even indicate that you were his royal consort for a short period of time.

Corin: He might have mentioned that as well.

Dorothea: As I understand it, he never quite got what he was after, and now it falls to me. I must make you my Queen, Corin. Even if I have no interest in doing so.

Corin: Dorothea, neither one of us wants this. Can we just forget about it?

Dorothea: It’s honor, Corin. I wouldn’t expect an organization such as yours to understand honor, what with your shareholders, and many layers of separations from all of your actions. Are you prepared to become my Queen?

Corin: Seriously, let’s just forget about this.

Dorothea: I can’t.

Corin: What if… what if I become your Queen for like fifteen minutes and then we called it off?

Dorothea: Oh, Corin, aren’t you sweet. No, this relationship would go forever unconsummated. Perhaps I haven’t yet made it clear enough. You see, I have no interest in what you have to offer, Corin. You men are all the same. You tell us everything you want to do to us. Oh, the plans you have for our bodies. The ways you’ll please us. And then what happens? Your thing pops and then you don’t want to do anything anymore and maybe it would be better if we just left you alone. It’s all so boring. Now you’re tired. Now you hurt. And then what? There’s the promise of doing that two more times? Maybe three? And the waiting, Corin? I have better things to do with my time than bother with your limited nonsense between your legs. Saving women from that was my primary goal in life, Corin. Showing them another way. An even more Evil way. You would be my royal beard, Corin. My pet. I would keep you fed. I might even let you play with the concubines just to make fun of how simple and stupid your sexual response is. Even the thought of torturing your prostate fills me with such boredom at the mediocrity. And in the event that I need an heir, there are drums of my brother’s semen ready at a moment’s notice. Actual drums, Corin. Fifty-five gallon drums. I’m not sure my brother ever stopped wanking.

Corin: I’m going to say no to all of that.

Dorothea: Oh, what a shock. Perhaps I will try harder next time. Oh well. Now I have to figure out what I should do with all of my brother’s male concubines. Castration seems too gruesome for this era. Exile sounds like a waste. Ooh! Perhaps we can start a new mine somewhere. They shall dig a big hole, Corin. Until next time. Ta!

Corin: Bye, Dorothea.

The other day, Jasmine Aashna walked into my office dressed normally, then into my private bathroom, and then emerged in what I’m assuming is a bathing suit you buy at a sex shop. She had several pieces of paper folded together tucked into the strap of her bikini bottom. She moved closer and closer to me until I took the papers from her. They were indeed some updates on the Division of Erotic Experiences’ work. They are apparently making good progress on a number of fronts, but then Jasmine was gone before I could ask any more questions. Maybe I should write her an email.

I got a handwritten note from Meredith Gorgoro down at the Hell labor camp. She said that there have been more and more hooded figures outside of the camp, and that the Perpetual Misery Engine may have created a singularity for a moment. They’re calling it a kugelblitz. She told me not to worry about either thing though.

It’s been about a year now since Soundman Steven was given his fantastic new penis. We still haven’t seen it get hard, though. Well, are you even using the pump, Soundman? First you wouldn’t take the drugs, now you won’t use the pump. Are you even trying? This isn’t sexual harassment, Soundman, because I don’t get anything out of this. Your erection was a mascot! We need that beautiful cock standing at attention again. No, Soundman, I’m not saying it like that because I’m interested. It is objectively beautiful. How well do you know me, Soundman? If I wanted anything from you sexually you would know it by now. What is it? Did you get a new hobby and not tell me? Is sound no longer your only love? Are you cheating on sound with another hobby? We’ll get to the bottom of this.

They say that Evil has a necklace made out of human hopes, dreams, and fingers, but only like really pretty fingers. This is Things We’re Taking Credit for Now. Today, we’re taking credit for relatives that insist on buying you gifts, even though they don’t actually know you in any way, relatives who insist on giving you money, even though you might appreciate them putting a little more thought into it once in a while, and receiving, in every sense of the word. As always, our organization is far too large for us to know everything that is going on from day to day, so we can’t be certain we’re actually responsible for these things. But we are taking credit for them. And if you disagree, then prepare to receive like a whole shitstorm, okay?

Brit Brit Britney Brit has won the Ruin-A-Life Drawing. As a result, the life of Brit Brit Britney Brit’s nemesis will be ruined. Brit has selected Pavonisa Gizagootch. In fairness, the document just said Pavonisa on it for a first name, and when we reached out for a last name, she just wrote back “make something up if you have to.” So I did. Her name is now Pavonisa Gizagootch on all official documents at Kakos Industries. We spun the Wheel of Misery and after putting up a fight and spitting on a number of its technicians, it landed on the space for Positive. From this day forward, Pavonisa Gizagootch will be 30% more positive. Yuck. I think that’s the worst one yet. Positivity? Are you fucking with me? Nasty. I think we can see where this is going to severely hamper Ms. Gizagootch in the future. For good measure, Brit Brit Britney Brit will be 5% more positive, which, for someone with so many Brits in her name might push her over the edge into unrelenting positivity. Congratulations on the win, and best of luck.

And that brings us to the end of this broadcast, Shareholders. I think we’ve all got a lot to think about today. I’m not sure what exactly, but I know there’s a lot of it. Oh, right, your firework. Well, for around 90% of you, your firework should have sputtered out harmlessly by now. For the remaining ten percent, it looks like you may have some cleaning up to do, and potentially some insurance money to collect. The numbers are next.

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Kakos Industries is written and produced by Conrad Miszuk, who is also the voice of Corin Deeth. The music is also composed by Conrad Miszuk. The introduction is read by Kim Aiello, and the credits are read by Hanna Jones, who is currently making macaroni pictures. Special guest appearance in this episode by Kristen DiMercurio. You can follow her on twitter @kdimerc thats k d i m e r c or check out her website kristendimercurio.com where you can also hear snippets of all of other the podcasts she has weaseled her way into. Check out KakosIndustries.com for more episodes. There’s also transcriptions if you’d like to read along with the Kakos Industries announcements. That’s K-A-K-O-S-I-N-D-U-S-T-R-I-E-S dot com. Please check out store.KakosIndustries.com for merchandise and special offers and become a patron at kakosindustries.com/patreon. Questions, comments, or a strong desire to collaborate? Drop us a line at inquiries@kakosindustries.com. If you like Kakos Industries, be sure to rate and review us on your favorite podcasting service, and connect with us on Facebook (facebook.com/kakosindustries), Tumblr (kakosindustries.tumblr.com), and Twitter (@KakosIndustries).

Special thanks to our esteemed shareholders Iain Croall, Renee Stein, Dan Shumway, Blaise Devletian, and Courtney Campbell. Also thanks to our honored employees Katiana Greer, who may have ruined her eyesight decoding all of those magic eye puzzles for us, and Valerie Koop who wrote the chorus to our next infectiously catchy pop song. And thanks to our Division heads Britney Garcia, head of The Division of Beanies, Booties, and Construction Projects That Are Probably Too Large for Yarn, Patrick Green, head of The Division of Oceanic Micro-Cryptozoology, Morgan Wohlbrandt, director of the Division of Minimally Sentimental Greeting Cards, Lynne Herman, director of the Division of Increasingly Improbable Slash Fiction, and Euan Goodfield, director of The Division of Ever More Bizarre Injuries. The Division of Beanies, Booties, and Construction Projects That Are Probably Too Large for Yarn has knit a pair of slippers to go with the building cozy. I think they’re supposed to go over certain lawns here at Kakos Industries. The Division of Oceanic Micro-Cryptozoology took a blurry picture of the Sasquater Strider. It kind of looks like a spider, I guess. The Division of Minimally Sentimental Greeting Cards has created a new line for the month of January. The newest card reads “Great month, huh?” The Division of Increasingly Improbable Slash Fiction has recently started shipping beer and liquor. We’ve never been sicker. The Division of Ever More Bizarre Injuries has developed the sprained wangus.They keep trying to tell us what the wangus is, but they can’t stop laughing for long enough. Our esteemed shareholders, honored employees, division heads, and other Patreon patrons are the best. If you want a thank you in the credits, your own division, or other great rewards that help to keep this show running, please head to Kakosindustries.com/patreon. That’s Patreon: p-a-t-r-e-o-n.

If you’re feeling down after this broadcast, have you considered getting your HAM radio license?