50 years later, John Stretter was still being honored with a national holiday and stone monuments were still being built in his honor. People said that he was a great and courageous man and he bravely sacrificed his own life to spare the sanity if his fellow men. He died to kill a marketer. His life would be honored for all of time; he was a great man. Every year on June 24, the world celebrated "John Stretter Day,' a day on which an international hero was hailed by all, the great hero, John H. Stretter. This is what the world planned anyway. The Salespeople, meanwhile, planned a vicious, invidious, and malicious plot to counteract the joy and parties: they perpetrated all day telemarketing on the holiday, selling the socks that dryers eat. They had contacted the king of the dryers, who, according to the rumors, lives in a posh hotel in Hawaii, and is only given the most distinguished people's clothing to dry. They had made some kind of arcane pact with him, the details of which are sketchy, but the end result was a virtually unlimited supply of single socks.

A huge statue was built in the exact center of the city. The statue showed John Stretter lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of his stairway, sleeping peacefully, a smashed and broken answering machine close at hand. This, needless to say, was the noble pose he had adopted at the time of his heroic sacrifice; this was the position in which the rescue team had discovered him. Yes, John Stretter was one of the greatest leaders in the centuries old war between salespeople and humans. John Stretter was truly a great man. Or so the townspeople thought.

Three years later Thomas J. Turnip was majoring in egg dying at Black Ganders' college in Maine and had to take Freshman English. One paper that he had to write was on a famous person — John Stretter. Despite having no interest whatsoever in John Stretter or English, Thomas believed in doing your second best in everything, and so he researched thoroughly into the life the great man. He made a shocking discovery — John Stretter had occupied the positions of a truck driver, fish packer, vagrant, lawn mower, lemonade stand attendant, and a rope factory worker. None of these, however, were important. The important part was that the day before his seemingly tragic and heroic sacrifice, he had been accepted for a job at Tree Splicing Incorporated as (horror beyond all horrors), a Salesman! He made the news known to the press, and before you could say, "Death to John Stretter! Down with the statues! Destroy the stamps! Burn the oil paintings! Treason!" angry mobs stormed the streets, tearing down the monuments that they themselves had funded and volunteered to build, chanting "Down with the salespeople, Death to the salespeople!" A radical group of environmentalists set off explosive charges in the cemetery in Westminster cemetery in which the body of John Stretter had for so many years remained untouched in its mausoleum. They demanded that people rewrite the history books and recant all of the wonderful things that they had said about the evil and vicious John Stretter.

So it had all been fallacious. John Stretter had not made a heroic sacrifice; he had arranged it all with one of his fellow salespeople in order to gain respect. This, sadly, was the thought process of the astoundingly mentally deficient people who lived in the city that had so many years earlier been home the most ruthless, deceitful and evil of all men. Down came the statue of John Stretter at the feet of which people had daily placed flowers and roses. In its place rose an image of Thomas J. Turnip, leading an army into battle against the evil salespeople.

It took the US army five days to restore peace and order. Mobs of Salespeople had gone out to do battle with the heretics, singing impromptu hymns of praise about the glorious John Stretter. The two mobs had faced off. The salespeople wielded hoses, along with wooden "salesman of the week" awards and staplers kept in honor of their long-dead comrade along and the opposing forces armed with crowbars, a few grenades, and chunks of marble and jade. The battle was fierce and we will never know the eventual outcome, for the army waded in, told everyone to go home, and beat them all very hard with answering machines, crowbars, sabers, telephones, and garden hoses.

In honor of their great heroes, John Stretter and the Unknown Salesman, all of the salespeople in the world died of unnatural causes on the same day on which their heroes had died, so many years before. So John Stretter was a hero of sorts; he unwittingly led to the downfall of all other salespeople in the world half a century after his death. Once more an international holiday was celebrated on the day that John Stretter died, but this one was not called John Stretter Day. The holiday was called: The International Day of Sanity. A international law was passes the next day (the fastest law passes in the history of the world), stating that it was now illegal to be a salesperson in any part of the globe. All the would-be salespeople were escorted to a giant launching pad and shot into space, where they are said to have set up there own civilization of sorts on the moon. After all, we all have known since time primeval that salesmen weren't human.

The End

Moral: "If one is ever accepted for a job as a salesperson, one should not strangle oneself with an emergency fire hose, unless drastic measures or the sanity of the world requires it of one."

Note: I would appreciate feedback, positive or negative, flames or blasts of liquid nitrogen. I apologize to all those salesmen out there. My friend and I made this after a bout of irritating telemarketing calls.