Disclaimer: All of the brands and characters (Tommy Hilfiger, the Nesquik Bunny, etc.) are not my property. No Logo belongs to Naomi Klein, as do the chapter names and the ideas involved.
A/N: This is a very crazy "short" story I wrote for an English reading journal in response to Naomi Klein's non-fiction book, No Logo. Seriously, I can't believe I actually handed it in to my teacher. He's going to think I'm a nutcase. Anyway, if that hasn't put you off, here's the deal: You don't need to have read No Logo for this to make sense. Hell, it doesn't even make sense on its own. The chapters here line up with the chapters in the book, but they're so loosely related that it doesn't matter. I'm counting on about... oh, 0% of you having read No Logo, so I wouldn't have posted this if understanding it were completely dependent on having read the book. Anyway, enjoy. And don't say I didn't warn you about the undisguised lunacy.
This is the final chapter, folks! I'm sorry it took so long for me to post it (or, well, to remember that I had not, in fact, uploaded all four chapters yet. Somehow, that escaped my mind...). But I have to say, four reviews... best encouragement EVER. (Please, forgive me my sarcasm - seriously, for a fic classified in Miscellaneous, I'm sure this one's doing quite nicely.)
The Labelled Age:
The Saga of the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger
and those intent on his destruction
The following takes place fifty-two years beyond this day and age, when the world is no longer in the hands of humanity; when life itself has been extinguished by the concept of branding, which has grown to such an extent that living beings have become nothing more than walking, talking brands. It is a time when no person and no inanimate object exists that has not conformed to the very shape of the world's largest names.
This time has come to be known as the Labelled Age.
But there are few left to experience it. The word 'brainwashed' has taken on an utterly different meaning after all that branding has done to the world. Only the creators of this new world still have the minds to which they are rightfully entitled – the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger (some may have known him simply as "Tommy" at one time), Master Ronald McDonald, the somewhat pathetic Nesquik Bunny, Connie the Shoemaker, and many more. These masterminds took up residence long ago in a highly protected lair in an exceptionally secret location. 'Hilfiger's Lair,' this impenetrable base has been (oh so originally) named, though by who, it is impossible to tell.
Fear not, my friends, for there is still hope, however minimal it may be. A small assembly of resistors still lives in the sewers of North America, struggling to live the unbranded life... There is little they can do to fight the onslaught of swoosh-sporting zombies in the outside world. Recently, however, the band of survivors has acquired an omen of sorts – a little black instruction book of sorts left to them as a series of warnings and clues many years ago by a mysterious Naomi Klein...
CHAPTER FOUR: THE BRANDING OF LEARNING
We were in the very heart of Hilfiger's Lair within minutes. I never thought it could be this easy. But with one of them on our side, anything was possible – hopefully, that meant that defeating this "Web of Brands" would be possible, too.
Hilfiger was a squat man, with a polished head and a russet mustache, a not-so-trim figure and clothes better suited to somebody working in the mines.
"Evil Dark Lord... Hilfiger?" Marshall was just as shocked at his appearance as I was.
Hilfiger, however, was outraged. "Nesquik Bunny? What is the meaning of this? I presume you've escorted them here for the little "talk" I promised them?"
"No," the Bunny said defiantly. "I've come to stand up to you – once and for all. And so have they."
"What?" Hilfiger couldn't believe his ears, evidently. "Excuse me?"
The Bunny hiccupped, detracting from the effect. "Yeah, that's right. I'm done with taking orders from you – I can be cool on my own!"
"Yeah, you get 'em, Bunny Boy!" Marshall shouted.
The Bunny turned to us. "What do you need me to do to him?"
"We just have to ask him a few questions, that's all," Keith told it.
"No problem." Bunny turned back to Hilfiger, withdrew a flask of the chocolatey substance from the other chambers, and threw it in his former master's face.
"What was that?" I asked the Bunny.
"It's truth potion." He shrugged. "Comes in handy sometimes."
Hilfiger sneezed, shaking himself, but some of the potion had gotten into his mouth, and it was affecting him already.
"Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger," Keith began, "why must you continue to brainwash the good people of planet Earth? Is it not enough for you that all the world is at your feet?"
Hilfiger coughed. His voice was strained, held back, but he couldn't keep the words from flowing. "I... I seek total domination. There is nothing that pleases me more than manipulating the mind of the human being. Nothing is ever enough for me. There is no limit to my power – I will continue to find new ways of spreading the Brands until not just the planet, but the entire universe and every universe beyond is under my control."
We exchanged wary glances.
"Okay..." Keith changed the subject. "Does it bother you that brands have no meaning anymore?"
Hilfiger scoffed. "Of course they have meaning! If not to the rest of the world, then to me they cerainly do. It is my identity, and I will do anything to protect my identity."
Marshall stepped in, itching with excitement. I wondered what kind of catastrophic idea he had planned. "And your minions," he asked, "do you plan to share your limitless power with them?" I could hardly believe the words were coming out of Marshall's mouth.
"WHY would I SHARE my power? My minions mean nothing to me. You hear me? NOTHING."
All at once, workers from around the Lair stepped in from various doors and threw their badges on the ground, muttering "I quit" and "bless your twisted soul, Lord Hilfiger."
"Wow, that was actually really smart!" Keith gave Marshall a well-earned high five. "So now, Hilfiger, the most important question." He paused for dramatic effect. "What is your primary means of inserting the concept of branding into the human brain?"
Hilfiger's face was pained, indecisive, but the truth potion was still at full strength. "It's... it's... schools. We work it into the curriculum. Teach them of nothing but brands, so that they don't think of anything else. Simple."
I suddenly thought of a line from the sacred book – something about brands becoming the core curriculum, not just an add-on or a constant exposure in schools. If it was the only thing they were learning about, then of course they would be totally brainwashed! And now, if we could somehow seize control of the global education system, we could fix that. We could save future generations from the same agony we'd gone through all this time.
"Where are the control boxes?" Keith asked. It was clear from his voice that he knew we were getting close now.
"Right... there." Hilfiger pointed reluctantly at a giant black cube in the middle of the room. The Bunny leapt over and pressed a button on the cube; a thousand control panels shot out all at once, so that half of the room at least was filled with buttons and screens.
"Now," Keith ordered, "you'll let us take over, and fix this mess you've made." He lifted a hand, ready to bring it down on the "Reset" key.
"No."
We were all shocked.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. No. I will not let you take over. I've worked too hard."
Keith shook his head angrily. "You are an evil, evil man, Hilfiger."
"What makes you say that?" The potion, clearly, was wearing off. Hilfiger was becoming more himself.
"You killed my father!" Keith fumed, clenching his hands into fists. "How could I forgive you for that?"
Hilfiger's face was rigid. "No, Keith. I am your father."
Keith blinked in surprise. Then, as it registered in his mind, his ear-piercing scream shattered the window panes. "Noooooooooo! It's not true!" He crumpled to the floor, his face twisted in agony, his hands held out in front of him in despair.
"Leave him," I warned, as Marshall put out a hand to comfort the blubbering Keith. "Let us finish this. Bella, do your thing. Nesquik Bunny, a little more potion, if you please?"
With a little more potion, Bella was able to work her magic again – Hilfiger, it seemed, had a very troubled past as well. Many bullies, family tragedies and self-esteem issues were involved, and he ranted for several hours about each of them in detail. By the end of it all, he was as much a mess as Keith, who hadn't moved since the shocking revelation.
"So, Tommy," Marshall sneered triumphantly, making the great Dark Lord cry harder, "you'll be relinquishing power, I assume?" His vocabulary sure had evolved in the past few hours.
Hilfiger sniffed. "Oh, alright. But only for now. Because I, the great Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger, will return. Mark my words!" And with that, Lord Hilfiger flew out the broken window. That was the last we saw of him.
"I guess we should do some fiddling, then?" I suggested, traipsing over to the controls.
Marshall beat me to it, jamming his finger into the "Reset" button before I could even get close. "HAHA!" he bragged. I rolled my eyes.
The three of us – dragging an incoherent Keith along by the arms and legs – made our way back to the chocolate room, where we found Dweezil. Karen, he told us, had guzzled a little too much "chocolate milk" and was floating down the river somewhere, barely alert but happy, at the very least.
"What 'appened to 'im?" Dweezil growled, slapping Keith on the face. He didn't respond in anyway.
"He found out Hilfiger was his father." Marshall shrugged. Keith yelled something unintelligible and started ripping his own hair out.
Dweezil ignored him. "And what of 'Ilfiger 'imself?"
"Escaped." Again, Marshall shrugged. Dweezil looked about ready to belt him one square in the face.
"And wha' if 'e comes back?" he cried, outraged.
"Then we'll have to fight him again," I said. "But if he does, I don't think he'll be the same. Bella and that Bunny damaged him pretty good."
"You never know, though," Bella warned. "He might do the same thing all over again, someday."
"Maybe," I admitted. "But either way, we're going to have to work out a compromise – because, as much as we hate brands by this point, I learned something from this experience – we'll always have to live with idiots like Hilfiger, because 'unbranded space is still not possible.'"
Never mind that my final words of wisdom were quoted directly from the book.
A/N: So there you have it. An epic (-cough-) tale of courage complete with the lamest ending lines in history. Thanks for taking the time to read it, and I hope it was bearable. I know by now you probably don't have a very positive opinion of me as a writer (at least where the plot is concerned) so allow me to refer you now to my other story, The Marauders and the Rogues, which (in my opinion) is FAR better than this one. And guess what? It actually makes sense!
(Also, I apologise for continually using Star Wars scenes/lines/etc. There are just so many epic moments to be stolen. For the record, I admit that I have shamelessly copied for nothing more than comedic effect, and acknowledge that I do not own any of it. If only...)