A/N: An old crude, tasteless and definitely not PC joke reworked for the ending to the 1980 movie "Nine to Five". As risque as I'm ever going to write...

Death Worse than Fate

Franklin Hart, Jr. woke up being poked by a sharp stick. Lying on his back in thick foliage, the memory came back to him that he had just been riding in a sightseeing boat up a Brazilian river when they were attacked by natives. The newest executive in São Paulo for the international Consolidated Industries was knocked out in the raid. The Chairman of the Board Russell Tinsworthy had 'promoted' him to the Brazilian location, but Franklin thought of it as exile.

Exiled because of that turncoat Violet Newstead and her friends - and after all he had done for them too.

His blood boiled at how he had been kidnapped, tortured and humiliated by that trio of...women. He used the term with a total, loathsome conviction that they were beneath him; not just in position, but in ability and status. It was his office, his workers, and it should have been his right to move to headquarters - not some Godforsaken backwater hellhole that probably still thought electricity was a novel idea.

He got poked again and snarled. On the plane trip south he had hoped the plane would have crashed and ended his misery, but then he thought of the life insurance payment to his estranged wife and decided living was marginally better. So he had started his career over, so to speak, in Brazil with an entirely new set of employees that spoke the wrong language. The only reason he agreed to come along on the boat ride was to score points with his interpreter, a young local woman who was a student and who he was trying to convince needed his special touch to become more familiar with the American way and just what it took to be a team player. He looked at the source of the poking and focused; wherever he was, based on the loincloths it looked like there weren't any clothing stores that he'd want to shop in. He struggled to his feet and straightened up to find that these people were mostly taller than he was and certainly stronger.

He straightened his tie and said "Are you the rescue party?" His question was answered with several speaking at once, in utter gibberish.

"Speakee la Spanol?" he asked. In his ignorance, he had studied a book on Spanish instead of Portuguese but to these natives it didn't make any difference. They gestured with their spears and he started trudging off in the indicated direction. He immediately found that he had lost one shoe in the raid which was probably floating down the river now; looking at the one dress shoe on his right foot, he decided to screw it and just leave it the way it was. With any luck he'd step on something and get tetanus or gangrene.

It was humid and hot, and Franklin didn't care because he'd already been in hell and this was about the same, only a little greener. When he first arrived at the São Paulo office he tried to mold it into HIS idea of efficiency, not the soft touchy-feely environment that he left behind. Maybe it was for the best that he was moved out; the idea of working in a place like Violet's made-over office almost made him sick.

In a detached way he caught a few glimpses of others up ahead, and they all seemed to be heading towards a source of smoke. It wasn't too long before he entered a small clearing with his escorts, who he was already thinking of as his entourage in a bizarre fantasy. Up ahead he say a man who must have been the boss, based on not only the number the ridiculous feathers on his head but the pot belly that preceded him; massive warriors flanked him on either side. But he was still the head honcho and was probably the one most likely to have control of the way out. Two more people stood in front of him, obviously from outside the jungle like him based on the fact they wore clothes also. His guards stopped their approach and urged him forward with their spears, which he did grudgingly. He recognized one of the men as having been on the same tour; the other he wasn't sure.

The chief spoke in some language at length to the village, and his audience murmured until the end when they cheered. He looked at the three strangers in front of him and spoke something, then waited for a reply.

The other two people were scared and didn't say anything. Franklin was pissed and didn't give a damn so he spoke up. "Speakee la Spanol?" he asked. The chief cocked his head but said nothing. "Parlay Frenchy?" he tried again. The chief looked at his warriors who showed no signs of recognition. "Well hell, how are we supposed to talk to each other then?"

"Ah, English" the chief spoke.

"Americano actually, but good enough for this fiasco. What the hell are you people doing here?"

"This our home. Outsiders are invaders. We discourage and set example for others who may come." The chief looked at the three. "You must choose fate: Death, or Boola Boola." The villagers started to get exited again.

"What the hell is Boola Boola?" Franklin yelled.

"One of our warriors will take you away and have his way with you. Very painful...for you! You free to go afterward to crawl back home" the chief laughed. "Now...you!" the chief said, pointing at the first man. "Choose."

The man trembled and tried to run away, but the wall of spear points around them keep the man near. Not knowing what else to do, the man turned forward again and dropped his gaze. "Boola Boola" he muttered.

"BOOLA BOOLA!" the chief announced loudly and the villagers cheered. One of the massive guards grinned and grabbed the man, pulling him away into the jungle. Shortly afterward the man could be heard in turn objecting, yelling and then screaming. After a few minutes the guard emerged from the jungle, straightening his loincloth. From somewhere deep in the foliage weeping could be heard, getting softer as it became more distant.

The chief turned to the second man. "Choose!" he ordered. The man sank to his knees and babbled incoherently. The chief motioned and several from behind poked their spear points against his back. The man looked down and said "Boola Boola" quietly. The scene was repeated like the first man, but with a second guard this time. After that guard returned smiling, the chief turned to Franklin. "Choose!"

Franklin looked the chief straight in the eye. "I got my job at the bottom thanks to my uncle, and then I backstabbed and slept my way to the top of my office. I've got a wife I cheat on, employees that cower when I walk into work, superiors that are watching their ass while I try to take their job and I'm not about to bow down and submit to some southern Indian who couldn't rub two memos together if he tried. I...choose...death" he said as he spat on the ground.

The chief stood, stunned. A tear rolled down his eye as he spoke to the villagers. "This man bravest outsider ever. He not afraid to die - him choose death when all other choose boola boola. Him set great example for village warriors. I will miss. Therefore...DEATH BY BOOLA BOOLA!"

The End

A/N: I warned you. The character of Hart in the movie was such a chauvinist and creep that they did away with him just before the ending credits. But they didn't provide any details in HOW they did him in specifically, and that made it a good opportunity to bring out an old joke adapted just for the occasion. This whole thing came about because I had the title already written down with no story to go with it - a play on the "Fate worse than death" saying.

I realize that this is pretty mild compared to some fiction on this site, but once again...it's as "colorful" as I'm going to get.