The alien spaceship landed atop Bloomingdales. The God-King emerged. Its immeasurable charisma and beauty had conquered hundreds of worlds.
From the speakers, it spoke about curing all Human problems. It intended no such thing, but slaves liked it.
New Yorkers looked up, shrugged, and moved on.
“It’s not working,” whined the God-King.
It’s PR-Slave said, “Keep going! New Yorkers aren’t easily impressed.”
The God-King continued with its promise of nirvana.
Suddenly thousands of New Yorkers turned and rushed toward the building.
“Aha! They’re coming now,” crowed the God-King.
“That’s not it,” groaned the PR-Slave. “Bloomingdales is having a sale.”
Written for the Friday Fictioneers: https://rochellewisoff.com/2017/11/08/10-november-2017-2/