GYSO Reviews Part 79 - bizns

Published: 2025-11-16

Elf Two: YOU STARTED A TOP LEVEL DOMAIN?

Thim: No, the newspapers have got it all twisted, you see.

Thim holds up the twisted newspaper. It’s really hard to read.

Sitting around a table in the GYSO Mansion Playboy Mansion lobby, Thim in his fuzzy pink bathrobe, the fuzzy pink bathrobe with a Thim in it…

Elf (rummaging through papers): He’s right. He didn’t start a top level domain.

Elf Two: Oh my god, are you both gaslighting me right now, it’s in the fucking ne–

Suddenly! A disco ball is… hanging, suspended in mid-air and is doing disco-bally things. “Celebration” by Kool & The Gang is playing from the lobby speakers.

Bunny and Thim (in perfect octaved unison): WE STARTED FOUR TOP LEVEL DOMAINS! BOOO YAAAA!

There’s thrusting. Freestyle dance. Fingers in the shape of an L on a forehead (the years start commin’…)

Elf (still rummaging through papers): Yup. .on, .off, .sucks, and .online.

More thrusting, Spongebob underwear, ayy macarena. Bunny cutesy-cutesy with his cutie little soft bunny nose.

The disco ball slowly floats down onto the fancy lobby glass table. It bursts open like a disco ball bursting open. Thanks for coming to the blog.

Henry: Did I do it, guys? Is getyourskillson.com.sucks going to be a suck-cess?

Thim: No, but getyourskills.on.sucks.on.my.nuts.com is getting a surprisingly high level of traffic.

Even Snag’Darr, who has been present as representing lawyer for North Dong, huffs a little dragon laugh out of his gaping, humongous, thicccc dragon nostrils. The absolute heat units from the steam is enough to burn the.

Thim: You’re not going to believe this next part.

(He’s still thrusting, by the way. And it don’t stop thrusting and it don’t stop thrusting…)

Thim: I hired like, 20 people to sit around and do bisnz stuff. They spend all day pretending to work, sucking down coffee like it’ll save their marriage, and diddling each other in the employee lounge in full view of the security cameras.

Elf: Bisnz isn’t a word.

Thim: That’s what you take from that? Whatever. Here at gyso.get.your.skills.on, we invented the English Lanugage. I’m pretty sure I decide if bizsns is a word or if it isn’t. That’s not the point, though. You wanna hear the rest of my executive decisions, as Lord Emperor of War?

Elf Two: *Lord Emperor–** Oh my God of War!

Thim: I had to be cooler than the last guy, you know. Title inflation, all that.

Elf: But sir! An Emperor is a downgrade! Why would you do that– wait, no, you’re Thim. Of course you did that. Carry on, sir.

Thim: So the first thing I did was start paying my employees, all five million of them, a livable wage.

Elf Two: WAIT! THAT’S WHAT THE CHECK IN THE MAIL WAS FOR?!

Elf: You have a mailbox? I thought the carrier pidgeon was a scam…

Thim: Yep! No other company does it, so I’m sure that giving my employees the basic ability to live will ruin me. Hell, I’ll even add on great health insurance coverage too! For the poor bastards that have to actually pay for it, of course.

Elf Two: Speaking of Hell, are you sure Hell hasn’t frozen over or something? I mean, frozen over again. What’s next, you’re going to stop the widespread and highly illegal tax avoidance strategies employed by the North Po– Dong?

Thim looks up from his dog bowl labeled ‘Henry’.

Thim (mouth full of dirt): That’s a great idea!!

Elf: Sir, I can’t believe it. We went over everything, ever little expense.

Thim: Finally. Lay it on me, how fucked are we? Super fucked? Fucked sideways? Fucked a duck? Fucked-arooney?

Elf: Well… Sir. The government owes us money. We’ve actually been overpaying, every year, for the last hundred years.

Thim: Hm… Is it a lot of money? Can I buy a gumball with it? TWO GUMBALLS?!

Elf Two: Sir, we could really use that money to fund our ammunitions production.

Thim: CHRISTMAS BONUSES FOR EVERYONE!!

Thim does a spin with his arms out. There’s confetti. Somehow. Probably Henry. It just appears as if from the aether. Also probably Henry.

Speaking of Henry.

Henry: Hiiii! :D I heard you were giving Christmas bonuses! I know an ex accountant!

Thim: Thanks, Henry, but for some reason my employees don’t want to quit. Cant figure that out. We’ve got plenty of accountants, way more than we actually need.

Jesus “Big Erectus Babe” Christ: I HEARD CHRISTMAS.

Thim: Get the fuck out. It’s still November, jackass. This isn’t some damn Christmas plot. Not yet, at least.

Elf screams in inarticulate rage.

Somewhere, close to the Southern Erection. Yeah, that’s some deep, penetrating GYSO lore.

Thim: Look, Elfs. Everything that the light touches is part of the North Dong.

Elf: That’s highly unlikely and I’m not sure how that works, uh, biologically?

Thim: One day, Elfs, the sun will set. Then it will be night. But we still own this land. I bought it, cash, with part of the government tax returns and government acid subsidies.

Elf Two: What about that dark place over there?

Thim: What did I just fucking say?

Elf: This is all ours?

Thim: No. It’s mine. Well, I started a non-profit cooperative that technically owns the land, with the express purpose of keeping the land exactly as it is right now, and allow no cooperative exploiting of it. They also do very expensive research on the side to cure cancer, just throwing money a the problem like monkeys throwing poop.

Big groan from both Elfs.

Elf Two: But if the cancer research is profitable?? If they find something?

(Like they’re worried they’re going to cure cancer.)

Thim: They put it all on crypto. Which crytpo, you ask? They have a monkey throwing poop at a big dart board with all of them listed on there. The shittiest crypto gets way too much pump for the dump, if you get what I’m sayin’.

Elf: If I could quit, I would.

Elf sits, a glass of really really good whiskey in front of him, head in his hands, crying.

Elf: They all made a profit?! Even the meme crypto shitties?

Thim: Yeah. We’re currently working to figure out how to actually lose money. We’ve subcontracted more monkeys, but they keep throwing poop at things that turn out to make sense in hindsight. It’s weird. It’s like my employees are using that as an excuse, because they keep wanting to work for me, or something. Can’t imagine why.

Elf Two (already drunk, hanging from a chandelier): WOOOOOOOO! I’m drunk, and I have a livable wage! I’m doing a good job, and I still hate my life! Wooooooooo! [starts sobbing] I want my old life back, I miss Santa…

Thim: Well, you know what they say. Money doesn’t solve problems. Except increasing quality of life, health, general happiness, sense of life fulfillment, and a bunch of other shit the nerds at R&D keep harping on about. There’s a lot of shit at the nerds at R&D now! Their research is profitable, despite the fact I spray painted a hedgehog blue and made it their manager. They’re so fast!

Elf: hate. hate. hate. I just want Santa back! It’s almost like I can hear him in my head now! He always knows what to do!

In the background of the very well put together scene, featuring a chandelier, whiskey, and… uh, presumably a table, the local news station is airing a breaking report. They’re also airing the news.

John: Okay, John John, this just in: Santa Fucking Clause, previous God of War, disgraced in the historical Made-up-ball game [redacted] timesteps back, presumed dead after turning into a snowman at the Made-Up-Ball Championships against Thim, has just posted on his official NotTwitter account.

John John: That’s right, John. This raises questions about the whereabouts of this wanted war criminal, and the legitimacy of the Made-Up-Ball win.

John: Okay, John John! How does this, exactly, raise questions about the legitimacy of Thim’s legendary win in Made-Up-Ball? I didn’t know people had to die in that game.

John John: No worries, John! It’s… Uh… You see… So what had happned was… Let’s cut to the NotTweet.

@xXsanta_f_clause_officialXx - I LIVE, BITCHES! Shoutouts to Sven.

Attached to the post is an image of a body pillow of the (in)famous waifu, Agent Orange Chan, with Santa’s beard halfway in frame.

Thim: Well, alright, anyways, let’s talk this through – huh, guys?

But Elf and Elf Two have already left. The comical smoke of dust barely visible.

Thim: Fucking finally. It’s harder than getting rid of cockroaches.

The dies.

The end.