Space. The Final Frontier. These are the voyages of the contractor enterprise. Its yearly mission, to construct strange new homes, to bill out new life and new civilizations. To boldly go where no man has peed before.
They said it was inevitable. Development would come. Homes would be built. Overpopulation would drive people CRAZY. And now look. Twenty-thousand homes right here on the Moon.
Builder contracting has taken quite a turn since the birth of the Post Modern Age. Some contractors held on like a puppy to a root; but without strong code knowledge and communication channels, they didn't have a pot to pee in.
Star Trek Construction has revolutionized the building industry. From the get-go, they put on their bib and tucker and erected moon housing in the fine traditions of etiquette and Frank Zappa.
"You'll love it. It's a way of life," they would say to owners, entertaining them until they peed their pants. A full service, full entertainment, full wet bar contracting crew.
Star Trek Construction believed if you spare the rod, you'll spoil the child. Hence came the "Three-strike change order rule." They offered owners three changes during the construction of a home, then locked them behind two-inch moon glass until C.O.
Because STC knew which side its bread was buttered on, the "Shut up and draw" rule was offered to architects. An egotistical architect would be cutting his own nose to spite his face if he became unruly. STC would then put him into orbit around the moon in a small Faxstation. "Just FAX, OK?"
When preliminary moon development began, the nuts really started coming out of the woodwork. Every Tom, Dick and Harry wanted to work up here. Because sometimes the cure is worse than the disease, STC commissioned the Phunny Pharmaceuticals Company to produce a nonaddictive "work-happy" stimulant to increase production levels. The drug, "Catholic Girls," was a duke's mix of Prozac, caffeine and a few other goodies that you could just add water and it would make its own sauce.
With sub-contractors happily working at madmen's pace, hold-ups due to weather at a minimum, and material delivery smoothed out with anti-gravity freight, the only thing left to keep STC on pins and needles was bureaucracy. The epitome of this was a dark man called The Derlanor. Because he wouldn't say boo, bye or shit to contractors and common folk, many Moonurideans wouldn't spit on the best part of him. STC believed he who dances must pay the fiddler, so they played his game. Anyway, calling him a capitalist pig would be like the pot calling the kettle black. (You can stay home and not make any money.)
But Start Trek Construction worked a full day - that is until a young boy discovered the secret of time travel and rifted history. Existence was eradicated and STC was not even a legend. Like they say, a stitch in time saves nine.
What the hell do they mean by that?