"Yeah, that'll do it. Just make sure to highlight the added value if he hesitates before signing. ...I get it, but the main point is that a twenty-percent increase in backend revenue will significantly improve his bottom line. Okay, sounds great—later, Charlie."
Big "G," the ten-foot, five-hundred-pound hardworking online investor, ended his call and called out for his reliable assistant and lifelong friend, Helda.
"Helda, Helda. Helda! Where's that warm milk?" Normally calm and collected, Big "G" was on an emotional roller coaster. One moment, he was ecstatic over the latest profit surge; the next, he was distressed by the struggles of so many people who, as he put it, "lack the fortitude, determination, and critical information to change their lives."
"Coming, Your Highness; I'm about to step onto the lift now. Nice and hot, 120°, just how you like it," Helda announced kindly.
"We really need to upgrade that lift," the giant king grumbled. "It's taking forever to get you up here! How close are you?"
"Just passing your royal elbow," replied Helda, who stood four-foot-two and weighed ninety-eight pounds. "What's the news today?" she inquired.
"Not much, just some poor valley chap who sold his mother’s cow for a handful of beans. We need to get Charlie and the crew out around the entire valley region! Forty-five attendees at the last Investrian Summit wasn't bad, but there are still so many out there who don't know the first thing about making money. If they only knew, my simple three-step system could make them a fortune!"
"Here you go," said Helda, handing the steaming cup of milk to the giant king, her pet name for Big "G." "Will there be anything else? Oh yes, Sire, I put your iPhone up on the upper shelf by your bed."
"Thanks, Helda. You're so good to me! Ahhhhh. Nothing like a sip of warm milk to relax a big lug like me. No, that'll do. Just remember to lock my counting room, and check to see Harp and Hen are content. Oh, and Helda, be a dear and grab this pesky ingrown hair on my chin on your way down, please and thank you. Sleep tight, my loyal friend."
“Thank you. Am I free to go once I finish drinking the juice?” Ma asked the blood donor center nurse, noticeably more weakened than usual. Evening meals at the Dittle home had been scarce, if not absent, over the past week. She planned to use the small check from her blood donation to buy a cup of barley, some meal, and a little oil for the household's only kerosene lamp.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Dittle,” the nurse responded. “You know the drill. Just take it easy for a while—no heavy lifting. We want to keep our faithful donors pumped up. Pun intended! Here’s your check.”
Ma forced a quick smile. “Thank you kindly, Nurse Paula. See you next time.”
Jack and his poor mother lived in a shoddy, three-room shack that was becoming increasingly weather-worn after two decades of battering rain and yearly blizzards. Things had gotten even worse last month. The Dittles suffered a devastating blow when their corn crop was attacked by worms and beetles during the Fall harvest. For some time before that, Ma and Jack had just been getting by. To protect a smaller planting field, they had spread leftover fertilizer from the previous season over the fragile seeds. Without adequate pesticide, the tender shoots were unprepared for the onslaught of insects. The crop failure led to severe financial strain. As winter approached, both knew they needed a plan to save themselves from financial ruin. They had already sold or traded everything they had, except a sickly cow. Jack’s efforts to help had often met with meager results. Something had to change quickly and for the better. It was their only hope!
Ma turned the key in the rusted lock on the warped, splintered door to find Jack sitting on his bed with a suspicious grin.
“Hey Ma,” he said through smiling teeth.
“What’s up, Jack?”
“Nice choice of words, Ma. Well, nothing yet,” Jack stuttered, startled by his sudden loss for words. “You probably won’t believe me now but…well…just you wait. I’m finally about to make you proud!”
“Yeah, yeah, Jack. It’ll do me just fine if you quit yacking and get your chores done before the cows come home. Speaking of cows, make yourself useful and take care of old Bessie. I reckon she’s good for enough to mix in with the cornmeal and a dollop of molasses for a batch of sweet bread.”
“Sweet bread again? Aren’t you tired of eating sweet bread all the time, Ma? It’s high time we dined on some good-tasting vittles! Don’t you agree, Mrs. Dittle?”
“And just how do you suppose we’re going to do that, Jack? Stop yacking and get cracking! Bessie isn’t going to milk herself.”
“Well, Ma, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I met a man on my way to the auction and he almost winked a hood at me. He sure did! Reckon he didn’t know who he was dealing with.”
“Winked a what…Jack, what are you talking about? Time’s a-wasting and you haven’t given me any cash or a pawn slip…reckon that means you didn’t sell old Bessie at the auction. Get out there and bring me that milk! And are you saying some man tried to hoodwink you? Oh no, Jack! You didn’t…not again!!
“Now Ma, hold on to your leggings, and don’t you go and try to steal my thunder this time. I did good! You won’t believe how I worked that sorry sap over. Told him he didn’t know Jack! Offered to trade me some magic beans—a whole handful, for sickly old Bessie; then snatched them back when I reached for them. I showed him! Shoved old Bessie right up under him; he lurched forward and I grabbed those beans and headed down the lane to the valley as fast as my legs could carry me!”
“Oh no, Jack,” Ma shouted with utter anguish, “you’ve really done it this time! Old Bessie was all we had left! I don’t even want to ask what you got for her. It’s you who don’t know jack! You have managed, solo, to sell our last asset for a handful of beans—magic, smagic! Let me see these beans you traded Bessie for!”
“You just don’t get it, Ma. What I’m telling you hasn’t sunk in yet. You won’t need sweet bread anymore! We’re about to live large; high on the hog! Just you wait and see, all because I used my noggin,” Jack boasted, poking the side of his fishing hat with his finger. He took the brown crumpled bag from his stained overall pocket and ceremoniously poured the mysterious beans into Ma’s hands.
“And just what will this little handful of beans produce, Jack?” Ma asked skeptically. “Green peas, squash—carrots, no, no, no. Silly me. Green beans, right? That’s what you meant by ‘beanstalk?’”
“No, Ma,” Jack protested! These beans will make us rich! You see that spot between the barn and that old oak?” Jack asked, holding his mother around the waist while pointing out the door. “I’m about to plant these magic beans right over there. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be looking at a giant beanstalk. I’ll climb it clear up to the top, and we’ll have everything we could ever want, Ma! Just you wait and see!”
“Sounds like another fairy tale to me, Jack, but I have always told you to dream big,” Ma conceded. “I still think you should have given that three-step investment strategy a try. Sure, it has its risks, but magic beans and a beanstalk, really, Jack?”
“Smack smack smack.” The giant king exaggeratedly kissed the golden oval-shaped treasures. “YUM YUM YUM! These golden eggs feel great!”
“How good are they at smooching, Big “G”?”
“Very funny, Helda. You know, I could do with some music right now. Fetch me my harp! Best investment since I started Investrian!”
“I shall do as you wish, Sire.” Hey, where did that huge plant come from?” Helda asked, pointing at the newly-sprouted beanstalk from her rocking chair across the room, now prominently billowing outside the parlor window. “Did you order something from your cousin, Seymour, the scientist?”
“No, not lately, Helda. He’s been laying low since that clump of hair weave was found between the leaves of a weird purple philodendron plant he grafted onto a Venus Flytrap. Too bad for Seymour that the plant went crazy about the same time that poor carhop went missing. Poor guy,” the big oaf lamented. He stretched out his tired legs. Yawning, he slurred, “Never mind bringing my Harp now. I’m feeling sleepy. Think I’ll take a cheetah nap,” said the groggy giant. “Oh, and Helda, add a neti pot to the shopping list. I’ve been feeling a bit stuffed up lately.”
“As you wish,” Helda answered. “It is best to always keep your nose clean.”
“Jack! Jack!” Ma screeched, as she grabbed her tattered apron and galloped from the backyard onto the rickety porch. “Come out of the dog house! Those beans you planted must’ve been on steroids!” Jack was out of Brutus’ shabby abode before you could say ‘hocus pocus.’
“I knew it! It’s a miracle!” Yippity, yippity yahoo!! Our troubles are over, Ma! My beans hit pay dirt! I’ll just climb up there where I know our fortune is waiting for us.”
With hands on her hips, Ma sighed loudly. “Slow down, Jack, and be careful. All that patting yourself on the back could put stress on your climbing arm.”
“I got this, Ma,” Jack replied confidently, and hurriedly scampered out the door. His magic beans were as good as planted.
Late that night, just as the magic bean salesman had assured Jack, there was a blue-green, lushly-leaved beanstalk spanning eight-feet wide and fifty-feet tall, with the stalk itself two-feet thick. “Here I go…straight up this pole…carrying this empty pouch…gonna tip right past Big “G” sleeping on the couch…that ogre can’t stop me now…gonna snatch that hen…split, and how!” Jack’s inner-rapper emerged as he crooned and made merry. He momentarily forgot himself, caught up in the excitement, distracted by the thunderous snoring that violently shook the beanstalk. He soon realized he had blown it! His momentary fanciful escape to rap-sody zen-city had awakened the sleeping giant.
“Ughhhh. Uhhhhh. Sniff. Sniff, sniff, sniff. What’s this? Does my nose deceive me? Do I smell the blood of a bad-English Englishman? Hard to tell with these stuffed-up sinuses,” the giant muttered to himself, then yelled for Helda.
Meanwhile, Jack, hiding behind a chair, calculated his next move. He darted past the semi-conscious giant, his eyes frantically searching for the golden hen. Helda rounded the corner from the kitchen with the hen under her arm. Jack grabbed it from her, squeezing Hen so hard that a golden egg shot out and rolled towards the now alert Big “G”. Jack wanted that egg so badly! He could finally show his mother that he could rescue them from their impoverished lives. But could he risk being caught to retrieve the golden trophy? After all, he had the hen that laid the golden eggs. “Better play it safe,” he thought, and without breaking stride, he ran as fast as he could to the opening beneath the dense clouds at the beanstalk. Four feet from the ground, he jumped, practically strangling poor Hen, half running, half falling. At last, he stumbled into the Diddle farmhouse, slamming and locking the door behind him. Ma, with a heavy heart, was in the tiny kitchen, searching for any morsel of food she may have missed. She wiped her hands on her apron and rushed to the door. Staring at Jack, she steadied her heart, bracing for the worst.
Ma found her voice and shouted, “Jack! What in the world?” Jack spat out his daring hen-swiping adventure at a speed that could challenge any auctioneer, then showed Ma the golden hen.
Ma grabbed Hen from his grasp and started yelling, “lay! LAY!” Two shiny, golden eggs rolled out and landed in her apron. A fiendish glint in her eyes, Ma smiled broadly. A high-pitched cackle slowly turned into loud, crazed laughter.
“We’re rich, we’re rich,” she exclaimed, jumping up and down in wide-eyed wonder! “Go back, Jack,” Ma insisted. “You must go back. I want that harp!!! I must have that harp!!!”
The next day was anything but business as usual at the “G” estate above the clouds. Restful sleep had eluded Big “G,” and even after Helda brought him more than a gallon of warm milk, he remained inconsolable. After enduring his endless rants about his missing hen and the gall of the thief, Helda suggested they have some lunch. But even a lavish meal later, Big “G” resumed his belly-aching. By late afternoon, they were on the upper open porch amid the floating clouds. Helda, fully bowing, fanned the sweating giant with one hand and fed him grapes with the other. She handed Big “G” a prepared neti pot. After the nasal congestion relief, Big “G” began to relive the dream he had just before Jack’s uninvited visit, temporarily turning from thoughts of revenge to a more diplomatic approach with Jack. He would teach the hapless chap about investing—how to achieve financial freedom without stealing. He would teach him to become an owner instead of a thief, a boss instead of a con artist, a hero instead of a hen-thief!
As the clock struck twelve, Jack readied himself to go back up the beanstalk. He knew he’d be minced meat if he lost his nerve. The giant king was in his counting house, counting his giant money while listening to Harp sing blissfully. Satisfied all his gold and silver were accounted for, each piece cleaned and polished and carefully replaced in his safe, Big “G” relaxed his shoulders, plopped his hands on his lap, interlacing his fingers and slid into a bloated blob, tapping his feet to the harmonic beat. Harp suddenly broke into that rap from Big “G’s” dream. Big “G” became enraged as he heard the blatantly conniving lyrics Harp was belting out. “He’s gonna snatch you and run, is he! I’ll string that scrawny string bean up by his pocket protector and play him!! Just let me get my hands on that…” A sound from outside the parlor window halted Big “G’s” rant. “Shhhhhhhhh,” he cautioned. “Go back into your case,” Big “G” said, now whispering, “and don’t come out until you hear me tap. Then open your case and sing that rap.” The giant king sauntered over to the couch, lay down on his back, and flung a massive coverlet over him. He closed his eyes and began to breathe rhythmically as his chest heaved up and down. Would he stifle the urge to tear the beanstalk-climbing lad to pieces, or would he go forward with his plan to enlighten him about financial freedom?
Jack hoisted himself up the beanstalk, shimmied his body round and round, up, up, and up until he reached the top. Stepping off, he walked slowly and lightly to avoid making noise. Barely breathing, Jack scuttled past the gate and stopped to listen. Not a sound. When he reached the house, he noticed the two-story high door was ajar. He leaned in, narrowing his eyes, looking for the unsuspecting harp. Jack decided to forgo stealing Big “G’s” jewels out of consideration. He could have plotted to rob the big oaf of those pricey gems as well. Jack smiled and gave himself a quick pat on the back before returning his thoughts to the matter at hand. Still crouching at the crack in the door, he peered into the living room.
“There the big oaf is,” he mouthed. Much to Jack’s surprise, he heard no snoring. He listened intently, uncertain in the deafening silence. Was the giant king asleep? Jack tiptoed towards the couch to find out.
Suddenly, Big “G” turned over with a jerk and began tapping loudly on the wall. The door of Harp’s case flew open, and Harp leaped out, dipping his head and moving his hands to the beat of Jack’s rap.
“Hey, he’s singing my rap! It is…er…I was…well now surely you know I didn’t really mean those things,” Jack stammered, cautiously backing away from the couch. Now visibly trembling, his loose overalls shaking, he continued, “I was kidding…I was just kidding!”
The giant drifted into a mellow state, able to be present on his couch, with petrified Jack blabbering before him, while engaging in an internal, dream-like debate. “Kill him or free him; that is the question. You will change a life, one way or another. What’s it gonna be?” The giant then vividly remembered a conversation with Jack’s mother, where she shared elements of Jack’s past. In some respects, Jack’s tale reminded him of his own. Neither of them had a strong relationship with their fathers. Big “G’s” dad had been tragically killed by a mob who accused him of masterminding a Ponzi scheme. Mr. Diddle had met his untimely death when he was kicked in the head by a spooked cow NASA deployed during an early moon voyage. Life’s circumstances from childhood presented Jack, the giant, and their loved ones with financial and other challenges, forcing them to arm themselves for battle. Each had to choose their weapons from life’s arsenal and set out to combat relentless villains. The giant king could personally relate to such a juxtaposition.
“I chose long ago to adopt a do-or-die mentality to become successful; to experience carefree living with the ability to bless others. I’ve done one, and must continue to make it my resolve, no matter what, to do the other.” The haze lifted, returning Big “G” to full alertness to Jack’s distorted face and nervous hands. He asked Jack to sit down. Jack, hesitating at first, did as the giant asked.
“Jack, I could have your head for what you’ve done already
, lifting my prized hen from right under my very nose! And now, you have the audacity to come back here to steal from me again!” Clearing his throat, Big “G” paused and continued. “Instead, I offer you and your mother a chance to embark on an amazing lifestyle, the likes of which you’ve never seen. If you return my hen safely, I’ll teach you and Ma how to dramatically change your financial lives. Lack and poverty will no longer deprive you and Ma of happiness and well-being. So, what’s it gonna be? Tell you what. I’ll get the tea service and some crumpets from the parlor Helda is preparing for us, and we’ll hash everything out, man-to-man. I’ll be right back.”Jack, though moved by the giant’s offer, felt a surge of impatience. He turned his thoughts towards the instant gratification of taking Harp rather than the future rewards the giant spoke of. As soon as Big “G” left the room, he forcefully grabbed Harp, scolding him for his rap betrayal, and made a run for it.
Once back at the house, Jack scarfed down a sandwich and, exhausted from his latest escapade, flopped down on the broken pull-out bed for a nap. Harp, seizing the opportunity to escape with the golden hen, hastened Jack’s slumber by softly singing and playing the giant’s favorite lullaby. Soon Jack was snoring. Harp quickly grabbed Hen and bolted for the beanstalk.
In the sitting room of the castle, Big “G” warmly embraced Harp, thanking her for her quick thinking. He bear-hugged Hen, who spontaneously laid two eggs, lavishing affection on his prized possessions. Big “G” abruptly interrupted the heartwarming moment, realizing he should destroy the beanstalk. “Helda! Bring me the air compressor.” The giant king fashioned a large loop from fused phone cables, tied it to a heavy rope, and hoisted it over the beanstalk. He then attached the other end to a pulley, added a handle, and connected it to the air compressor. In seconds, the beanstalk was uprooted and flew over the castle into oblivion. When Jack woke hours later, realizing Harp and Hen were gone, he rushed outside to find the beanstalk missing. Mortified, he squawked, “Fee Fie Fo Phooey!” and wept.
{ad4}Ma, saddened at the thought of not returning home, was consoled by Helda’s soothing words and assurance that Big “G” would teach her how to acquire wealth and create a fulfilling life for herself and her son. As time went on, Big “G” often lamented how Jack should have just asked at the beginning how to live an abundant life.
Eight months later, from a yacht in Barbados
“Ha ha ha,” Ma gleefully exclaimed! “Ahhhh, this is the life!” She lifted her sunglasses and snapped a selfie. “I can just lay here soaking up the rays, sipping ice cream drinks, and living the life of Riley! And if I get bored, there’s always my favorite music.”
“Indeed, indeed. We’ve come a long way,” Helda agreed. “What is your favorite music these days, Ma?”
“The sound of 'cha-ching, cha-ching' I hear each time I get a new deposit into my bank account—that’s music to my ears! I only hope Jack used the money I dropped down to him wisely; and more so, I pray he used the Investrian Get Started materials in that bundle.”
After stowing his fishing gear, Big “G” joined Ma and Helda on the main deck, his latest toys in hand—a diamond tear-crying hyena and a portable sun-powered espresso coconut tree. “Now this sure beats the life of a stalk’er—of the bean variety, that is!!! Ha, ha, ha!!” The big oaf found most things funny these days. He had been true to himself and done that other thing—forgiven. In doing so, Big “G” extended the proverbial olive branch to Jack. He helped Ma learn how to reinvent herself and amass a handsome fortune. In gigantic ways, he had grown.
“Heh, heh heh ho, ho ho!!!, you’re killing me,” the big lug laughed, referring to himself. He was, once again, at peace.
For miles around, his bellowing laughter resounded from the highest mountain to the lowest valley, as evidenced by the trembling, downtrodden fellow in the often jarred, light-bulb swinging bean-sorting room, in the house that Jack built.