Jake the talking cocktail olive was in the tour van when Tinyman returned from his appearance at the Gloat Plant. Jake appeared upset. He jumped up and down on the rim of the glass and squeaked in fury. Tinyman, seeing spots, tried to wave off Jake's wrath, but it was to no avail. That danged olive was going to give Tinyman a talking to. Tinyman sat down and picked up the martini and took a sip. And when he did he could see Jake close-up, the little green olive with the red bowler hat and the red bow tie and the patient, condescending grin.
"I saw you on TV, Tinyman, talking to those workers about globalization. You had them all cheering. Did you know that Gloat closed five American factories last year and sent them overseas where labor was dirt cheap and there were no environmental regulations to prevent them from dumping unused creme filling into rivers."
"I didn't write the speech, Jake."
"You sissy!" Jake screamed, hopping up and down, jumping from glass to glass, from martini to manhattan to margarita, where he kicked salt at Tinyman. "Why don't you learn about politics?"
Jake the talking cocktail olive stood on the decimated carcass of a lime, his red-gloved hands on his hips, his red bowler askew, glaring at Tinyman. Tinyman got the spins and threw up.