FAMILY-STYLE HOLOSUITE PROGRAMS:
ADULT-STYLE HOLOSUITE PROGRAMS:
WOULD YOU BE INTERESTED IN ANY OF THE FOLLOWING GUIDED TOURS? (mark Y/N)
A PROMENADE SHOPPING EXCURSION: Y N
A ROMANTIC DINNER IN AN UPPER DOCKING PYLON: Y N
ADVENTURE TOUR OF THE OLD CARDASSIAN ORE PROCESSORS: Y N
SPELUNKERS’ PARADISE: Y N
(crawlways, conduits, Jefferies Tubes)
WEEKEND GETAWAY TO BAJOR: Y N
SKI TRIP TO BREEN: Y N
A TRIP THROUGH THE WORMHOLE: Y N
(please complete accompanying liability waivers)
WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING ADJECTIVES BEST DESCRIBE YOU? (Circle all that apply.)
Good-natured
Forgiving
Happy-go-lucky
Rich
Incredibly rich
Private moon owner
Casual drinker
Serious drinker
Klingon
Suspicious
Paranoid
Cardassian
Naive
Jaded
Generous
Thrifty
Trusting
Ferengi-friendly
WHAT BEST DESCRIBES YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH FERENGI:
Never met
Met once or twice
Done business with
Victimized by
Cheated by
Befriended by
Like
Dislike
Hate with genocidal fury
PREFERRED FORM OF MONETARY EXCHANGE:
GROSS ANNUAL SALARY:
Thank you in advance for your help. We can’t wait to see you here at Quark’s … the friendliest place in the galaxy. And remember, order a Black Hole and get a free commemorative mug for only five slips of latinum.
As you can see, I’m a firm believer in the One Hundred Ninety-Fourth Rule of Acquisition:
“It’s always good business to know your customers before they walk in the door.”
A Ferengi loves to welcome new customers, especially if he can charge admission.
RULE
#203
In my life, I have only met two people who’ve actually written a Rule of Acquisition. One was Grand Nagus Zek, leader of the Ferengi Alliance and the greatest business mind in the Alpha Quadrant. The other was Stumpy Strope, restaurateur, bartender extraordinaire, philosopher, and friend. I met him while I was a ship’s cook on a Ferengi trader, tramping around the galaxy seeking my fortune. He owned a watering hole on the frontier world of Roughlanding. We used to stop there every two months to pick up supplies. I always looked forward to those visits, and the happy times at Stumpy’s Bar. I’d stay after closing, and we’d drink long into the night. It was Stumpy who taught me how to mix my first Black Hole, to run a dabo wheel, and to short-change even the most vigilant customers. But one thing we never talked about was Stumpy’s right leg … or lack thereof. He didn’t seem to want to discuss it, and I didn’t press.
But then came my final visit. I’d signed the lease for Quark’s, and I wanted to pay my respects before saying goodbye to Roughlanding forever. Stumpy and I had a hell of a time that night. Black Holes, Flaming Novas, bloodwine … we drank it all. And by the dawn, even Stumpy’s ears seemed to be weaving unsteadily. And that’s when I finally got up the courage—to ask the big question, “Stumpy? How’d you get the name Stumpy?”
He looked at me for a long time. His eyes seemed to mist over, as if recalling a great sorrow. And then, he said to me, “Quarkie,” (he always called me “Quarkie”) “You’re a fine Ferengi lad, so I have to believe you know your Rules of Acquisition.”
“I do,” I replied proudly, not sure where this was going.
“So you know Rule two oh three?”
“Like my own name,” I said, desperately trying to recall my own name.
He leaned over the bar, propping himself up on his one good leg, then tilted his head close to mine. Our noses were almost touching. And when he spoke, it was with the fire of righteousness and one too many Flaming Novas. Just before I passed out from the fumes, this is what I heard….
“Rule Two oh Three. I wrote it.”
And as my consciousness faded, I finally remembered what I like to call “Stumpy’s Rule,” the two Hundred Third Rule of Acquisition:
“New customers are like razor-toothed greeworms. They can be succulent, but sometimes they bite back.”
Caution: Gouging customers may sometimes work both ways.
RULE
#211
You’ll find it in every Ferengi business establishment, both on Ferenginar and off-world. Sometimes it’s written large across the walls; other times it’s subtly tucked away in some obscure corner. But believe me, it’s there. It’s always there. Fifteen little words that form the foundation of the Ferengi business ethos. Try to make profit without them, and you are doomed to fail. Remember them, and everything is possible.
Honor these fifteen little words. After all, they’re the Two Hundred Eleventh Rule of Acquisition:
“Employees are the rungs on the ladder of success. Don’t hesitate to step on them.”
Damn good advice.
Let the other guy clean up. You count the latinum.
RULE
#214
As you know, previously we’ve discussed such tasty Ferengi eatables as tube grubs, greeworms, Slug-o-Cola, Eelwasser, slug steaks…. Wait a minute…. What’s that blank look on your face? Have you been skipping around in this book? That is totally unacceptable. This tome was written to be read cover to cover, preferably in one sitting. Or if you prefer, to be kept in your waste extraction unit and savored, one rule at a time (or two, depending on how long you’re in there). You’re not supposed to browse through it, like it’s some random collection of musings. A lot of thought went into this. It’s a mosaic, with each piece building on the one that came before. Now go back and start from the beginning.
There. Done? Good. Now, you definitely know about tube grubs, greeworms, Slug-o-Cola, Eelwasser, and slug steaks. But without a doubt, the single most popular foodstuff on Ferenginar is ChiggerBurgersTM. There used to be a saying that you couldn’t walk a block on Ferenginar without passing a ChiggerBurger EmporiumTM. That is, until people came to realize there were ChiggerBurger EmporiumsTM every half-block. You may ask, why do we like ChiggerBurgersTM so much? Well, for one thing, “They’re the Krunchiest burgers in the Galaxy!”TM But the other reason we like them is because we have no choice. ChiggerBurgerCorp has seen to that. Ever since old man Logi opened his first ChiggerBurgerTM stand back in 14305, the company has been known for its aggressive advertising and marketing strategy. Back then there were few Ferengi who would dare pass Logi’s stand without purchasing at least one ChiggerBurgerTM. Rumor has it that those who refused ended up being ingredients instead of customers. But over the years ChiggerBurgerCorp became more sophisticated in their sales approach. They do the usual subliminal advertising in holosuite dramas. They manufacture genetically engineered insects that whisper “ChiggerBurgersTM … Good” into your ear. They spell out their corporate logo on roadways. But their true stroke of genius is Mandatory Direct Marketing.
MDM works like this. Every morning, in billions of homes throughout the Ferengi Alliance, ChiggerBurgerTM salesmen arrive at the door carrying your daily supply of ChiggerBurgersTM. Your bank account is duly debited. Now to be fair, no one stands there making sure you eat your ChiggerBurgersTM. But you have to pay for it whether you eat it or not. So most people go along with the program and consume at least one ChiggerBurgerTM a day. Every day of their lives. That’s what I call advertising.
So, as I sit here munching on a ChiggerBurgerTM, washed down with an extra large Slug-o-Cola, I give you the Two Hundred Fourteenth Rule of Acquisition:
“Never begin a business negotiation on an empty stomach.”
If you don’t like it, take it up with ChiggerBurgerCorp. It’s their Rule.
Beware of
finicky eaters; they generally make poor business partners.
RULE
#217
IN MY PREVIOUS TOME, THE FERENGI RULES OF ACQUISITION, THIS RULE WAS MISLABELED AS RULE #117. THE TRUTH IS, IT’S RULE #217. DEAL WITH IT.
Of all the folktales of Ferenginar, and there are a lot of them, probably the most enduring is “The Story of Ving and Ding.” Over the millennia, their tale has been turned into several dozen plays, countless auditory sculptures, one thousand seven hundred fifteen holosuite dramas, and two hundred twelve songs (including ballads, limericks, and the megaband Success’s hit recording, “Ving and Ding and Their Special Thing”).
Not to mention one very profound Rule of Acquisition.
The story in a nutshell is this:
Ving and Ding were brothers whose parents were travelling across the Blopfep Wilds. In the middle of their journey, their parents were killed by a freak flash flood (or a herd of rampaging snailosauri, or the evil Smiling Partner, or they just died of old age, depending on who’s telling the story). Anyway, poor little Ving and Ding were left to fend for themselves. Luckily, they were taken in by a pack of giant timber weevils who raised the children as if they were their own. The boys learned to burrow for grubs, suck the sap out of jooble roots, chew through hooyup trees, and bang rocks together (why giant timber weevils like to bang rocks together no one knows). The brothers would spend hours peacefully pulling spiny thorns out of each others hindquarters with their teeth, fully believing that they were just a pair of shell-less, four-limbed, mandibly challenged timber weevils.
And then one day, when they were eleven (or seventeen, or forty-two, depending on who you believe), a friendly Ferengi real estate developer tore down the entire Blopfep Wilds to put up a discount shopping area called Weevilville. The timber weevils were hunted down, stuffed, and sold as souvenirs. But one of the hunters found Ving and Ding, and to quote Success, “took them under his wing. Ving, Ding, under wing, la-la-la, yeah, yeah, yeah.” (I love that song.)
Under the tutelage of the hunter (Success called him Fing, but I think they made that up), Ving and Ding soon became productive members of Ferengi society. A talent agent for the Pilum Porous Agency heard their amazing story, and before they knew it, Ving and Ding were travelling all over Ferenginar doing their weevil tricks for appreciative, well-paying audiences.
It is said that during their one year of touring, Ving and Ding made more profit than the Grand Nagus himself. (To which Fing the Hunter replied, “Why not? They had a better year than he did.”) But then, to everyone’s surprise, they vanished. At first it was thought that foul play was involved, that perhaps they had been kidnapped by the jealous Grand Nagus. But no ransom note appeared and no bodies were ever found. Their disappearance became the greatest mystery of its time. Ferenginar swarmed with amateur Ving and Ding sleuths, seeking high and low for the lost lads (and hoping to be handsomely rewarded by Pilum Porous, Inc.).
But years went by, and gradually Ferenginar lost interest in the brothers. Only Fing the Hunter continued the search. For fifty years, he sought them, from the sleet-covered streets of Rangahorn to the fetid jungles of Hoopoohoopoo. And then, one day, in the forests of Loom, Fing came upon a pack of giant timber weevils. And leading the pack were the two grimiest, spine-riddled timber weevils of them all … Ding and Ving. Hard as it may be to believe, the brothers had thrown away their fame, their glory, and their profits to return to the simple life of their boyhood. When Fing saw the brothers (now full grown alpha-male timber weevils), he approached them with tears of joy in his eyes. But Ving and Ding descended on him, banging rocks together like all good timber weevils do. Unfortunately, in this case, they made sure that Fing’s head was between the rocks. Poor, sweet Fing.
When he heard about this story (don’t ask me how, since Fing was dead and Ving and Ding were off weevilling in the wilderness), Blemin the Bard wrote the first of many dramatizations about the boys, “The Strange and True Tragedy of Ving and Ding, the Timber Boys,” or “Once a Weevil….”
As was his habit, Blemin attached a clever moral to the end of the play, and that moral became the Two Hundred Seventeenth Rule of Acquisition:
“You can’t free a fish from water.”
He was deep, that Blemin.
Monkeying with primitives (James G. MacDonald) may be good for a few laughs, but the gains are almost always short-term.
RULE
#223
Remember the Barter Age? Not like you were there, because that’d mean you were very, very old. I mean, do you remember our last story about the Barter Age? Rule Twenty-Two ring a bell? Commerce Zones, feuds, bloodshed, and all that nasty stuff? (I don’t want to be a pest about this, but you’d get so much more enjoyment from this book if you didn’t skip around so much.) Anyway, picture yourself back in the Barter Age. To be more specific, in the village of Kope on the warlike Plains of Plol. Got it? Good. Now for our story.
One day, the noted sage, Yinkee the Shrewd, was indulging himself at the Happy Lobes Inn, a place well known for its potent fermented snail juice and its lithesome, scandalously clothed females. Yinkee had just finished his seventh snail juice and was eyeing a particularly dextrous lass (wearing feathered gloves up to her shoulders!), when DaiMon Yomgro, the village’s Security Consultant, burst into the tavern.
Yomgro seemed upset, to say the least. According to him, an army from the neighboring Commerce Zone was on its way to Kope. Yomgro ordered all the males to leave at once and prepare for battle.
As hard as this may be to believe, back then Ferengi actually valued courage in battle more than cunning at the negotiating table. But at least the males of Kope had their priorities straight. They agreed to fight, but only once they’d had their fill of hard spirits and soft oo-mox.
But Yomgro protested. “There’s no time!” he insisted. “Put down those females and pick up your cudgels! For the hour of truth is at hand!”
Yomgro must’ve been a very persuasive speaker, or the females weren’t as lithesome as everyone said, because the Ferengi males actually did as they were told. They turned their backs on oo-mox and strode forward, heads held high, and cudgels held even higher, to meet the enemy….
All except for Yinkee. His appetite was as great as his wisdom, and he looked around at all the unimbibed snail juice and all those available females, and realized where he was truly needed. So he tarried behind, telling himself he’d leave for the battle as soon as he’d finished his business at the Happy Lobe.
Fifteen hours later, head swimming in snail juice and lobes happily numb, Yinkee staggered onto the battlefield, only to find it littered with bodies. Yomgro had led the men of Kope to their deaths. Yinkee sighed, “That could be me lying there, all chopped up.” But then he smiled and let out a contented belch. Oo-mox and snail juice had saved his life.
Yinkee lived to a ripe old age, and told his story so often that it became the basis of the Two Hundred Twenty-Third Rule of Acquisition:
“Beware the man who doesn’t make time for oo-mox.”
They have a saying on Risa: “What is ours is yours.” Who are Ferengi to argue?
RULE
#229
The greatest sculptor in the history of Ferenginar was Meelo the Mold Master, of the city of Glunge. You may have seen his famous statue “Lonz and his Nose Flute” which still stands in the Glunge Marketplace today. But Meelo’s greatest work was his statue of Voshma the Voluptuous. This life-size representation of a naked Ferengi female was so breathtakingly beautiful that it was said no male could look upon it and not fall hopelessly in love. Maybe it was the perfectly carved nose, maybe it was the delicate lobes … or maybe it was just the fact that she was made of solid gold-pressed latinum.
But if Voshma had many admirers, none was purer in his devotion than Meelo himself. He was so smitten with his work that he would spend hours each day polishing it, buffing it to a high sheen, so that even after ten years, Voshma glowed as brightly as when she was first cast. Some say Meel
o even spoke to the lifelike statue, that he treated it in every way as if it were his own wife. Let’s just say that for those ten years, Meelo got very little work done.
But one day, a strange thing happened. As he was contemplating Voshma’s perfect golden hindquarters, Meelo heard a buzzing sound in his workshop. “Open your palm,” a tiny voice whispered. Confused, Meelo did as he was told. To his amazement, a small creature landed on his open hand. The creature looked like a teeny, tiny, itsy-bitsy Ferengi with wings. “I am Znip, the spirit of love” the creature said. “And few on Ferenginar love as strongly as you do. Such devotion deserves reward.”
Now this sounded good to Meelo. After all, no Ferengi ever turned down a reward. “What did you have in mind?” Meelo asked.
Znip smiled. “You adore Voshma, but your love is wasted on cold hard latinum. I will make Voshma a real Ferengi female, so that your passion can be consummated and your love made real.”
Now Meelo was a quick thinker. He did some quick calculations. And he came to a quick conclusion.
“Thanks,” he said, “but no thanks.”
And with that Meelo brought his hands together with a thunderous clap that could be heard clear across the city of Glunge. And znip was no more.
Meelo wiped his hands on his pants and went back to contemplating the golden beauty that was Voshma.
Though I’m sure he was sorely tempted, Meelo was obviously a firm believer in the Two Hundred Twenty-Ninth Rule of Acquisition:
“Latinum lasts longer than lust.”
Brief moments of ecstasy with your female (Mary Crosby) can’t compare to the enduring joy of profit.
RULE
#235
17,882 was a very interesting year on Ferenginar. In that year alone, over twenty thousand Grand Nagi held office; the Ferengi Financial Exchange crashed 3152 times, while setting 12,322 record highs; there were 41,098 civil wars; an unknown number of Ferengi incited interstellar wars (estimates are in the millions); and the Ferengi sun went nova at least once a week. In other words, 17,882 was the year Ferenginar discovered time travel.
Star Trek Deep Space Nine: Lengends of the Ferengi Page 7