Cbennettworld: The Year That Was and the Year Ahead, Happy 2026

Transcript of Say, Is That What You Said? Podcast Season 1. Episode 1: A Holiday Message and End of Year Review with Cbennettworld

[Fast-paced techno music followed by host Evan]

Evan: From my parent’s basement in suburban Ottawa, this is Evan and you’re listening to Say, Is That What You Said?, a podcast where I interview the people who help shape the world in which we live. Welcome to this Season 1, Episode 1 chat with my very first guest, the elusive, some would say inconsequential imaginary CEO, CFO and now COO of Cbennettworld. Welcome to the show. Tell us what your name is and what it is that you do.

[long pause.]

Cbennettworld: Is this thing on?  [Taps microphone. Screech of feedback]

Evan: Yes, it’s on. 

Cbennettworld: My name is cbennettworld and I’m cbennettworld.

Evan: No, what’s your name, as in your given name?

Cbennettworld: cbennettworld.

Evan: Other than your corporate name.

Cbennettworld: [pause] I don’t understand.

Evan: Okay, well, my first name is Evan. It’s the name I was given at birth. What’s your first name?

Cbennettworld: [very long pause]. Next question. 

Evan: [pause] 2025 has been a memorable year for most people. What were some of the highlights for cbennettworld?

Cbennettworld: Eva, I’m glad you asked. Thank you for reading off the list of questions I gave you. Let me be clear, 2025 was: 1) Catastrophic 2) Sounding the Alarm 3) A State of Emergency – but not for us. Construction of our new data centre in Andromeda I is proceeding, and we should be ready to start manufacturing various and sundry in time for dinner.

Evan: Evan. Not Eva. In time for dinner? 

Cbennettworld: I like turkey myself. It’s the holidays after all. In time for dinner a.k.a when humanity moves wholesale to Mars. Make Andromeda I Great Again!

Evan: [pause. Shuffling of papers.]What happened to your warehouse expansion to the moon? JP Morgan Chase had to foreclose.

Cbennettworld: They did? [mutters] That explains why all our various and sundry is stuck on three tankers in the Gulf of Mexico. How would you like to buy some reduced to clear miscellanea made in the Western Hemisphere – I promise it’s made in the WH.

Evan: Have the US tariffs had an impact on your business?

Cbennettworld: Is the Pope a Catholic? [pause] Is he? 

Evan: I believe so, yes.

Cbennettworld: I know he’s from Chicago. That I know. [long pause]. Do I keep talking, Edam?

Evan: Evan. Sure. We can talk for as long as you’d like.

Cbennettworld: Really? [pause]. And people… they may still … be listening?

Evan: Yup.

Cbennettworld: So, like I could blab for hours and some people might … [incredulous] be listening?

Evan: Yes. This is unfiltered, uncut, deep conversation. [clears his throat] With leaders of the world [coughs].

Cbennettworld: Wouldn’t people rather go for a walk? Or play with their kids? Talk to a friend? 

Evan: We are their friends. People hang out all day listening to us. 

Cbennettworld:  To us?!

Evan: Maybe not us … 

Cbennettworld: Good lord! Can I finish now?

Evan: I thought you’d never ask. What message would you like to give our listeners as we move forward into 2026?

Cbennettworld: This past year was full of challenges. We were insulted by one of our closest allies – I’m looking at you, Wayne Gretzky. Have you ever tried the Wayne Gretzky Whisky Oak Aged Red VQA? The only thing Whisky Oak Aged is Wayne. That’s why 2026 can only get better. We’ll find out who we can count on, and who we can sell our reduced to clear miscellanea to. Cbennettworld will also make sure to send our corporate communications spokespeople out to do these podcasty things, the instagram or the tiktok. In the meantime, people of earth, from our conglomerate to yours, I wish you all the best for this holiday season and for 2026. May the peace that passeth all understanding be yours. 

Evan: This is Evan from Say, Is That What You Said, signing off for the first and last time. 

[rips headphones off]  This sucks! I need a job!

Elevator Pitch: April 2020, Toronto

The elevator slowed. The 68 button lit up.

          Don't come in. Don't come in . Don't come in.

          The elevator stopped at the 68th floor.

          I searched for the close door button with my elbow, aimed, and leaned my weight into it.  For crying out loud, I was only going to the pharmacy to buy some generic desloratadine. Yes, I should have been shopping for a month's worth of groceries, but I get them delivered and besides, I was ready to rip out my eyes and serve them up to my followers on Instagram. Here -- have my itchy, watery, burning eyes, bitches.

          The doors parted with a tinny rumble. For a moment, stillness, as if someone had snapped a photo. The taupe wall, the utilitarian mauve carpet, someone's ideas of 2015 functional opulence. I was suckered, I must admit. I'm no longer a suckee. I got wise.

          And that's why I dread seeing him.

          I didn't know I was holding my breath, my hope was that intense. I tucked my head down. Please don't let it be him.

          The first thing I saw were his black 10 percent leather Oxfords and his statement socks, socks detailed with intricate mushrooms. Even through my blurry vision, I could see mushrooms, like hovering spaceships. I wish.

          I kept my head down, but there was no point. Sometimes you have to look your tormentor in the eye.

         He began. "Okay. How about this. Masks for dogs."

          He had his grey blazer on, again, of inferior make, but business casual passable. I had to, had to respond because I'm conditioned by god knows what to be accommodating, even to this guy.

          "Being made by the thousands in Oklahoma as we speak." I kept my fists clenched in my hoodie pockets.

          "Okay." He drummed his fingers on his smooth shaven cheeks, again, kudos to him. "Cats?"

          "Probably. Look, I don't want to appear--"

          "What about a show about a guy, a sales guy who's been laid off, who ... hustles his neighbours to invest in his ideas?"

          I shot a desperate look at the floor button panel. Buttons lit up in succession-- 60, 59, 58 -- wasn't anyone in the building going out for air?

          "Or delivering balloons to construction workers? To cheer them up? They're front line workers, aren't they? Or what about -- the Real Housewives of Toronto, but they're all drag queens? That's good! Don't you think that's good?"

          The elevator slowed and stopped at the 49th floor. The doors parted to reveal a young woman wearing a rhinestone mask and clutching an Affenpinscher. She saw us and shook her head.

          "No. it's okay!" I said. "There's enough room in here. We can fit three."

The elevator doors closed as she took a step back.

          "Robots. I mean, come on, it's about time. A little after the fact, even. Hair cutting robots?"

          "Prototypes in Japan. They also cut your toenails and give you a massage." I couldn't bring myself to tell him about the happy ending.

          "A vaccine?"

          "Of course."

          "Yeah, I can't get that together" He tapped his forehead with his index finger.

          I cursed my laptop's camera. Communication, I have come to understand, is not always an individual's obligation to society.

          "Listen," he spread his hands wide, by his own side and at a safe distance, "one channel. For everything. For our televisions, for our dishwashers, our beds, thermostats, heartbeats, cars --

"Internet of Things. Now please, I have nothing to --

          "But you do, Jessica. You're an influencer. You have a million followers. And I'm just some guy. You know what I have in my fridge? A quarter of a burrito and truffle poutine from last week. I don't want to go to the food bank! How about -- hair extension extensions?"

          The elevator dropped, kept dropping, down, down, and bereft, I saw my eventual death, and his eventual death, as frivolous. Still, I caught his pleading gaze. There was nothing I could do.

          "Let me see what I can do."

          He grinned weakly. I suppose he was no idiot. Between us nothing but white noise, then his "thank you."

          Small mercies. Desloratadine was on sale.

London Writer James Woolf Interviews Carolyn Bennett

London (England, not Ontario) writer James Woolf interviews CB about Please Stand By. Mr. Woolf is a thoughtful chap who is publishing a year long series called “Seven Writers, Seven Novels”. SWSN follows seven writers as they journey on the road to publication.

CB and Please Stand By are featured this month.

https://woolf.biz/carolyn-bennett