It’s been two hours since the helicopter crashed on the mountain.
Well, not really crashed. It was a rather good landing.
Jacobs disagrees about that. “It was a shitty landing,” he says. “Spilled my drink.”
We’ve got plenty of food, water, and other supplies, but Jacobs insists that we kill the pilot and eat him.
“I’m not eating goddamned energy soy bars,” says Jacobs. “I want a steak, and muscle is just meat, right?”
The pilot tried to yell through his gag.
“I think I hear a chopper,” I said. “They found us.”
“Good,” said Jacobs. “More pilots to eat.”
Tag: dystopia
Blame Game
I work for a troubleshooting firm.
Companies hire our company to work on their bugs and errors.
Oh, we don’t actually fix anything. We just change the way it breaks.
Instead of a computer program crashing and throwing out a meaningful error message that they’d need to investigate and pay developers to resolve, we make it look like it’s the user’s fault for the crash so they have to buy a new computer or update other expensive components.
Car companies.
Food makers.
Schools.
Governments.
Religions.
They’re all our clients now.
But don’t blame us… it’s not our fault.
It’s yours.
Turnabout
Lawmakers recently expanded the definition of rape to include acts upon women, men, and others.
When asked what they meant by others, the lawmakers didn’t answer.
So, they were hauled before a judge for the crime of rape.
“By using ambiguous terms such as ‘others’ I find you guilty of the crime of rape against the English Language,” said the judge. “You’re also guilty of rape of the legal system for burdening police and judges with ambiguous laws.”
And they were all hauled off to prison, where they were treated as they had treated the language and the legal system.
Pardon
They’re called midnight pardons, and they’re the most dangerous thing a lame-duck president or governor can do.
With the stroke of a pen, a criminal gets their sentence reduced, removed, or their record completely wiped.
They can’t be stopped or revoked, and a departing elected executive can’t be investigated for it.
A lot of these people deserve it, sure, but others had their pardons bought and paid for.
Political favors. Campaign contributions.
Bribes
Yeah, we paid to get Solly The Toucan released from solitary in maximum security.
We also paid for the sniper that took him out.
Worth every penny.
Quarter
Susan and I were in our usual booth at the coffee shop.
Two cups of coffee on the table, mine black and hers with cream and sugar.
She’s got her iPad out, Facebooking.
Then, she takes a napkin from the dispenser, jots down a note, flicks the pad some more.
“Can’t you just tap that out on the pad?” I ask.
She doesn’t even look up from the pad. “What?”
I take a quarter out of my pocket, plink it against the table, *plerp* into the cup.
She picks up the cup, sips.
Doesn’t even notice.
I pay and leave.
Verification
When customers call us, they’re supposed to answer a verification question.
If they don’t have a verification question on file, they need to log into our site and set one.
“But I’m not in front of a computer!” they growl.
I wonder if they pull this crap on people at the bank.
“I left my checkbook and wallet at home,” they yell. “I don’t know my account number. I have no ID. And I never let you put my fingerprint on file. Now give me my money.”
They are resellers, who are entrusted to other people’s stuff.
Seriously misplaced trust.
Soul Licenses
Deep in the User Agreement for the new software release, Ted slipped the sentence “User agrees to give their soul to Company” into the text.
“This will get people to read it!” he chuckled.
Nobody did, and pretty soon, Ted’s inbox filled up with souls.
The IT Department got pissed at him. “You filled the mail server, Ted! You need to send these back or delete them!”
“I can’t!” moaned Ted. “That would be murder. Or soulacide. Or…”
He resold them to The Devil for pennies on the dollar.
“I was going to get these anyway, just saving me time.”
Unhappy New Year
Due to a logistical error, the Baby New Year ended up in the womb of a crack-smoking teen runaway in Boise, Idaho, and he was born two months premature.
It caught the world completely off guard.
Not only did everything really suck for a while as the unhealthy year struggled to survive inside its incubator, but companies shed hundreds of thousands of jobs because the whole Christmas shopping season was lost.
“We’ll make Valentine’s Day the big shopping day!” they said, but there’s only so many chocolates and edible panties the market can bear.
Here’s hoping next year’s better, friends.
Last Night On The Roof
Tonight, a cold December’s night on a New Jersey rooftop, looking out over the Hudson… boats waiting for the fireworks, to ring out the old year and bring in the new.
We’re not in the Square this year. Vinnie and Bobby said it was a pain in the ass getting into the city and pushing my wheelchair around the crowds.
So, blind stinking drunk, they hauled me up six flights of stairs.
I check my watch.
3… 2… 1… happy new year!
Wake up, guys. Wake up.
Happy new year.
They’re passed out. Snoring.
Shivering, cursing, I yell for help.
The Man Who Was Once In The Moon
They told The Man In The Moon he was no longer needed.
“Automation,” they said.
He had heard rumors of downsizing. The asteroid belt was already completely outsourced. Jupiter and Saturn were handling all their moons from a central dispatch. It was only a matter of time before he’d get the axe.
“What if something goes wrong?” he said. “The connection could go bad, and there’s some things you just can’t do remotely, you know.”
“We’ve got it covered,” they said, and they handed him a severance check.
Two weeks, plus unused vacation, and a little extra for good service.