Tag: dystopia

War

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Let’s have a war.
We’ll draw maps and set borders.
We’ll make flags and compose anthems.
We’ll dress our friends in uniforms and march them around in parades.
Then we’ll tell them to fight each other. Fight to win!
Some will die.
Others will survive their wounds. We’ll give them medals.
Many will be hurt in ways nobody can see. We’ll ignore them.
Then we’ll end the war and make peace.
We’ll be friends again, working together in harmony.
It’ll bring us closer together.
So that we can have another war.
Come on, it’ll be fun.
What do you say?

The Diva and The Devil

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I know I’ve been gone for a while, but I’m back.
And, by gum, do I have an opera!
Sold my soul for it.
Drop what you’re doing and meet me at the Old Opera House tonight.
I don’t care what it costs to do this. Put it on my tab and just get it all done, okay?
Bring musicians, instruments, singers, costumes, lighting, ushers, and caterers.
Bring the fat lady, too. We’re going to need her.
This’ll be bigger and better than the last one we did.
They’ll be packed to the rafters, paying anything… everything…
Just like me.

Message in a Bottle

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I watched as the waves carried the bottle to the beach.
I picked it up, popped the cork, and pulled out some scraps of paper.
They were coupons for herbal medications to make my breasts bigger and my penis longer and thicker.
Then there was a letter from the widow of some oil executive who didn’t know me, but they blessed me and said they’d be dead soon.
Oh, and apparently I’d won a big lottery or something.
Looking out on the water, I saw the glitter of a million more bottles.
“Goddamned Spam,” I mumbled, crumpling up the notes.

Ass Cheek Split

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Tonight, it’s my night in the ER, and we’ve got a rabbi with a bowling pin up his ass.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen one in the emergency room.
“Have you ever seen one of these?” I asked a nurse.
“No,” she said. “I think it’s a first. I’ll add it to the book.”
Five minutes later, she says I have a call.
“Who told the media?” I asked.
“It’s not the media,” said the nurse. “It’s the bowling alley. They want the shoes back.”
“What about the pin?” I asked.
“Would you want that back?” she said.

Champagne

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“A drone is a pilotless aircraft.”
“What?” I shouted.
“A drone is a pilotless aircraft,” repeated the man in the seat next to me.
He was not easy to hear over the screaming of the other passengers.
“I bet they have some peanuts left,” he continued. “Or should we hold out for the champagne from First Class?”
He reached up for the call button, but before he could press it, the other wing tore off.
That’s when he joined in on the screaming.
I guess I’m going to have the push that button myself…
That champagne had better be chilled.

When life hands you masks, make masquerade

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It looks like I have rows and rows of jars of preserves in my basement, but when I turn on the light, you can clearly see the faces within.
That’s what I do: take faces. preserve the beauty for all time and unmask the true person inside.
Early in my career, my victims died. But with practice, I’ve gotten much better at it. I haven’t taken a life while taking a face for a while now, and they come off much more cleanly.
Soon, I’ll be ready to remove my own.
Midnight is coming, and all masks are coming off.

Belt Tightening

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Report To Corporate: We don’t like the new General Manager you sent us.
First off, he’s not Spacer. You lied about promoting from within.
Then he says he understands the gravity of the situation, despite this manufacturing facility being in orbit and near-zero gravity.
Next, he says we need to do a little belt-tightening, despite this manufacturing facility being a protected Clothing-Optional Zone.
So, I told the Nudists Union we’re going on strike.
That’s when he asked me if I cared to step outside.
Sure. Here’s the airlock, pal.
His body can be found trailing our facility by 45 seconds.

Career Move

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I put my thumb on the scanner and hold it there for two minutes.
*BING*
“You are a Pirate,” said the Career-o-matic kiosk. “Congratulations.”
Earlier today, this thing told me I was a Surgeon.
“Please return items from previous Career,” said the machine.
I stuffed the bloody surgical scrubs and malpractice lawsuit documents into the disposal slot.
Whirring. A slight warm breeze.
“Please remove new Career items,” said the machine.
Reaching into the slot, I pulled out an eyepatch, cutlass, and a parrot.
“What’s the eyepatch for?” I asked.
The parrot flapped his wings and hit me in the eye.

Bum Rush The Charts

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I don’t make the music. I make musicians.
I can take any washed-up pampered drug addict, wrap them in spandex, and you can sponsor their next worldwide tour along with every other crappy light beer brewer.
People eat this shit up, so they need something to wash it down with, right?
And its not like we’ve got competition. Where you brew beer by the tanker truck, radio only has our crap to play.
It’s not payola. It’s… business.
Do we have a deal?
Good.
I propose a toast… what? Use your beer?
No thank you. I don’t drink your swill.

The Happy Couple

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In the future, couples wishing to marry will be able to create a pair of clones to test their relationship.
While the clones are married and live out their lives, the original couple is deep-frozen and stored in hibernation chambers.
Should the marriage fail, the clones are destroyed and the couple is thawed out so they can break up and go their separate ways.
But if the marriage holds, well, they live out their lives happily ever after.
Of course, the original couple ends up being destroyed.
Love can be weird sometimes, sure, but why ruin a good thing, right?