As people started drifting off the popular platforms and hiding in smaller decentralized social media, all the venomous harpies online had to become more proactive.
They formed a group called the Offended Offensive (OO) that scoured the land trying to find where people were having fun so they could ruin it.
And they went around people's homes and just stood there outside, waiting for someone to say something that offended them. It didn’t take long.
And then try getting your Twitter back.
But the Counter Offended Offensive (COO) formed in retaliation, associating in secret where they could say what they…
AOC1: Gentlemen, the policy is simple, safe and practical: we’ll make everyone walk around in a glass box.
JOHNSON [CEO of Johnson&Johnson]: Hmm. I don’t know.
GOV.GRAMMAR [former English professor]: It just sounds bizarre to me. ‘Glass New Deal.’ I’m sorry, I can’t get over that. Who determined the order of these adjectives?
AOC1: Look Governor Grammar, the name doesn’t matter. The point is wearing a glass box would prevent all forms of contamination.
JOHNSON: But a glass box? Isn’t that overdoing it a tad?
GOV.GRAMMAR: True, but then again, what else can we do? …
Zayto’s stomach rippled and ached — he hunched over on his neural pod in agony.
Maybe it was psychological — maybe the fact he hadn’t eaten in 72 hours, apart from the saline goop hooked into his mainline.
He lay in a fetal heap, reevaluating life: his and everyone else’s. Lives which had been irrevocably crippled since this hedonistic clusterfuck called Connect hit the market a decade ago.
What if you could get the full heart-bursting experience of love and acceptance, each time with someone new, each time without the consequences of long-term commitment?
Record and play back, synchronize and…
Lewis’s essay was meant to be an informed piece on US agriculture, not this surreal mindfuck.
But an F wasn’t what awaited him at school that day.
He was hitting the pisser when the door burst open to two well-built men in black suits and shades.
“You Lewis McKinney?”
One of the government goons pulled out his phone and checked.
“McKinney, you’re going to tell us what you know.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Then what is THIS?” the goon slapped his hand on a stack of papers — it was his essay.
“What are you doing with…
“I think I want to be friends, Jason.”
“We are friends.”
“I mean just friends.”
“Just friends as in — okay. Did I do something wrong?”
“You didn’t do anything. I thought we would make good friends, that’s all.”
“So what if we do? That doesn’t preclude other things.”
“Why? I mean it’s not like I care either way. Girls are a dime a dozen to me. But I thought that something was there, or like whatever.”
“Oh I’m sure it’s not difficult for you to have sex with someone. But maybe it’s difficult to find a friend…
His text’s a three-word sledgehammer smack-bang against her jaw:
Coming tonight, he says. Tonight? Yes, New Year’s Eve tonight.
Behind her on the counter lurks a pasty ball of raw bread-dough, its fat and lumpy bumps a grim reminder of his face.
HER LEGS SNAP CLOSE — a greasy horror crawling up between her thighs.
A slap-slap on the counter bouncing, dough.
There’s no escape. The lump of dough his face, his gooey, doughy face.
She hunches over, grips her stomach — coming here and wants to stay.
She’ll let him — why?
She’ll fuck him — why?
“Wait a minute, you have bangs. Those weren’t in your profile photo.”
“I just like the way they look is all.”
“Show me your forehead.”
“Show me now.”
“What do you want to see that for? I have zits. Too many late nights lately.”
She snatches my hair and pulls it up, revealing a giant QR code tattoo in unflattering yellow.
“Did you really think you could trick me you filthy unvax? What the hell is the matter with you? I feel so violated right now.”
No vaccine, no lucky yucky. It’s the same with everything— forget shopping…
The bedroom door slid smoothly open to the silhouette of a taut belly, perky breasts, firm legs…
Her husband was still sleeping. This much they had planned.
She charged into the room like a hot arrow of sex, piercing the blanket of night in heels, hair, and lingerie.
Sitting gently on the bed, she teased her nails down his chest, his stomach, his groin...
Still a little soft.
Biff’s eyes fluttered open. “Sarah — “
She gripped his penis tight, tighter, stroked and pumped. …
“But you said you wanted to die. You’ve been saying it every day for the past eight years!”
“So what? Everyone who works here says that.”
Death was being a real butthole about me not wanting to die yet. I got into a minor fender bender with a semi just outside the Walmart where I work — next thing you know there’s this crinkle-faced ghoul hovering behind me like my ex-mother-in-law.
“Oh come on. Just die already. I’ll give you a good spot.”
“A good spot where?”
Death looked awkwardly away. “I’m not allowed to tell you that.”
Harry couldn’t wait for his new AI to finish cooking breakfast. He’d made his own breakfasts for twenty+ years now; finally he could lie in bed while someone else did it.
Black eggs, greasy pool of bacon, burnt toast on the side. Harry poked a forkful into his mouth. It tasted familiar, yet terrible.
“What is this? Are you trying to poison me?”
“Master, I merely prepared what you make for yourself daily.”
“Didn’t it occur to you that maybe I want something better? And why do these bacon and eggs have such a sharp kick?”
“I added vodka. To…