Science Digging Fiction
Terry_Clubbup
833 Posts
The United States of America (the country) has run its course,and should be abolished, what do y'all think of this.We could separate things quite a bit and cooperate or go towar with our neighbors. Some of y'all in "Might As Well Be Canada"(i.e. northern Minnesota) can go ahead and be Canada.Alaska its own country.Texas its own country for sure.It's just too much land and too many people at this point in history.It's a corporation running a sham-country.Do you ever get tired of complaining.If you want to save the U.S.A., then you are a :NATIONALIST:But no matter what, we all have the right to private property, right?________________________________________________And that was how we killed the whales.________________________________________________Discourse having been cheapened below bumpersticker mentality,we broke up, broke off and broke out.What do you think about this:Organic Farmers Armed To The TEETHOFATTThat's where I (will or die) live.First woman president of any region-state. First Blackman on the moon.Manditory organic cigarette smoking is forced at gunpoint.Well, not really, but when our region-states formed in 2012 our neighbor region immediately banned all forms of smoking, so thatwe, being further East, caught that weather and turned it around,having to do something to differentiate ourselves in the books.In my region-state all consumer vinyls have been disallowed sincethe year 2013. Retroactively, even. All surviving record collectionshave been secured far underground. Current ownership of a record collectionnumbering over 200 vinyls is grounds for genital disattachment and chipimplantation.OFATTI decided to go upstairs with mine - an old soundproof booth from an analogtelevision studio, with a 1-ton gun safe inside. To get inside the gun safeyou have to precicely dial a 5-number combo and then turn what looks likea captain's wheel on a ship. The records are inside.In 2010 when things started to get real weird real quick, I had my firstneedle implanted into the first finger on my right hand. Odd alloys andrare rubbers, previously treated as junkyard detrius, were suddenly in demand as fuels, and who knew what would be next? And I wanted to listento my fucking records.I pruned my collection down to three crates, not a sleeper in the bunch.Which turned out to be a mistake - sometimes you want a sleeper.Sometimes the records with one good song followed by three really badsongs remind you how good your good records are.So now, three years later, my finger still healing from the recent implantationof the hottest top-of-the-line embedded finger stylus, I lie on the floorflat on my back and pull the metal spindle out of my sternum and attachthe wooden baseplate to prepare for the rubber mat.My mom lives in the Southernmost region-state, lorded over by a successionof chicken-fried redneck Mussolinis. Now there's a mistake she'll never geta chance to make again. Any person tries crossing that border gets positivelyLIQUIFIED and the image is automatically sent to everyone's card-screensin milliseconds.I'll never see mom again, so mom doesn't need to know anything about howthe "doctors" from what used to be Hungary helped to turn me and my friendsinto human turntables.It's not so weird when you think about anything reverse-engineered.After all, what is a person walking on two feet?A more organic version of a motor and the root word "ped" at play.Getting caught with a record player now is like getting caught witha bong down in Southernmost. You're for sure fucked. Where there'srecord players there's vinyl. And just as I've trained my body to playrecords, OFATT troopers trained their dogs to sniff out vinyl.But I could plant 5 or 6 bloody rump roasts in that gun safe and the dogswould never know. I don't know how they did it, but it's damn tight and dry.When they come for me, I have half a mind to just climb in that safe andplay a record till my oxygen runs out.For now the air is calm and the life is sweet.I've got a nice icey bottle of the world's purest corn liquor next to me,fixed at the top with a pressure-sensitive crazy straw made special so Ican sip while lying flat on my back. Years of eating organic make me feellike how I think Superman must feel.Yet I crave dirt. And I don't mean tilled-soil dirt. I mean the offal, the refuse and the byproducts. I pull the mid-70s pressingof the Stooges' "Funhouse" out of the sleeve and gingerly place iton my torso, motor in my sternum spinning the rubber at a steadythirty-three and a third with no hum.I use my thumbnail to scrape a sliver of vinyl from the edge.Roll the black sliver around between my thumb and finger.Pull my left eyelid way, way out to where one of my energy-chipsis visible. Put that vinyl sliver right on the chip.Close my eye, eye rejecting the record-thorn, I push through the pain,drop the needle onto my chest and let the rush of umber-coloredenergy coarse and flow orange, let it flow sweetly and let it growas a shell around me as I lay perfectly still.
Comments
think about how collectible old furniture is