Shiny Happy Glowing Rats !
I have a good friend who works for the IT department of one of those MegaCorps that own several governments on their payroll. I chat to him online from time to time and we talk about this and that. Here's an excerpt from a recent conversation we had:
I have corrected minor spelling errors so as to make him look smarter than he really is. (Hi Pete).
Peter: one of the projects we're running next year is
So there you have it ladies and germs. Isn't it nice to know that the drugs that will soon be pumped into our water systems to make sure we take them daily in case we didn't subscribe to the "Take your Prozac with your cereals TM " way of life, have all been rigorously tested and been certified as safe.
On the basis of an imaging recognition software package determining if a rat is currently suicidally depressed, euphoric, despondent-but-stable or any other myriad "behaviours"...
Isn't progress Grand? Isn't technology wonderful?
It reminds me of that other amazing leap forward in technology that Microsoft announced about a dozen years ago as being almost perfected. It was colloquially known as wreck a nice beach software.
It was supposed to save us from the dreary use of keyboards and thus avoid us getting repetitive wrist strain injury.
Surely by now recognise speech software is fully functional right? By now they must have it so I can just sub-vocalise and don't actually need to speak out loud to myself. Surely. I mean it was almost perfect back in 1995 according to MS. It must be perfect now. Unless of course the MS people are compulsive sufferers themselves of repetitive wrist strain injury.
I must go out and buy myself some recognise speech software right away. I think I'll try and pay with my handprint and use it to write the next great novel of the 21st century to put me on a par with Shakespeare and Danielle Steel. Though I admit Jackie Collins is more my style, and maybe I'll go for Alighieri's more visceral sub-context too.
Hell I might even take a bunch of over-the-counter stimulants to pop as I write it all in one go, which incidentally gives me the title of the book: Tropic of the Equator. It will make Henry Miller blush in his grave I tell you. Besides, based on what we have all just learnt we know drugs are tested for safety so I'll be fine.
And then I'll have enough money to buy myself a brand new shiny Black Ray Gun. Which will be a nice addition to my Zap Gun.
Apparently Phantom Lady uses one of them too.
If she existed I would recruit her for my crew in a heartbeat. Damn I really wish I had my spaceship back. Crew or no crew. This planet is starting to depress me more than usual.
It may also have to do with the fact that my oldest friend was diagnosed with a vicious type of cancer last week and we'll only find out later this week if they took it all out after they cut a chunk out of his neck or if he's fucked.
I did my bit of course, which means I hypnotised him to a deep state and suggested to his unconscious there have to be healthier ways for it to make him aware some changes are due in his life. It might sound shamanistic and primitive but then again the alternative is to fill him with drugs that were tested on rats and bombard him with radioactivity (which we at least are sure causes cancer). Makes sense to me.
If any of you have a starship lying around, even an old third-hand one, let me know. Failing that.... would all Phantom Lady look-alikes please call on me and give me some hope that this planet and its human inhabitants may be redeemable in some way. Individually or in groups; it's all cool with me. I'm easy that way.
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