Wednesday, January 25, 2006

Wasted in the Temporal Wastes

The year is 45780--I think. Maskatron and Spirella stranded me here, taking off in the time machine while I was out looking for hologram postcards and T-shirts with funny slogans on them. But they'll be back--if only because I have the Temporal Stabilizer Clamp from the navigational computer. Without that they won't be able to lock down to anything more specific than a century.


Err...maybe they won't be back after all. Well, I can always build my own time machine. Don't know where I'll find aluminum foil or bendie straws here, though. Seems that, all other natural resources being used up long ago, everything these days is made out of a kind of living coral-like substance. Looks like I may have to build the superstructure from sea sponges and plankton.


Funny how they still have the internet though, except now it's just called "Wurb". It seems that at some point--in about 30500--the world wide web became self-editing and sentient. Not only is it a conduit of information, then, but it has become an active participant in the shaping of world culture. The medium, as such, has truly become the message.

*Someone already made that joke about a thousand years ago*

See what I mean? So, there is this incredible network of connections and information, but there is now always a third party involved in any web-related activity.

*I really think you should tell them about the superstring sandwiches. They go great with a side of nabberballs*


The thing about Wurb is, all that information has driven the web somewhat insane, and you have to watch he doesn't start spamming you at random.

*Back pain? Try the new Relax-a-coil Adjustable Jet-Propellsion Chair. Guaranteed to do 0-60 in just under a nanosecond. You won't feel a thing, because you'll be covered in popsicles!*


Anyhow, life this far in the future isn't that much different, really, from life in any other era. People are still willing to do just about anything for a buck--though now they call them "Gyrobians" after the famous early 21st century blog author-turned-telecomunications magnate--and the average lifespan has been extended to such an extent that people are actually outliving the will to live itself, thereby creating a strange shadow race of anti-matter zombies that look like oversized, turquoise babies who turn everything they touch into a quivering jellow-like substance that explodes within 2-5 months. But the government is well on its way to having this problem under control, and the standard of living has reached astronomical levels, despite the roaming packs of flesh-eating computer upgrades that have been harassing city-dwellers over the past few years.


*My mother was a computer virus from Oklahoma, but I never let that get in the way of my professional duties*

Well, it's going to take me a while to grow the shell for my time machine. And then there's the problem of fashioning the Temporal Indexing Compressor out of the bodies of living Techno-Wasps. It takes time to mess with time, as they used to say back at hypnotist's college. Ah college, those were the days. I'd go back there if I could. And yet, it would still all be a dream. A strange, meandering dream from which I might never, ever




Blogger His Majesty said...

Bwa ha ha! Then our success is assured!

The Frozen Lower Blogosphere will fall before us! And then... on to Roboshrub Inc. and Fakiegrind!

7:18 AM  

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