Monday, May 31, 1999
  Lexus Chainsaw Massacre

by HC

In this new video game from Hasbro or whoever, you drive around the great thoroughfares of the world in a beat-up old SUV with a chainsaw in back. You drive and drive and drive until you finally spot a Lexus going in the opposite direction, at which point you immediately execute a stunning one-eighty controlled-drift U-turn across median strips and all kinds of other perverse impediments in heavy traffic in the fog and rain, and chase it and, despite sideswiping a hearts game where somebody with too much hubris or the masochism gene is shooting the moon on queen, nine, three, eventually catch it and chainsaw the living fuck out of its stylish elegance or whatever. 5 points.

When you accumulate 100 points in this fashion, you are automatically promoted to president of IBM or Boeing, but the day after your swearing-in ceremony where people are picking their noses and staring at sub-atomic flecks of crystal meth under their fingernails as you take the oath of office, the press is already writing subtly destructive articles about you like:

IBM or Boeing bets store on online surgery being killer app

Eyes shut and eating non-genetically engineered food as she spoke, IBM or Boeing president, Rebecca Sunnybrook, today announced the formation of the Let's Learn By-Pass Surgery on the Internet Institute, a $57-billion research initiative that will bring together experts in academia and industry to address the problem of teaching people how to give each other quadruple by-pass surgery over the internet in their living rooms, and the problem of life itself suddenly being more unavoidable than death itself. And of how not even swallowing 4 triple AAA batteries (not included) is enough anymore.

"This is a serious problem," said Sunnybrook, at 3AM, acid-taking time, "and blah blah blah."

The "blah blah blah" is taken from the universal language which, by definition, everybody in the universe understands except you, and is merely a way to add emphasis to what the speaker was thinking but unwilling to say for fear of reprisals against somebody else who looks like her and walks and talks and thinks and is pissed off like her but is NOT her, so why should she suffer MORE than Christ and her, put together?

Anyway, you are unphased by the article, whose virulence only makes you stronger, and immediately you launch into supercomputer-scale processing initiatives that combine massive computation and sophisticated software algorithms. But the shitted-out press just says, like, hey, what's up with that?

Stupidly, you still want to include optimization, simulation, and visualization, as well as advanced pattern matching and discovery.

Suddenly the room you are in goes all wacky. It has apparently been a Trojan horse or trapdoor for the game all along and has secretly stored the digitized recording of a deeply human phoneme in your cookie file to jump out unexpectedly, one day, at what its neural nets determine is the most inopportune time.

As a result, you are deceived into swallowing the same 4 triple AAA batteries which you accused of being not really enough anymore, but of course you were misquoted in that article, and misunderstood and no reporter even talked to you, and instead just made it all up out of old journalism articles, old movies, and his ass.

You wake up in a hospital where genetically engineered surgeons are very nonchalantly backing out tenth-story plate glass windows in the rain just as they're preparing to sew you back up.

When they hit the street, it's night and there's nothing but empty warehouses on two sides and the bay on the third, lapping at the dock only a few yards away.

Frogmen appear from the bay side and take the wounded surgeons to their hover craft.

To be continued...

Without them, now, the stock market crashes.

The earth is thrown into a turmoil as all its markets for air evaporate.

Nobody wants to hear air guitar anymore or play air golf or air tennis. Or have an air war or air sex. Or breathe air air.

When you finally leave the hospital it turns out they didn't have the Singer Handy Stitch (TM) mender so they had to use the Singer Button Magic (TM) button stitcher to sew you up instead, so you now have buttons all up and down your former incisions. But don't worry. These will just become a natural part of your flesh. Or vice versa. 7 points.

You sit down at one of the tables outside Manny's or whoever's and glance at the trades. All top 10 box office grossing films of the past week have "ate my balls" in their title. Preceded by the name of their star. And all their blurbs say, "Lives up to its title!!!"

You try to re-orient yourself by glancing at the headlines other people are reading the stories to, at nearby tables, in the rain:

All movies must now have "ate my balls" in title, censorship committee rules.

The Joint censorship committee today ruled that....

Life apparently just a metaphor, study finds

A study by the Is Life Just a Metaphor Institute today found that, indeed, so-called life really is just a so-called fucking metaphor for something else which is beyond the scope of this study and this institute.

Tae Bo dummy takes impressive lead in Presidential primary race

A Tae Bo punching dummy, called "Gerd" by Tae Bo founder, former action star, Billy blanks, today....

Staggering around drunk on your ass, just a metaphor, study finds

The Institute for the Study of Whether Staggering Around Drunk On Your Ass Is Just A Metaphor today released its findings that, indeed, staggering around drunk on your ass really is just a metaphor for something other than itself.

Study findings suspect, study finds

A study by the Institute for the Study of Study Findings found today that...

Anti-missile missile blows itself up

An anti-missile missile, today...

People who think they have a million ideas, only really have one or two, study finds

A recent study conducted at MIT of 100 people who kept saying "I got a million ideas" has found that 48.7% of these people only really had, like 1 or 2 ideas at best. The remaining 51.3% had no ideas whatsoever.


[ PREVIOUS  |   ARCHIVES   |   C3F ]

Copyright (c) 1999 by HC