Above them, in the chopper of righteousness, I keyed in the sequence that activated the time-release dispersal system and 10s of thousands of dynamically customizable leaflets wafted slowly, one by one, down out of the sky, the message on them, the appearance of the page, rewriting and re-designing itself 60 times per second as it accommodated simultaneously to up to 6 sets of personality data coming off the 6 nearest CCID tags, from people into whose corpus callosi (CC) a conducting transmitting plate had been slid clean through, such that communications between the 2 halves of the brain were in no way disrupted from normal, but now they could be easily read by 3rd parties at up to several hundred feet (ID), depth of information, degree of personal filth, falling off as the inverse square of the distance, of course.

So, by the time a leaflet came to rest in a hand, its words and look had been meticulously retailored and re-tooled through thousands of iterations till it most closely matched the needs, wants, and sicknesses of the mind of the brain that pressed fingers against it to hold it in place so that control could enter the body through its eyes et al.

And despite the fact that it had emerged from an infinite set of possible appearances and wordings, what it summed to in the pit of the mind was our impassioned plea for an ENVIRONMENT-FREE world. NOW!

Cause we're fucking sick of the fucking environment. The fucking environment is always getting in the way -- you know? I mean, just TRY running through a dense forest at top speed with your eyes closed. Or walking across a pond naked.

Breaking you and smashing you unconscious, or drowning you -- THAT's your fucking environment in action. So lets get fucking rid of it!!

Of course, those assholes down on the ground demanding give me closure or give me sadism couldn't care less.

By closure apparently they mean having the book closed on them. By sadism they apparently mean sadism.

We are able to talk about disappearing the environment now (NOW!) because, for only the third time in human history we have the technology to accomplish this.

The first two times, people had been afraid to use it and chickened out, and the results are what you see all around you today. So it's clear we don't have a choice this time.

And we're not talking here about ruining or destroying the environment or making it unlivable or even making it livable -- we're talking about GETTING RID OF IT pure and simple. No more compromising with all these "things" that get in your way, like temperature, like rain and snow, like night. What IS this shit? I have looked thoroughly through all my past and future lives in this and all other universes and I do not in any of them see myself check off the boxes saying yes give me cold, darkness, rain, clouds, and blood-sucking insects in this one.

About half the leaflets have been released when suddenly an unanticipated air jet slams us into a tree.

When I wake up everybody's playing poverty on my behalf, looking emaciated. Clearly they all have pretensions of not being just Proctor and Gamble fodder this time.

I have serious head trauma or something. I look out the window. They haven't gotten rid of the fucking environment yet, I say to the nurse. I almost died trying to get rid of the fucking environment and what do I get for it. Not getting rid of the fucking environment is what I get for it and having it stare into the window and taunt me as I lie in a hospital bed with severe head trauma or whatever.

When the doctor comes and asks what I think of things I say "OK. The car was out of control and swerving all over the road as a result of its paint job. The driver was thinking how a different color would have worked much better in the surroundings it was passing through. So rather than kill himself by driving off an overpass again, he pulled off to the side of the road and took out a pen and paper to write a poem about it. But as he was writing, he started thinking: poems don't sell so I'm just wasting my time. But then he thought, yeah, but this isn't all just about selling, it's about, it's about, it's about... and he realized he didn't really know what it was all about. Before he could write a poem about how the paint job of his car was killing him, he would have to figure out what it was ALL ABOUT so he could figure out if it was worth writing a poem about this shit at all. I could write a screenplay about it -- that would sell no matter what, cause everybody wants a screenplay, he thought. But he realized that was just begging the question, or something. So he got out of the car and went back to the road and flagged someone down. Can I borrow your mobile internet connection he said. Sure said the driver, and handed him his keyboard. Wait, he said, I could have done this from my own car. Why did I take the trouble to flag a car down to borrow their connection. Maybe your connection isn't paid up, the driver offered. Yeah, maybe that's it he said. And then he had to figure out if, as long as he was there he might as well go ahead and use the guy's mobile internet connection anyway, or just simply apologize and go back and use his own. He had to sit down to think about it, the guy in the car had started eating lunch so he wasn't going anywhere anyway and they could all afford to wait. Should I write a poem the guy asked him or a screenplay. Should I care about whether it can sell or not? I don't know, the guy said. Life is just a lot of stupid questions at a certain point. If you are not deep down in it to where you don't know where you are, then you might as well not even bother going on. I have some suicide pills he said. No, the other guy said. I think we are here as a means by which inanimate objects and concepts communicate with each other. Iron wanted to be free from the ground and it got us to bring it out and put it all over the world, high up, animals got tired of being hunter-gatherers so they got us to give them a cushy life of laying around and "3 hots and a cot." We couldn't not exist, because iron and minerals got together with animals and plants and created something that brought them to all parts of the world low and high and placed them in positions of power and control, holding up the world for example, providing most of the so-called energy the world needs in its endless struggle against entropy..."

Before I could finish, the phone rang. The doctor held up a finger. It was his mother. His sister had caught his father fucking his brother and in trying to shoot them had accidentally shot their aunt, a nun. His grandmother, who was in the room, had a heart attack, but only died because of a botched emergency surgery, performed by his wife's brother, whose license was promptly revoked so now he'd have to come sleep on the doctor's sofa.

The doctor put his mother on hold while he phoned the supreme court to recommend they give me the chair or lethal injection, fast, before I went all wacky and started calling people up and saying, "uhhh, hello, this is UPS. We have your iguanas."

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