Humility starts with understanding how bad your memory is.
- Overmind Memo 53
Friday - Ty - Grocery Store
I’m rotating potatoes slowly. I’m sore. Hungover. Everyone at the store is moving slow today. Except the bagboys. Little bastards. Ultra is with me, explaining the complexities of world domination.
“People like the super majority plan, but have a few concerns. Thousands of concerns actually, but a few good ones. Operational security, the limits of ambition, the disposal of our enemies, our general lack of direction.”
“Hmm.” I stack a few more potatoes. “Start with operational security.”
“Our attack is neither secret, nor fast. Our enemies will see our obvious, slow, advance and will counter it.”
“How? What are they gonna do?”
“Use billions to rig the primaries with lies, bribes, and oppression. Or, set up their own super majority. A dark super majority. Like:
Step 1 - Fuck the World
- More Drone Strikes
- More Torture
- More Assassinations
- End Foreign Aid
- End Immigration
Step 2 - Fuck the Poor
- Mandatory Drug Tests
- No Health Care for Immigrants or Drug Users
Step 3 - Fuck my Life
- Increase Military Spending
- Imprison More Drug Users
- More Fucking Death Penalty
“These policies are also super popular.” says Ultra. “Or popular enough to be a spoiler. Give politicians enough voter cover to ignore our demands.”
“Yeah, that would suck. What’s wrong with our ambition?
“Our plan won’t help everybody. Because racism. Bodycams don’t stop police from targeting minorities. Ending surveillance doesn’t end the Muslim ban. We’re not doing shit for refugees.
“We could do better. But fixing racism isn’t popular. If we try, we may sink the whole operation. And people are dying without cheap drugs and healthcare. Maybe we should fix that first, then circle back to fight racism? It’s a dick move either way. Also, global warming is time sensitive. Our vague ass demand for environmental regulations is completely inadequate.”
I finish piling potatoes. Sigh. Bury my face in them. Dang.
“The disposal of our enemies is a mind fuck too. The people we’re trying to help, and the people we’re fighting, are often the same people. Are we trying to convert them, or sideline them, or destroy them? Empathy and hate are a confusing mix. Who are we trying to help? Who are we fucking over? Who are we?”
God damn. I don’t ask why we lack direction. “What’s our next step?”
“If all our ideas suck, we need more ideas. We should gather as many supporters as we can and run experiments on them.” Ultra shrugs. “Or talk to them.”
“Let’s do the talking thing.” Fuck, I’m an experiment.
“Okey-dokey. I’ll set something up for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, you have a date tonight.”
“Right.” Dammit.
I finish work. Grab some groceries. Lug them home.
I open the door to Apartment 9. It smells outstanding. Tommy, Storm, and Charlotte (my 90 year old neighbor) are cooking, drinking, and talking shit. My groceries are taken. I’m given a bowl. It’s good. Really good. Bowser sits by me.
The others join me. Smoke, and drink, and eat. Tommy and Storm know each other. I guess he equips Grey Team. I smoke a little, but try to stay on the level. I’ve got a date tonight.
“How ya doing old man?” asks Storm.
“I’m okay. A little sore. Someone fucking kicked me.”
Storm laughs. “Are you enjoying your symbiont?”
“It’s confusing and weird.”
“Tell me about it.” she smiles. “Mine invited me to a world domination experiment.”
Charlotte and Tommy nod. Hmm. I guess we’re all in. Unless there’s more than one world domination experiment.
Dang.
After some careful questions, we establish that we’re all dominating for the same experiment. I lay out our problems as I understand them.
“Hmm.” says Tommy. “That’s a pickle.”
Charlotte cackles. “You idiot. You got a million man team. Fuck politics. Just do whatever you want. If they don’t like it, they can suck a dick.”
Silence.
“Interesting.” says Storm. “Can we just do this shit?”
“Err, we can’t strap cameras to cops without an official proclamation.” replies Tommy. “But we could give everyone else a coin drone. They’re only $5 a pop. A symbiont could direct the feed straight to your lawyer, or the press, or whoever.”
“I like it.” says Storm. “Do another.”
“Uhh… okay? Let’s just make our own drugs?” he smokes. “Would that work? I mean, I made these drugs, and they’re pretty great.”
“I think making pharmaceuticals is a little harder than marijuana.” I blink. “Though, this is pretty stellar pot.”
“Thanks. I call it Not Oblivion.”
“Why Not Oblivion?” asks Storm.
“Well, it’s not oblivion, but I’m getting close.”
“Right.” I set down my joint. “Do you have any pot that will help with a hangover, but won’t put me in a coma?”
“I have Icarus.”
“That sounds fun. Do me up.” I say.
Tommy rolls me a joint, while Storm shakes her head. “You and your penance drugs.”
“What?” I ask.
“Penance drugs. You’re addicted to hangovers and side-effects. You like to feel bad.”
“That’s crazy. Why would I want that?”
“For the same reason masochists do.” says Storm. “Physical pain distracts you from painful thoughts.”
“Well, you’re wrong. I do drugs because they’re fun and they make me look cool.” I take a hit of Icarus. I’m instantly paranoid. Cool.
“What were we talking about?” I ask.
“Taking over the world, fixing it ourselves, making drugs.” says Charlotte.
“Right. Can we make drugs?”
“Maybe.” says Storm. She’s staring at nothing. I’m not sure if she’s talking to Mega, or just high. “Definitely maybe. Making cheaper versions of existing drugs should be doable. But I don’t know if we can develop new drugs. We’re also trying to cure aging and fatness. That will take experimentation. Are we up to stealing monkeys?”
“Aw hell, you can experiment on me.” says Charlotte. “I don’t give a shit.”
“A volunteer.” says Storm. “Interesting…”
“Why don’t we use the dog?” asks Tommy. “He’s old and fat.”
We look at Bowser. He wags his tail.
Storm shrugs. “We could start him on Metformin. Might help. We got any fixes for global warming?”
“Apparently traffic jams can be solved with game theory.” I say. “That would cut emissions by 8%.”
Storm rubs her hands together. “Yes. I like this.”
I’m beat. I have a date in a few hours. “I love you guys, but I need a nap.” I slip away and crash.
I wake late. Rush through basic hygiene. Dammit. I don’t have any nice clothes. Where did they all go? How long has it been since I dressed up? All my shirts have superheroes on them, or are too tight. Deep in my closet, I find a Hawiian shirt. I pair it with my best jeans. Check the mirror. I look like Rip Van Fratboy. Ugh. Let’s get this over with.
Ultra gets me a ride to the date. I’m hoping to meet a drunk at a gas station, but I’m dropped off at the fanciest restaurant in town.
“I can’t afford this place.”
“No problem. She’ll pick up the tab.” says Ultra.
“Great.”
I attempt to smooth a wrinkle on my Hawiian shirt.
“I’m not sure if this is a good idea.” I say.
“It’s a great idea.” says Ultra. “Trust me, I’m smarter than you.”
“I don’t think she’s gonna like me.”
“Of course she will.” says Ultra. “You’re great. And she’s not picky.”
“What if she yells at me?”
“Why would she yell at you?”
“I dunno. What if she yells every time I make a mistake? That’s too much yelling. That’s not good for anybody.”
“Jesus Christ! Nobody’s going to yell at you! Get the fuck in there!”
I enter the restaurant. It’s fancy. Everyone is much better dressed than me. I expect some static from the staff, but they cheerily guide me to Felicia’s table. She’s already here. I’m late. Underdressed, broke, and late. True to myself.
I’m led through the restaurant to a patio on the roof. It’s beautiful and exclusive. There’s only one table. Candle light, beer, bread, and oil. Felicia comes into focus as I get closer. Strong curves, tight dress, long iron-grey hair. Holy fuck. She’s a goddess.
She picks up the pitcher of beer. Pours me a glass. “Welcome.”
I drink. “Thanks.”
I drink more.
I finish my drink.
She’s looking at me.
My drink is empty.
“So…” I say. “Do you like stuff?”
She laughs.
“I’m sorry.” I say. “I haven’t been on a date in a while.”
She refills my beer. “Well, this is how they go. Awkward small talk and nervous drinking. You’re nailing it.”
“Go me.”
She waves over the waiter. “More beer. And some little frou-frou stuff.” He bows and beetles off. “Sorry, if you’re hungry we can eat more later. I prefer to get railed, then have dinner.”
I freeze.
“Unless, you don’t want to rail me? I’m sorry I thought you were here to…” She frowns. “Why are you here?”
“Umm… I’m horny and lonely.”
“Perfect. Me too. Habitually. Well, not so much lately. I’ve been on lots of dates this month.” she shrugs. "I’ve recently lost faith in society, and decided to do all the shit I’m not supposed to do. A lot of that has been sexual. It’s been fun. Though I’ve had less orgasms than I expected.” she frowns. “That didn’t come out right. No pressure big guy.”
I drink. I feel like I’m losing this date. I’m on track for a mercy fuck, but that’s not what I want. I drink. I do want to fuck her. She’s hot and cool. I just wish I wasn’t so pathetic. She wants to violate society’s taboos. Okay. I put down my beer.
“Have you ever been to an authentic roman style orgy?” I ask. “I’ll have them send a car. You go find a bed sheet.”
She perks up. Yanks out the tablecloth. Perfectly. None of the glassware moves. She wraps it around herself with a sexy flourish.
I yank the tablecloth off another table. The glassware is thrown to the floor. Destroyed. I manage the sexy flourish. I’m pretty perfect too.
We head to the carpark.
Veni Vidi Vici.
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