The System United, Can Never be Defeated
“Now you see the system. Let's talk about the implementation and purpose. Let's use an example: Assume that I want to get those boys at the deli counter. Also let's assume that I have an obsessive compulsive disorder that only allows me to go somewhere as long as I have circled every rectangular object in between myself and the destination 3 times- no more no less. Those vulturous boys, they've been causing sandwich trouble at that counter seemingly for an eternity. The vandals will watch me as I approach their zone with my compulsive behavior. Upon my jubilant arrival, I will slip them their invitations via a local patron. The invitation will be to the sci-fi convention where certain key stars will be present: Sam Beckett from Quantum Leap for example. The show was well constructed and learned us about time travel and the like. The progress meter will show results at this point. A monetary reward is offered for their assistance. By advertising for the convention, they will receive immunity at the deli, and twenty dollars plus some change, each. Once they have agreed, I abruptly realize that the kids are my own and that I might as well remove the mustache I have on. They are quite embarrassed because of my actions and only agree to the scheme to quell this abrasive embarrassment. Part one has been completed. The provided clipboard will be used to keep track of objectives. There I stand, in the middle of the deli with no honor and plenty of cheap, burning mustache glue on my upper lip, and that's exactly the prime condition that the progress meter is looking for. I purchase one sandwich and eat it very deliberately to show my self-disgust. I am a well-known loser. I am using black magic now, the magic of pity that is. People wish to console me and my kids finally accept me for who I am. They leave the town for better opportunities, so they say. The decision is irreversible, and thus, the program has succeeded. Now that I am free from the nuisance that these children brought, I am free to help the community like I've always dreamed of. Without kids, employers enjoy my assistance, free of extra medical costs. Progress reaches optimal levels, and I get to become an advertisement for a plastic bag and trophy factory forever, by way of colorful deep-penetrating tattoos about the forearm. The tattoos seem to penetrate further than any spoken comment ever can, and they become more real than your own existence. This example may seem counter-intuitive, stupid, or even aloof, but remember the four tiers of understanding: self-desecration, sympathy, assimilation, and productivity. SSAP, as it is written on the local flyers.”
The system explained. That phrase, “… more real than your own existence,” had been over used as far as I was concerned, but very important to etch into the palm of my hand later. I must eliminate all distractions and become the profitable human resource that divine powers wished for me. People will appreciate and compliment me. A seemingly impenetrable barrier had been overcome as I placed the last bit of watermelon in my mouth, the juices flowing freely down my chin in a brief moment of comprehension.
“As another example suppose I remove my warm sweater right now. You would immediately approve of my poor body style and allow me to move in with you. Right?”
“Right?” I replied, as if to check my answer. Myron nodded his head as he rubbed William's shoulder gently then laughed loudly. Apparently the joke was on me. I was in. With the new system though, Melcko’s Syndicate would be further understood as planned. First I would have to train in various physical and mental ways and rid myself of certain data that was collecting dust upstairs. I knew that I would have to have a montage for this, but I was embarrassed at the thought of it. Then again, for this method, the irreversibilty required embarrassment. Good. My hands were filthy along with my psyche. I would soon take care of that.
My thoughts began to drift as I stared at the bathroom floor at Myron's. I began to think of the barbed wire fences of the outer industrial zone near rail spur #6, and what lay behind them. The masses of metal and concrete that I would soon become (again) an integral part of made little sense to my degraded mind. I knew not what they were for, and what their complex geometries and layouts meant. I would never meet their masters or understand what they meant to my well being. I turned off the bathroom lights and imagined the towering technological lords animating and marching through the dark, flaming skies, stopping occasionally to belch fuming clouds of fresh air towards my shanty. I turned the lights back on. All of this new thought was refreshing, as I was quite excited to be part of something that so closely resembled my childhood and various family holiday gatherings- some emotional and physical abuse, but not without gratifying reward. I never understood, but nostalgia has always been the general rule for my happiness, so I was ecstatic at the thought of letting others know of the industrial friendship that could potentially become the best possible outcome. Production. I finished flossing my teeth and stole Myron's deodorant cream stored in a green glass jar.
As I stepped back into the great room, I was met with three piercing sets of eyes. Had they known I was a petty thief? Perhaps, but this time they just wanted to let me know that the bus would be here soon to pick me up. I didn’t care what they thought of me. I didn't know Myron's friends, nor did I wish to, but his elegant speaking techniques had penetrated my spongy brain nonetheless. I waved goodbye as if to say, “I sure would like to take a long nap on that beanbag chair you provided me. I doubt that will happen now. Thanks.” I got on the bus and arrived at the sci-fi convention just four blocks away in the Super 8. I had possibly misunderstood several parts of the seminar, but I got some great action figures at a fair price and still had a strong plan written in my notebook. I headed on home to prepare myself for the future.
The system explained. That phrase, “… more real than your own existence,” had been over used as far as I was concerned, but very important to etch into the palm of my hand later. I must eliminate all distractions and become the profitable human resource that divine powers wished for me. People will appreciate and compliment me. A seemingly impenetrable barrier had been overcome as I placed the last bit of watermelon in my mouth, the juices flowing freely down my chin in a brief moment of comprehension.
“As another example suppose I remove my warm sweater right now. You would immediately approve of my poor body style and allow me to move in with you. Right?”
“Right?” I replied, as if to check my answer. Myron nodded his head as he rubbed William's shoulder gently then laughed loudly. Apparently the joke was on me. I was in. With the new system though, Melcko’s Syndicate would be further understood as planned. First I would have to train in various physical and mental ways and rid myself of certain data that was collecting dust upstairs. I knew that I would have to have a montage for this, but I was embarrassed at the thought of it. Then again, for this method, the irreversibilty required embarrassment. Good. My hands were filthy along with my psyche. I would soon take care of that.
My thoughts began to drift as I stared at the bathroom floor at Myron's. I began to think of the barbed wire fences of the outer industrial zone near rail spur #6, and what lay behind them. The masses of metal and concrete that I would soon become (again) an integral part of made little sense to my degraded mind. I knew not what they were for, and what their complex geometries and layouts meant. I would never meet their masters or understand what they meant to my well being. I turned off the bathroom lights and imagined the towering technological lords animating and marching through the dark, flaming skies, stopping occasionally to belch fuming clouds of fresh air towards my shanty. I turned the lights back on. All of this new thought was refreshing, as I was quite excited to be part of something that so closely resembled my childhood and various family holiday gatherings- some emotional and physical abuse, but not without gratifying reward. I never understood, but nostalgia has always been the general rule for my happiness, so I was ecstatic at the thought of letting others know of the industrial friendship that could potentially become the best possible outcome. Production. I finished flossing my teeth and stole Myron's deodorant cream stored in a green glass jar.
As I stepped back into the great room, I was met with three piercing sets of eyes. Had they known I was a petty thief? Perhaps, but this time they just wanted to let me know that the bus would be here soon to pick me up. I didn’t care what they thought of me. I didn't know Myron's friends, nor did I wish to, but his elegant speaking techniques had penetrated my spongy brain nonetheless. I waved goodbye as if to say, “I sure would like to take a long nap on that beanbag chair you provided me. I doubt that will happen now. Thanks.” I got on the bus and arrived at the sci-fi convention just four blocks away in the Super 8. I had possibly misunderstood several parts of the seminar, but I got some great action figures at a fair price and still had a strong plan written in my notebook. I headed on home to prepare myself for the future.
posted by fiestawizard at 10:34 PM
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