/lit/ - Literature

>>22058997
is this your definition of getting paid? he's getting played, not paid, and we all know who's doing the pimping - Daz.

As a black person I was always confused as to the origins of white persons until, when I was nearing the age of eleven, by Father took me to a factory to see how they were made. I was a little perturbed by the conveyor belt of mindless grinning heads, as I recognized many of them from television.

"Now, the recipe is standard for every single produced white person," explained the foreman, "the trajectory of their life is much the same from one to the next, interchangeable, though there are in reality very few divergences. The angst-ridden homosexual, for instance," he said, "will often be programmed to seek a static position in lower middle management as he is designed for such base things."

I saw several spinning heads all come to a halt on the conveyor belt, and a series of thin tubes lowered atop their heads, squirting out a noxious smelling yellow-brown substance into a little hole in the top of their skulls before the conveyor belt started again and hairpieces were dropped upon their head.

"What is that noxious liquid?" I asked.

"Excrement," said the foreman, "it's mostly there to act as a kind of ballast to keep their heads from bobbing back and forth as they walk or engage in mimickry of speech."

"Ah," and I looked up to my Father, tugging at his sleeve, "that makes sense, doesn't it?"

We chuckled as we walked along the conveyor belt, smiling at the wide grins of the spinning heads. The foreman beckoned us follow and he produced a single head which was largely completed, or so he said.

"Here," and he held it up, "feel free to question its sentience by asking any question you wish, and I havehere," he said, producing a small bof notepaper from his pocket, "a short list of its total maximal responses. It will not exceed anything written here," he said, "and its logical faculty is designed to loop so as to present a closed circuit, ideal for receiving instruction and copying out what it is told."

I pressed my index finger to my lip and thought for a moment, "hm," I pondered, and then a brilliant question hit me, "what is your opinion of organized religion?" I asked the grinning face.

"Each to his own, I say!" the face said.

"And then what is your opinion of the difference between one political ideology and the next?"

"Each to his own, I say!" the face said.

And I clapped my hands in delight, and laughed aloud, "spiffy!" I exclaimed and tugged my Fathers sleeve again, "may we go and see how the Museum of Philosophy now?" I asked, "I am DASH'ED KEEN to see how many over-complicated ways this single sentiment can be articulated and dressed up as if it were a logical premise."

"Royal Road Publishing" edition

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