It's 2099 and at least 29 kinds of suck.
The future can't be explained at one's start time, especially not in a reverse time capsule sort of way which is why all prophesy is bogus when the future is only in front of you.
Hopeless android sighs fill the moon and all those cows udders going over lip sync space ships with acid rain smoothies.
My job is simple, lay around groaning for eighteen - off for eighteen, hooked up for the groaning and unhooked sometimes if not groaning - where groaning means being on, not that when off one does not groan of course.
At least I am working the quotidian in a non-sexual-specified division.
Reality Services, how may I...
There is always a worse, but the worst is almost always found there - if we're talking about sustainables.
Meaningless ingredient names that no one can say anyway gang up on me, whirling vicious swarms of micro ring tones the minute I step out.
Not that the convicted have many options for refining a skill so Why not hit them with nausea or loss of limb? say the statutes, so what are we gonna do?
When you go retro enough you may as well be speaking a dead language; meet word processing.
Anti-pop's new anti-pop is the word.
Next swipe and wipe I hope to get a bit of bio gag, my output is tilting right - it's obvious when the labels all start scanning you - so why not, I got implanted for sub and there's no way to buy out any time soon, easy there is enough for sweet stop.
This is why embarrassment is one of the highest paying fects to pull, it wears thin - rumor says that when it's all laced with bido that they can sub a mild stomach ache and reinforce with toner - so I may be doing half of what used to be the highest paying fect job and I'm still getting shit for it.
aughhh, groany me, with shards of silica dye.
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