“Fuck, I needed that!” drones Colonel Thraetium slowly. He sits back and listens to the background music of the bar, now become predominant over the chatting of the people around him. The music is laden with a heavy deep synthetic guitar which ascends over a subtle yet penetrating melody and thumping baseline.
YOU FUCKING THINK YOU OWN ME!
I OWN MYSELF!
I AM THE GOD OF ME!
JURISTICTION – ME!
STEP TO THIS AND EAT MY SHIT!
SCATTER YOUR BRAIN WITH MY AJ-12!
...............IF ONLY YOU HAD SOME ANYWAY!”
Spots of color and fractaline images danced against his eyelids as he closed them.
The smokeless inhalation device had been set to strong, and Colonel Thraetium had felt it almost immediately. His mind finally drifted away into a personal space. However, being a veteran of Pleasurin-12 he was solidified in his belief that he could handle it.
His drifting mind was interrupted by the seemingly echoing voice of his mate and bartender, Peter. As he opens his eyes he sees the bartender smiling at his old friend:
“Go easy, buddy, two people carked it last season!”
Some short silence passed.
“I'm just kidding!” the bartender beamed, “you know we always do it by the stats! This Pleasurin-12 is much better than the Pleasurin-11 too. They identified an allergy that some people suffered from and modified the molecule to make it safe.”
The Colonel was still working his way to the peak.
“Safer.” the bartender corrected after some consideration.
“It’s all relative,” the Colonel smirked, now overcome by an incredible rush.
“So what's got you in a party mood, Colonel?” Peter inquires.
Colonel Thraetium appears now to snap from his experience, but not completely. He composes himself for a long sentence. “No party friend, in fact quite the opposite. Let's just say I took one for the team. Well, there was something I didn't need to see....”
“She just wouldn't listen. The psych tests said she was sane too.” he thought secretly to himself.
MEANWHILE:
The president sat at his desk, reclined on his seat and with his feet on the table.
His mind was filled with grandeur of a massive victory; soon he would be remembered forever as the greatest president that had ever served the citizens of Civlar.
His thoughts were interrupted by an abrupt knock on the door as his secretary entered the room.
“Sir, the report on the economy is in.”
The president chuckled -
“The economy!? Don't waste my time with such an issue at a time like this! Next you'll be telling me that the toilet is broken.”
“Well, one of our mainframes broke down and...” continued the secretary before he is abruptly cut short.
“So? We are at 98% efficiency instead of 100% efficiency,” stated the president, proceeding next to point out of his window to a man walking in a slow exaggerated stride down the street. A young lady was skipping behind, topless.
“Do you think he cares?”
“Well, no...”
“Then why, in the name of logic – would I care? The computers control the economy and the robots do all the work - nobody is concerned! Tell me something to be excited about – how about the Ministry of Music? Don't they have any news?”
“Ah... yes. That new song we subsidized is doing great!” replied the secretary.
“Yeah!” bellowed the president. The president then jumped up from his desk, pointing his finger in excitement. “Also a forgone conclusion, dear friend, but much more relevant. You have a lot to learn about politics!”
“I AM THE GOD OF ME!” He started singing badly, and playing an air guitar.
“JURISTICTION – ME!” joined in the secretary, relieved that the economic report was not going to put the president in a bad mood today.
“Now that is money well spent! A robot can't produce art! We'll win the next election for sure!”
“Definitely about the election, our simulations show that that song gives the highest pleasure rating for 93% of surveyed individuals,” reminded the secretary, “You truly are a man of firsts!”
The phone rings to interrupt the revelry - It was the leader of the Opposition.
“G'day mate. I heard what you were doing. If you ask me its lunacy!” came the shrill voice of the opposition leader.
“Nobody is asking you. Check the polls!” laughed the president.
“You are backwards. You want to increase the subsidy on drugs and decrease the subsidy on sex! Our studies have shown that the opposite needs to be done!”
“Drugs distribute pleasure more consistently than sex,” reminded the president, confident in this private yet rhetorical victory against his adversary.
“True - but drugs are costing us a lot in research and development! Sex, on the other hand, well the women figure out the research and development for that themselves... it’s a distributed process, not a centralized one!”
“You would say that!” bellowed the president, placing his palms against the desk and cocking his head to further taunt his opponent, “Being from the Distributed party, you are the party of inefficiency! How much funding did you get from the Prostitutes' Union last year? Remind me again?”
The secretary walks out of the room. This will be a long one.