Dystopia.

I’ve met some interesting writers thanks to Chuck Wendig. http://www.terribleminds.com

I’ve been occasionally looking in on his site for a few years, but rarely posting anything and, until recently, not with this moniker which isn’t, by the way, my real name. Just so you know. As I mentioned in a probably buried post, I’ve had this blog for 5 years but never did a thing with it until recently. Some of you may be sorry I did anything with it ever. So, I’ve uploaded a bit of stuff I’ve written over the years, not because it’s my best work but because it was all I could find after 4 laptop changes and a hundred lost USB sticks.

Now that I’ve drawn you in this far, I’ll … no, fuck it … I’ll circle the point a little more. Because what’s the point of having a reader if you can’t annoy them? Ahem. Moving right along …

Wendig’s latest Workshop is to post the first line of your WIP – that’s writer’s talk for Work In Progress. Yeah, we have ‘talk’ because we’re all cool and shit. Here’s the link to the Workshop.  http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2015/03/30/workshop-your-opening-sentence/

Being something of an arsehole myself, I dropped a fictitious line in there just for fun. It made me laugh, and I didn’t mean any harm because I just thought everyone else would roll right over the top of it. Then I panicked. I figured I’d better have some sort of story to back that line up with. The thing is, I couldn’t stop laughing, even later in the shopping centre, which brought me some odd looks. Those first two lines were so dystopian I had no real choice but to write further in that fashion, but because men grow older but never grow up, the boy in me – the one who still thinks dick and fart jokes are outrageously funny – couldn’t get past all that.

So now, finally, I’m coming to the point. I started writing Dystopia as soon as I got home. An hour later, with several offensive gags under my belt (Think about that. Hee hee. I told you I’m such a boy!) Here’s the first instalment. NSFW, NSFL, NSFA.

If the spirit moves you, write the next part. If you’re not nearly as juvenile as I am, I’ll keep picking away at it as time and motivation permits.

Dystopia.

Chapter The First Bit.

The first victims of the Anti-Stupidity Law were the people who wrote them. It appeared the Law of Unintended Consequences still reigned supreme. Here on sunA things were not always straightforward. Indeed, a more backward place you’d be hard pressed to find, which is probably a large part of the reason the population was in serious decline.

Politicians and lawmakers are simple people, unfettered by intelligence and the constraints of morality. It was for that reason they were unceremoniously dumped on sunA, along with all the ageing armchair warriors, Twitterers, and people who post quarter-hourly updates on blogs of what their dog or child did or what prissy, over-dressed food they were about to “nom nom”.

If a planet itself could breathe a sigh of relief the Earth would have shrunk by 20%, and it’s remaining inhabitants completely concurred. When the last passenger was boarding ‘This One’, which, for ease of understanding was the name of the transport ship, she turned and with a strong sense of moment and occasion thanked the guard for seeing them off. His finger had been tightly pressed against his upper lip, to stop it from curling, but he managed to mumble: “Believe me, the pleasure is all ours.”

The hatch clanged shut and the welding team moved in. No mere locking device would suffice for this job. It was only when the weld was complete that the 21 good men and women of the honour guard / sniper team lowered their weapons, which had been trained on the entrance of the ship.

Life aboard ‘This One’ was not without its moments. Fully 50% of the occupants died after the chef, a former plumber, mistook the latrine dump for a chocolate mousse maker and pumped that shit right out of there and into delicate little champagne glasses. “It did look nice, though,” one of the diners said, right before he died. Those who were left came up with the glorious idea of using Post It notes with ‘Food’ and ‘Not Food’. Within an hour the ship was completely wallpapered.

“I dunno,” said the 200kg woman who had been voted the World’s Most Unsuccessful Personal Trainer back on Earth. “I dunno,” as she looked at herself in the boutique store’s mirror, eyeing off the effect of trying on tights with a thong over them. “Does my bum look big in this?” she asked the proprietor of the boutique, which was named ‘Wishful Thinking’. At least the customer was in the right section of the shop. The place for ‘larger ladies’ was named ‘Quantity Surveyor’s Delight.’

Ted was a taxidermist of no repute. He tried to fit in, he really did, but the birds he liked the best all exploded unless he used duct tape. Think about that one. With glasses that looked like binoculars, a dreadful comb-over  that in a high wind gave him a one-sided wingspan of over a metre, and a classic mis-matching of clothes and socks, it made him look like he and three others had beamed aboard and collided on arrival. Maybe this was his big chance at a new beginning, he thought, so he took himself off to ‘Small Peckers’, ostensibly a store with stuffed animals. Little did he know that lurking inside was a den of iniquity, where more than dead birds got a good stuffing. Ted in a gimp suit, hanging from the rafters, with a sore bum and 20 cents clutched in his hand was a sight to see. He had finally found a place where he was wanted, and paid well for it, too.

Matilda, a cat lady with over 50 of them sharing her room, felt equally blessed. Sitting with her back to the wall, legs akimbo, and with a hugely satisfied look on her face, her ancient pussy had been well filled. Once she caught her breath she’d be off home to grab another cat. If all this hope and promise could be achieved before they’d even taken off, imagine how good life would be when the wonders of the universe were displayed to them on sunA.

“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, ignition sequence start, 3, 2, 1. We are go for launch! Lift off! We have lift off!” As ‘This One’ cleared the tower, sucking up massive amounts of fuel to defy gravity, gravity was equally busy sucking down equal amounts of shit from all colon’s aboard and very thoughtfully arranging it in intricate and unique patterns inside each individual spacesuit. The ship wobbled somewhat as the ‘load’ shifted, and in the control room back on Earth the Flight Controller shrugged and announced that if ‘The One’s’ trajectory was affected “For our purposes a near miss is good enough.”

Having left Earth’s atmosphere, the party began. “Couldn’t we have blown them up after takeoff with lasers and shit?” one exuberant reveller asked. “What, and risk random drops of their DNA falling back to Earth and maybe hiding under a rock, ready to spread stupidity all over again?” another replied, with both wondering if the other had missed their place on the ship.

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2 thoughts on “Dystopia.

  1. Feel free to join the madness and write the next part if you like, but only if you like. I hope this one or some other post becomes a never-ending story that folks can use to flush the madness out with when the spirit moves them. Nonsense takes the pressure off ‘writing’.

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