Monday, July 09, 2007

Myopic Dystopia

A dreadful thought shook me from my slumber: humanity has perished and, in concealed solitude, I gaze disinterestedly at robots making love in an airport handicap washroom. I tapped my right temple twice before I massage it lugubriously - sadly still flesh.

I stumbled out of the washroom stall, my nap complete, and went in search of supplies. A headless torso, projected onto stadium screens, read the morning decrees.

"Praise for obedience; death to the belligerent."

"Abandon flaccid flesh."

"Pro-D requires the exceptional to report to the Waltemple at 1500."

"Mass purge at 1600."

"Thank you and have a productive day."



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