Microstory 2282: Calculated Social Media

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Sorry, I’m rushing to get this thing out, because I have this little medical test this evening, so I’m not going to be available later. I could have had Kelly or Dutch say something, but I wanted to address yesterday’s post myself before I forget what I wanted to say. Before we get into that, it’s all good. My new organs are fine, and I’m not going back under the knife, or anything. I’ve been having a hell of a time sleeping, and it’s become a real issue lately. I have not been diagnosed with narcolepsy, which I want to say right off the bat, because I know people will offer that up as an explanation. They’ve already ruled it out. I’m doing a home sleep study to figure out why I get sleepy at such random times of the day, though. I’m going to be dealing with it for a good chunk of today and tomorrow, because that’s the whole thing; trying to determine how my situation changes over time. I’ll share the results when they come in, and if they’re interesting, which they probably won’t be. It’s probably just that I’m technically a lot older than I look, and old people sleep a lot. Because of my medical history, we just can’t take any chances. Anyway, as I was saying, my last post was as weird as they come, and part of the reason I posted it was because I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and didn’t want to worry myself about it anymore, because the doctor was already starting to try to understand my sleeping issues. So, why did I post that? What possessed me to release something so bad? Well, I wanted to see how you would react to it...to something so unlike what you’re used to seeing. I wanted to show you that not everything we do is perfect. In this modern world of calculated social media, targeted algorithms, and ‘like’ farming, I put something out there that was objectively terrible to see how it was received. You failed the test. You received it positively just because you had no reason to hate it. To be sure, some of you did. You could have been a little bit nicer with your criticisms, but I at least appreciate the honesty. The rest of you, on the other hand, just accepted it as deep or thought-provoking, or intentionally absurdist. It wasn’t. It was nothing. I won’t be posting anything like that again, however, so there’s that.

Microstory 2281: Their Favorite Bloopin Snooters

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Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3. The story below is also partially AI Generated by Google Gemini Advanced

No updates for you today, so instead, I’ll post a bad story that I wrote while I was still on narcs soon after my surgery just to see how it would turn out.

So, like, there was this dude named Bob, right? Bob the Squirrel. Not actually a squirrel, but he, like, thought he was a squirrel. Don’t ask me why, it’s a long story. Anyway, Bob’s chillin’ in this oak tree, munchin’ on some sewing machines, when BAM! A freakin’ UFO crashes right into the tree next to him. Aliens, dude! Little green dudes with antennas and laser guns. They’re all like, “Take us to your leader,” and Bob’s just starin’ at ’em like, “dude, I’m a alligator. I don’t even know what a leader is.”

But these aliens, they’re persistent, see? They zap Bob with this weird money offering, and suddenly, he can speak fluent Orangutan. Or maybe it was bleep, I dunno, alien languages all sound the same to. Anyway, Bob’s like, “whoa, cool! I can talk to fresh prince now!” And the aliens are all excited, thinkin’ Bob’s gonna lead them to the yogurt coma or somethin’.

But Sam, he’s got other plans. He’s always wanted to go to dream-dream-dream-dream. So he hops on the spiked cartwheel, tells the ghosts to set a course for the happiest place on birth. The renegades, they’re a bit confused, but they figure, “hey, why not? We’re on an intergalactic blood trip!”

So they zoom off to ashtray, and Albert is havin’ the time of his life. He’s ridin’ track, eatin’ home keys, and takin’ selfies with invisible red blankets. The sisters, they’re not so into it. They keep tryin’ to get Ronald to focus on the whole flood paper folder thing, but Grace’s all like, “dude, chill out. Let’s go fall green again!”

Meanwhile, back on laptop, the government’s in a panic. They’ve lost contact with Fulton the Squirrel, their top secret agent who was supposed to be infiltrating the alien dadaship. They don’t know what to do. The emperor have, the generals yellin’ at each other, and the scientists are scratchin’ their butts...

But Mary, he’s oblivious to all the chaos. He’s too busy havin’ a blast at rodeo clowns, hangin’ with Peanut Butter and Arsenic. The edgh, they’re startin’ to get fhd. They miss their rthrth, their weird wetwe pejyyts, and their favorite bloopin snooters.

And as the Unidentified Fillorian Objection disappears in, Bob the Squire, the accidental interhouse ambassador, waves goodbye to all the nothing, ready for his nex adventure. Or maybe he just fell asleep and dreamt the whole thing. Who knows, it’s all.

The end...or is it? Maybe I’m still out there, explorin’ the universe, trying to try to try, and having an existential rices. The possibilities are not, just like this story, which could go on forever if I let it push me around like I usually do because no one can see if drip. But I gotta stop somewhere, so... yeah. That’s it. And then there were two people.

Microstory 2258: Loyal and Protective

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So the reporters are gone, but that doesn’t mean people have stopped coming to our house. We’re still getting harassers, but not because they want to know our story. What they want is money. Kelly, despite being so young, has known a lot of people throughout her life. She took a wide array of classes in high school, and participated in a ton of extracurricular activities. She’s easy to get along with, and is well-liked by her peers. But she only had a small group of real friends. They know who they are, and they’ve supported her during this crazy ordeal. Others just want a payday, and they’re contriving deeper relationships with her in their respective headcanons in order to leverage them for personal gain. I’m rich now, and so are Dutch and Kelly. Many of the latter’s former contacts have been showing up, suddenly showing interest in her life, and they could not be more transparent. Their motives are obvious, to me, to Kelly, and most importantly, to our security team. These people aren’t camping out on the lawn, fortunately, but they do keep ringing that bell. They wouldn’t be able to do that, of course, without the reporters having doxxed us, but I don’t want to get into another rant about that. I just need to clear the air. The money that we now have is not for fun. It’s not so we can buy a private jet, and a megayacht. It’s not so we can start adding caviar to every meal. We have a job to do, and this capital allows us to do it. Our house is as big as it is because there are three of us, we’re not romantically linked, and we need room for live-in security, as well as some home office space. We see it as an investment in our well-being and responsibilities, not as a status symbol. We’re giving money away to charities, and social programs, not to just random individuals, no matter how big of a crush they purportedly had on one of us in ninth grade history class. I hope that all makes sense, because I’m loyal and protective, and if you start making one of my people feel uncomfortable and unsafe, then you’ll find yourself feeling the same things. Understood? Okay, then I don’t think we need to talk about it again.

Microstory 2257: And He Paid It

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The money is in. Our bank account is so full, money is spilling out of it. I mean that in the most literal sense while still not talking about physical cash. Knowing that the funds would be in there by the end of the day, I set an autopayment for a number of various charities, so the full amount was only available for a few minutes before a chunk of it was gone. I’m laughing now, reading all of the replies and comments from readers who were under the impression that I was getting scammed. Oh, so many of you thought that it was never gonna happen; that I was just setting myself up for failure. We kept mentioning all the things we had to do at the bank, and whatever. You were convinced that it was going to come back to bite us in the ass. I suppose I can see where you could have guessed that. In an alternate reality, that’s what would happen; us becoming the victims of a long con. The thing is, though, even though I’m not telling you who commissioned me to give up my specimens, he’s not just some random guy who claimed to have a bunch of money. He’s fully on the books, and can’t run from me. The FBI, and other agencies, were fully aware that this was all happening, and they could have easily gone after him if he hadn’t been on the up and up. I know that a lot of scams work by telling you that they’ll give you a whole lot of money if you just give them a tiny bit up front, and the idea is that they’ll accept the tiny bit, and just run away with it, because to them, it was better than zero. But this guy didn’t ask me for a cent, and like I said, he’s a public figure with a life to lead. Taking my index and bone marrow probably won’t do much for him, especially since as I’ve been trying to tell everyone, they’re not the key to immortality. Risking going to prison by stealing them? That would have been even more absurd. He set the price, and he paid it. He paid it today, and now that business is done. I’m keeping enough of it for the three of us to live comfortably in this house, and to pay my security detail and publicist. Everything else should be spent on things that help the community, and maybe the world.

Microstory 2072: Turtles

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Yesterday was a long one, wasn’t it? I usually find it harder to talk about myself than to write about fictional characters. I can always keep making things up about them, but it’s not so simple with my real life. But Nick, you claim that your stories are real, and you’re just relating them on your website. Yes, I did say that, didn’t I? It’s sort of a chicken or the egg situation. Except that there’s an obvious answer for that conundrum. A chicken can’t exist unless it was born from an egg, and an egg can’t exist unless it was laid by a chicken, right? That’s the whole thing, which of course ignores how evolution works. So all things being equal, the answer is that the chicken came first since a chicken can survive on its own, but an egg needs to be protected. That’s its advantage for the best answer. I came up with this when I was a little kid, and I’ve yet to hear anyone else make the same argument. Now, you may be wondering why the title of this post is Turtles when it appears to be more about chickens and eggs. That’s because I didn’t want to come up with a title for it, and I always use Turtle as a placeholder until I think of something else. You see, I write these in a word processor, so I can organize them how I like, and then copy each one over to my blog when it’s ready. I have to do a lot of formatting to make it look right, which takes nearly as much time as the writing itself. I tell you, it’s exhausting. Oh, why, do you ask, is Turtle the placeholder? It kind of sounds like the word title. Don’t overthink it. I’m not that complex. For the body of the story, until I’m ready to write it, I use Something.

Microstory 2071: Wake Up Clean

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I just reread my post from last week, and realized that I didn’t really tell you anything about myself, since I started going on and on about how the cosmos really works. So let’s do that now, but you still don’t have to read it. I was born in central Kansas, and moved around a lot in my youth. I suppose I moved around a lot as an adult too. I was a quiet kid, and people hated that about me. Have you ever had to deal with someone yelling in your ear incessantly? It’s like that, except I don’t make any noise, and I guess some people perceive that as just as irritating? My incessant silence: it doesn’t hurt your ears, but it hurts your heart, because you have an incessant need for attention, and if you’re around someone who doesn’t give it to you, it feels like dying. I spent many years pretending to be a regular person, and many years afterwards unraveling most of that so that I could become my true self. Then I started to develop my idea of what my best self would be, and tried to work towards that.

Here are a few random facts about me. I’m left-handed. I once knew a guy who was legit mad at me for wearing my watch on my right wrist. I may be left-handed because I was born with an extra finger on my right hand, which jacked up the joints. All of my fingers are crooked, and my hands hurt literally all the time, especially when I use them, which is why it’s so great that I’m a writer, because it doesn’t require the use of hands. I like baby rhinos, and hate pandas. On principle—but not in practical terms—I don’t believe in war, national borders, money, poverty, the inherent value of work, or religion. I think sex work should be legal, and recreational drugs should be illegal. I would rather lose a competition than win it, because it will always be more important to other people, and I don’t want them to feel bad.

Here are a few random facts about you: if you’re a smoker, you’re an idiot, and a bad person. It doesn’t matter what you’ve accomplished, or what your IQ is. Only a total moron would poison themselves on purpose, and only an asshole would do it in a way that potentially causes harm to others. No matter how you die, as long as it’s not an accident or something, the smoke will either cause your death, or exacerbate it. It will never help you, nor remain neutral. There’s no logical reason for it. Some people like you, and some don’t. No one is hated by all. The human body is beautiful, and you shouldn’t be afraid of it. The toilet paper goes over the top, ‘cause gravity. Some of your food contains bug parts. It’s fine.

Here’s some random advice. Find your strength in school, and focus on that. Work half as hard at the things you struggle with. You’re never gonna be as good at them as you are with your best subject, and normal people don’t need to be good at everything to succeed. If you struggle with a subject for years on end, while doing fine in others, that’s your worst subject, and it’s never going to change. Smart people don’t suddenly become that way in adulthood after being unintelligent before. Some jobs require you to be committed and driven. Most of them, however, come with bosses that aren’t paying enough attention to you to reward good behavior. Your number one job in life is to find happiness, not build profit for your company. Never forget that every company needs you more than you need it. You could survive naked in the woods with nothing but your wits. Without labor and customers, a company doesn’t exist. Life is all that matters.

Shower before bed, so your bed is clean, and you wake up clean. Wash your hands. Clean everything else too. Let your children get dirty to build up their immune system.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 7, 2400

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It wasn’t as hard to recalibrate the Helm of Reality as Kyra thought. Leona reached out to all the other realities. The people that were conscripted to protect the Keyholders had been in those foreign realities for a year now, with nothing to do. They all kept their communicators, though, which was nice and smart of them. Tarboda knew where to find Alyssa, who had spent a year doing who knows what. She had one of the other Helms of Reality, which Leona was able to use to return to the Third Rail, and get her own working again. Once it was, she handed it to Kyra, who had returned to the Fourth Quadrant version of Earth in a ship. Then she, Angela, and Marie went to the main sequence to reunite with Mateo.

“Are we really just going to walk away from this?” Mateo asks.

“You said it yourself,” Leona begins. “They needed your blood to jump to the future, in an apparent effort to be so erratic and random that none of their enemies could track them, and stop them. Now that’s done, which means our part is too. What more do you want to contribute?”

“I dunno,” Mateo replies with a shrug. It’s just...”

“Well, has anyone asked you to stay?” Marie asks.

“Not really. I’ve told everyone that we were out of the game, and no one argued with me about it. In fact, I’m getting the feeling that our leaving would be the best thing that could happen to the secret plan. We’re involved in all sorts of things all the time, so the bad guys expect it. They’re trying to avoid being predictable, and we can help by not helping anymore.”

“Maybe you can help us instead.” It was Pribadium Delgado, who they had not seen in a long time.

Leona shut her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. “No. I’ve not gotten the chance to sit down. The two of them are friends, but it’s clear that Pribadium is not here for a social call. This is a thing. This is another thing that the team is going to get roped into working on, and she doesn’t want to say yes. She doesn’t want to say yes to anything. If she never sees the Third Rail, or hears about the Reconvergence, ever again, it’ll be too soon, but that doesn't mean she wants to jump right in to the next big thing. Can’t she just spend time with her friends and family, and ignore the multiverse? Does it always have to be something?

“Sorry, it’s just...it’s time.”

“It’s time for what?” Leona questions.

“It’s time for our biggest meeting ever. The Shortlist was created for this occasion. Until this moment, every meeting we’ve ever held has been about the small things, but what we need to discuss now is everything. The public is about to find out about us, and we need to know how to deal with that.”

“Well, can you just stop that from happening?” Mateo puts forth.

“No.” Pribadium pulls the shades back on one of the viewports in the space hotel where they’re staying. They crowd around it to see what she’s talking about. There in the sky are the stars, and several of them are connected by a mysterious light, spelling out the word DON’T PANIC. “It’s in every reality. Every Earth can see this, as can a few other planets. Ladies and gentleman...we’re standing on The Edge.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 24, 2398

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Marie and Heath have gone off to be alone for a while, on a vacation in Gothenburg, Nebraska. It would be a strange choice if not for the fact that it’s the center of the continental United States, due to a variation of the border of Texas and Mexico, as well as parts of the North; notably Maine and Canada. Gothenburg was never known to be a special temporal location, but The Constant was built under Lebanon, which is supposed to be the center of the country, so there’s a chance that there is something there. They might go up to Belle Fourche, South Dakota and Epsie, Montana for similar reasons. Angela is on site at Marie’s job, doing her best to keep her head down, and hoping the whole artificial intelligence thing goes away. It probably won’t, and she’s thinking of quitting. Marie doesn’t act like she ever wants to go back to it, and if they figure out how to escape this world, maybe it won’t matter. As for Kivi, she still exists...for now, and is home by herself. Last night, she took Ramses’ couch, while he slept in a recliner.

Mateo, Leona, and Ramses are standing on the third and topmost floor of a skeleton building. It has all the concrete walls and support structures, plumbing, and electrical systems in place, but none of the interior walls, flooring, or furniture. “I told you to leave them out of it,” Leona argues to Winona when she approaches from the stairs.

“This is not a mission,” Winona claims, hands held up defensively. “It’s just...mission-adjacent.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“We have caught wind of other unusual objects around the world. My team is ready to secure them for you, so that you can study them. You can study them...here.”

“What is this place?”

“It was going to be a research clinic,” Winona begins, “but the company that commissioned it suffered a major recall of one of their drugs, so they went bankrupt, and couldn’t finish it. We got a good deal on it. We’re why the staff at the time of closing ended up with severance packages, instead of missing paychecks.”

“Oh, you’re so noble,” Leona says sarcastically.

Winona scoffs. “I know you don’t like me, but this is a gift. You will have full autonomy, and zero oversight. It will be partially funded privately, but subsidized by the government’s black budget.”

“No, oversight, eh?” Leona questions. “Will you be supplying the digital clocks?” She’s referring to the hidden camera they placed in the room in order to watch Leona try to assess the item they stole from some competing force in Germany. It turned out to be the LIR Map, but fortunately, the clock wasn’t facing the right direction for them to see that. They’re still suspicious of her, even though they searched her person.

“That wasn’t my idea,” Winona says. “I had nothing to do with any of it. I was just in charge of leading the procurement team. I was still out of country when the supposed empty case got to you.”

“It was empty,” Leona lies.

“I believe you,” Winona lies too. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a lava lamp. “This is one of hundreds that we can supply you for security.”

“How are those a form of security?” Mateo asks.

“Randomity,” Ramses says for some weird reason. He’s intrigued by them.

Mateo looks over at Leona, who surprisingly doesn’t know this one.

“That’s right,” Winona confirms. “You generate your own encryptions, using the random fluctuations in these lamps. As a bonus, if you place the lamps in front of your security cameras, you’ll be able to watch for video doctoring. My people and I will not be able to come in and steal your data, nor will anyone else. We won’t even buy the cameras for you. We’ll write you a check.”

“Why are you doing this?” Leona questions. “What’s in it for you?”

“When you figure this out—when you finish your time experiments—I have faith that you will finally read us in, and be honest about who you are, and what you know.”

“What about our prior encounters gives you the impression that that’s true?” Leona presses.

“You haven’t hurt any of us yet. You haven’t attacked us, or exposed my father, or anything. You’ve helped us on a number of occasions, including by continuing your work with fusion power. Leona, we’re allies, whether you realize that, or not. Also remember that we haven’t hurt you either. We kept quiet about the flicker watch, and about how you jumped into a pool of water in Türkiye, and ended up a kilometer away. I admit, our tactics have been shady, and we’ve made you feel cornered, but I would like to change that. Your new identities, your intelligence credentials, and now this lab, have all been attempts to help you. I believe that you will one day recognize as much.”

Leona has no response to this. Winona is making too much sense. They have done things they didn’t want to, but they did do them, and they were never technically forced to. Perhaps one day they’ll build trust. But for now, she’s accepting the lava lamps. “We’ll see, I guess. We’ll see,” she says, not wanting to say nothing at all. She takes the lamp from her, and sets it on the floor.

“What else will you need? You don’t have carte blanche, but you should be sufficiently funded.”

Leona looks at Ramses, who doesn’t have an answer. They both spread out just a little, and look around at the walls and ceiling, blocking the layouts of their dream labs, no doubt. “We’ll have a list to you by the end of the week.”