satire
Science fiction satire presented to mock the many generations of society.
A Cryogenic New Year
2021 was a stressful year for myself personally and the world in general. What with Covid-19, Joe Biden, and a whole bunch of other stressful things dominating every news cycle it felt like I was wide awake in fear and/or anger the entire year. These feelings were likely exacerbated by the huge quantities of crystal meth and cocaine I consumed over the course of the year. Taken together, all those stressful happenings plus my meth/coke addiction conspired to make 2021 one of the least restful years of my life. I have vowed that things will be different in 2022. In fact I have decided to make it my New Year's resolution that I have a much more relaxed and rested 2022 than my hectic and overstressed 2021. To that end I have conceived of a brilliant plan. For the entirety of the year 2022 I will be frozen in carbonite in a deep cryogenic slumber from which I shall not be awaked until Jan 1, 2023 is upon us.
Everyday JunglistPublished 2 years ago in FuturismComputer Defeats Human in Game of Computing
In a stunning result the artificial intelligence (AI model x101371-c) has defeated a human (Mark Starr) in a rules based game of computing for the first time ever yesterday. The modern computer outcomputed the human in just under 1 nanosecond making it the fastest win ever for a computer in a head to head matchup with its creator, man. Mr. Starr, looking grim but composed, said of the artificial neural network powered machine “It was only a matter of time. We knew one day a computer would become better at the action of mathematical calculation (computation) then us. In retrospect it should have been obvious, that is why we called them computers after all.” The AI, which is incapable of having or expressing emotions, said nothing as it is also incapable of speech, though it did offer to “Perform a Google search” and “Find an Indian restaurant in the area.” Technology analysts believe it is only a matter of time before modern computers become so good at computing that humans will have no need at all for computation and cede control of all calculations to their math superiors. This hypothetical point in time is referred to by some as the mathemological algularity and may signal the end of man’s dominance on the planet. Leader of the transmathematist movement (humans who believe the algularity will initiate a transition to a new golden age in which humans are no longer required to learn or study math at all) said of the AI’s win “This is just another sign that the algularity is at hand. Very soon now we will be freed of the shackles of universal math education. The quantitative sections of both the SAT and ACT will be a thing of the ancient past.” Algularity skeptics pointed out that man will still need to be able to compute simple things such as how to make change for a dollar or how many apples they have left of the four they started with after they eat two of them, and thus some low level computation will still be required. Skeptic John Albon said “All this talk of the algularity and computation free humans is nothing but a distraction from the fact that modern computers are still falling well below expected performance levels in matching us to our perfect dates. Call me when a computer has figured that one out.”
Everyday JunglistPublished 3 years ago in FuturismPear Tree In a Valley
The pear tree stands sedate, twisted but stately, its leaves rustling slowly in a gentle breeze, watching the world go by, slowly tearing itself apart. Fragrant and fruity, it has stood here for decades. It has watched kingdoms rise and fall. Many kingdoms. That’s mainly because by these days, kingdoms have begun to rise and fall pretty quickly.
Keihsi UrmuudPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Simulationist Church
Author’s note: I just can’t get away from this stuff. I haven’t written anything about the simulation hypothesis in over a month and sort of figured I was basically done with it. The weird phone calls from unknown numbers and strange emails with domain names I don’t recognize had stopped as well. It seemed all the nutjobs had given up on messing with me. Then a voice recording from a number I did not know came through on my personal cell phone. With the recording was a text which read — “listen SH quit” My transcription of the voice recording is below. The man reading the message sounded quite calm and completely rational, maybe a little sleepy, but it was not a voice I recognized. It ended suddenly as these things seem to always do.
Everyday JunglistPublished 3 years ago in FuturismThe Simulationist Church
A translated excerpt from the Italian Codex Simulationista (S1.s3.2) Transubsimulation is defined in the Simulationist faith as the point in time at which the base code that makes up/represents/is the universe in which all simulations (ourselves included) reside became/becomes real/simulated. Unlike the concept of transubstantiation in the Catholic faith, which occurs every time the wine and eucharist is made real (into the blood and body of Christ) during the Catholic mass, transubsimulation only occurs once (per level of the simulation, if such levels actually exist/are simulated). Some Simulationists have argued that the concept of time itself is only relevant in the simulation, and therefore to suggest that transubsimulation occurs at a point in time is incorrect. For these atemporal transubsimulationists the “birth” of the simulated universe occurs at no time but instead represents the first moment of (simulated) time itself. The correctness of either view may be impossible to ascertain until the coming of the Simulator(s).
Everyday JunglistPublished 3 years ago in FuturismA Simulationist Reflects on the Death of His Cat
Authors note: I had not had any contact with Simulationism or the Simulationist church in over six months. I was beginning to think the entire movement had collapsed or decided to go back underground or maybe even never really existed in the first place. If you look at the volume of articles written about it in any forum there has been a precipitous drop. I do not have the correct tools to do any sort of thorough analysis but it has become topica non grata in the past few months and I have seen very few mentions in any writing on this site or any other in the past two at least. Apparently somebody still believes however as an email showed up in my inbox yesterday with the subject line “Diary of a Simulationist -Excerpts.” The sender was mblover69@(redacted).com. Cute, mb for Mike Bostrom no doubt but the 69 thing is kind of gross. lol! When I tried to respond everyone’s best/most hated friend mailer-daemon got the reply instead and kindly informed me it was undeliverable. Oh well, I tried. The entire thing is a mess of pseudophilosophical statements touching on religion the simulation and evolutionary theory. Throughout it all though is a very (real) human emotion for a widely shared human experience, great sadness at the death of a beloved pet. Like many of us the diarist is looking for a reason behind the seeming purposeless of that terrible loss. The picture was included as an attachment. Apparently our mysterious simulationist is a Stephen King fan, drinks orange juice, and has questionable taste in pajamas. Note that I refer to this person as “him” and “he” in the title and throughout though in truth the gender is unknown. The contents of the message are below in unedited form.
Everyday JunglistPublished 3 years ago in FuturismGold Rush
A heart-shaped locket. What an incredible piece of trash. I kick it off my way and continue my search. My search for the core. It has been thirteen months and nobody has found it yet. Layer after layer, we hit another dead end every day. We are tired, hungry, injured even. People are hitting rock bottom, and yet, no one has come close to finding the gold mine. Yes, a dragon-protected kind of treasure cave full of gold. Or was it a literal sea of gold? Maybe it comes in grains? rocks? I’m not sure.
Science Retires
Author's preface: Because this story did not meet Vocal's ludicrous 600 word count minimum I am forced to add yet another annoying author's preface. This is in addition to the author's postscript at the end of the story which contains my anti-censorship statement and which I intend to attach to every story I publish on Vocal until such time as those policies are eliminated. Vocal refers to these policies as "community standards" but please let's call a chicken a chicken, or is it let's call a duck a duck? I actually don't think it is either of those but whatever, it is censorship plain and simple. See my article here which defines four of my biggest problems with them, but there are many more. In any event the big question now is exactly how many words am I at? Have I made it to the magic number of 600? If only Vocal's editor provided a word count for me so I did not have to waste 2 minutes cutting and pasting into Microsoft word to check. But alas, they do not. I am going to cross my fingers on this one, roll the dice and say, yes, I have now hit at least 600 words. Here's hoping! By the way the post is a humor classic from my vast library of The Onion style satirical news articles.
Everyday JunglistPublished 3 years ago in Futurism- Top Story - July 2021
Kendra and Lil
Wearing the heart-shaped locket wasn’t required for Kendra’s clone to function. It was more of a memento or possibly a form of advertising, that the clone company included with the delivery of Lil, the name she had chosen for her new arrival. Kendra immediately fastened the delicate chain around her own neck. The locket itself was slightly corny – the clone company’s logo engraved on the outside, the left side of the open locket containing a photo of Kendra, the right side containing a photo of Lil.
Priscilla KensingtonPublished 3 years ago in Futurism A Patriotic Fairy Tale
"How about a glass of warm milk before we start your bedtime story? "No, Are you sure? Okay, sweetie, let's begin with tonight's story."
Lisa ShaverPublished 3 years ago in FuturismApocalypse Anxiety
They had never considered themself to be terribly brave, constant cases of the jitters often plagued any emotional feat they faced. Ashen faces, fragile bones and worn smiles truly wearing even the strongest resolves thin.
Helen McCormackPublished 3 years ago in FuturismA Heart of Brass
The first time I met David Scott through the lens of my tight brown leather gasmask, he was clutching a heart-shaped locket made from the brass that he had stolen off the tops of garden taps. Carefully placing it in my grasp he claimed that he melted them down, by rubbing them on his denim jeans, causing such friction that they could be moulded into the locket. “Probably should’ve taken them off first. The bugger damn near burnt my dick off” He casually joked. In reality, it was probably the constantly exacerbating heatwaves that made this possible, but I didn’t want to argue with this unhinged individual as he started loading his Antique French Flintlock Pistol. “Fucked if I know, if this shit-cunt thing still fires” he glumly moaned staring off into the blood-red sky numb to the sweltering heat of the beating sun. “What’s in the locket?” I asked him as he continued to examine his Pistol. “My bloody heart and soul of course. Means more to me than you will ever know” he exclaimed winking through his grey leather gasmask. “I’ll be careful with it then”, I replied carefully plunging the locket into the pocket of my pants. I was a tall lanky man with red hair and a beard sweating through a black pinstripe shirt with brown pants and suspenders that I was seriously regretting while he was a short bald man sweating through his rose-patterned white shirt with grey pants. We were in the middle of what was usually a busy highway, but today dividing the concrete monoliths of financiers and clergymen was a long asphalt track. Crowds of masked and unmasked people surrounded the edges creating makeshift barriers between the real world and the sideshow about to unfold before their very eyes. The heat apocalypse slowly but surely, killing us all seemed not to worry them as they eagerly stared at the other side of the road where Michael Brent, stood tall and broad-shouldered, in his cream-coloured shirt with a blue paisley vest and blue leather gasmask. He too was fumbling with his Antique French Flintlock Pistol. This may seem like a peculiar sight to you, but such events are commonplace at the Wernham-Miffler Institute of Hydration and Air Filtration Insurance, where workplace disputes are solved by the only efficient means possible. Pistols at dawn. My name is Keith Malone, I chronicle apocalyptic events affecting the workplace, this is my personal account of the duel that transpired.