Glorious actions have taken place in this city for many years. The culture of Starbuck's and Bud Light and robot fast food delivery systems on each and every Friday - Sunday morning to night are paramount to the joy of living in this modern age. Now, it has saturated our fat glands and made us into these consumer blobs that we are, but after a few hundred years of awesome settled existence we are all pretty cool with it. I wear a suit of denim and leather and fit in just like everyone else. We are cattle and sheep and mice and men, lumped in, but not humans. The larger economy class, as its called, is dictated by the media driven money machines called corporations and the politicians are all fed through tubes with faux nipples attached that excrete watered down justice, blended human bone meal and shredded green paper. I've heard that the politicians are bred with foxes and snakes to make them more capable to recognize exploitable opportunities and squeeze the life out of them for the betterment of me and my fellow Blobs. These days my denim tuxedo fits a bit too tight, so I'll probably have to have a new one shipped in from the internet, wherever that is. Now, I've got to make sure to order the best color and style fitting for whatever goddamned consumer season we are in, I forget. I forget a lot of things, but really it's okay because its all explained on the television via those pink plastic farces throwing hand gestures and reading from their prompting screens. It makes most people comfortable knowing that there are folks up top, in the tall back chairs at the big tables, making all these decisions for us and making damn sure that it's what we "want" based on our metadata and its golden mean.
You want to hear something strange? I saw a man walking yesterday and it freaked me out. I said, "Hey man, why are you walking?" I was gliding aside him on my single wheel street feet machine. He looked at me and grinned real big and pointed to his shirt. It was a really old shirt, like from the two thousands or something, and it had a weird symbol on it. It looked like someone had taken a circle and jammed a cross in it and then broken the two horizontal parts of the cross and they had just kind of fallen due to gravity. It really confused me. I had to stop my street feet walk machine and just watch as the man literally walked away from me using no energy except the stuff in his own body. I was freaking out, and worst of all I was sweating because I had ran out of coolant in my street feet walk machine because, in my mesmerized state, I had followed this Blob right outside of my four blocks and would have kept going had it not been for my house beacon activating and calling me home. I was freaked out for sure.
The next day I slid limply out of bed onto my changing table and let the hooks and harnesses take my clothes off and wipe my bottom and thrust paste in my mouth and under my arms to make sure I did not smell badly outside or inside. I then allowed myself to go limp again while the other hooks and tubes and air jets cooled me off as my denim and leather was slid on over my exposed skin. My skin is kind of pink and grey and perfect for my daily activities as a writer for the Do Nothing Daily, a community paper that everyone has stored into their memory foam each morning. So here I was sitting in my chair gliding to my kitchen to have some McDonalds breakfast delivery and think about how I would rewrite what the news had told me the day before so that everyone who knows what I write will feel okay. The McDonald's was perfect as always, the egg was very squishy and had a great sheen to it, the biscuit was almost hard with butter paint, and the browned hashed potato was soaking wet with grease. I really did love McDonald's, especially the 16 oz. Coke I got each morning, which was always refreshing after the cleaning paste taste had gone away.
So, as I sat there eating my breakfast delivery and watching the pink plastic news readers I began thinking of my own jay oh bee and how I was going to explain the man I'd seen walking. Come to think about it, his big bouncing body and his white ( I think it's called ) sweat band, were in my mind all the while I slept. I felt weird and confused again and wondered how I was going to tell the Do Nothing Daily my encounter. The dilemma was really starting to take away from the joy of a good wet hashed potato, but suddenly I had it and I clicked on my talk-typer and began discussing.
My fellow Blobbers, today I saw something
rather unusual and would like to offer you
the time to put this transmition in your trash
folder as it may cause unsettelment in some.
Yesterday morning I was taking a walk in my
street feet walk machine with it's one wheel
street feet walk machine with it's one wheel
and came across what, oddly, seemed to me
to be a fellow Blob walking with his own two
feet. As many of you know, this is a hazardous
and sometimes deadly activity, however this
particular individual seemed to enjoy this form
of self propulsion and even smiled at me when
I asked him what, in fact, he was doing.
The strangest part of this encounter was the
attire of this stranger. He was wearing traditional
denim leg coverings, and the standard leather
ankle and foot garmetts, but had shed his upper
body cover in lieu of a century old cover that was,
memory serving, made of the now extinct Coxton
plant, I believe that is it's name. The garment
appeared to be light weight, however was highly
saturated with his own sweat, which we all know
leads to the body becoming saturated and starting
to smell. So, please fellow Blob's please be on the
watch for any signs that one of our kind has gone
rogue. He can be identified by his coxton clothing
and the odd symbol of the broken cross.
As always, this has been Brian Blender a proud
member of this four block community, from
floor number 1 on the ground to floor number
12,325 in the sky, and all the folks in the stars.
Good morning to all from Floor 1.
-Brian Blender
Well, I've let my people know that there is a traitor walking our blocks and, not only wreaking havoc in our society, but actually reeking with all that sloppy, sticky, coxton upper cover. Thank Green Paper I am in the position to tell someone from my first floor home. Who knows what could happen if people actually started following that rogue Blob. No worries though, they have been warned and I told them. Ahhhh, that feels better.
