The timely addition to the campaign of the Unpaid Internet Content Provider was proving to be a great boon to the chimes of freedom resonating throughout the land of gold and grain prior to the most important event in American electoral politics since anyone liked or even cared a fig for Ike. Proof was amply demonstrated by the explosive results rocketing to the top of the latest opinion polls on the infallible Internet. I sincerely do not believe it too hyperbolic a claim to make with no shame or irony whatsoever that the droopy eyes of the world were ogling California dreaming once again to uncover a clue. It was rumored that even opportunistic douche Putin wanted in on some of the hottest liberating action.
The Unpaid Internet Content Provider, who had become the primary independent sub-contractor in support of my lucrative position crafting incisive speeches for Lt Guv Gav Newsom to advance the Adult Use of Marijuana Act, AUMA, a messianic proposition appearing on the California ballot in November, received none of the standard benefits of full-time employment that tended to become such a burden to usurious profit margins. He sat upright on his own stool utilizing his own supplies in the office space he provided for himself at no additional fee. He earned no time off for good behavior. If he became sick, tough shit. Quotas had to be met no matter what. That’s bare knuckles politics for ya at the highest brassy level. I put him through his paces like a trained toy dog because I could. He seemed to lap it up. Some things just seem to work out like that for the best.
I asked, “What have you got for me?”
“I’m working on the magic in my fingers as we speak.”
“Make it snappy.”
He was hard at it in front of the latest cutting edge carcinogenic screen earning his keep, which was plenty good enough to keep on keeping on and on, even though his keep had been previously arranged on a permanent basis by his wealthy menopausal mother, in whose basement we were each polishing off the remains of a pork banh mi-and-a half. The delightfully tangy remains included some of those shredded pickled carrots that tend to drive anyone with a loose and irresponsible tongue to extremes of wild unhinged chatter when fingers are licked clean of the juicy brine. The stubby fingers flexed by the Unpaid Internet Content Provider showed off the power of the strongest muscles in his body below neck level. I looked forward to the next unleashed adjective to emerge like a wild bucking bronco busting out of a shitty inhuman chute covered with hay. Extremism in defense of liberty, it must be remembered, is no vice. He appeared to be as close to a happy man as he was likely to get anytime anywhere soon or ever after.
He said, “No bones to pick here.”
I said, “I can feel freedom exploding all over the land.”
He said, “Yum.”
The basement had been designed to replicate the beta version of an imagineering module from a spaceship soon to be rocketing to Mars within a reasonable period of time. He hacked an underground version of the plans from a journal of Elon Musk’s little known toilet musings available only in capsule form. You better believe it cost his mother a fucking pretty penny to make him comfortable in that basement, although she was as pleased as punch to provide for him whatever his small heart desired because what better use could there possibly be for the cash, stocks, and bonds that she so deftly clipped from her undeserving former husband currently earning scant interest?
Though I tried to avoid face time with his mother due to a disturbing tendency to show off the wrinkly cleavage extracted from her commercially resurfaced tits at odd moments, all of which seemed to be inappropriate as well as odd if you ask me, I appreciated her efforts on behalf of the cause. With a concurrent election rumored to be taking place on a national stage featuring a bunch of retreaded bozos performing stale routines to retrained smatterings of disdain, every antidote to the mindless clutter was helpful. That left me free to focus my efforts on loftier ideals of strategy and tactics that would best serve the cause of freedom to smoke weed and ingest edibles. I had been rereading the great classics of political achievement in order to add some refreshing zest to my point of view, Machiavelli, Robespierre, Ivan the Terrible, Billary Clinton.
The Unpaid Internet Content Provider said, “How does this sound?”
I said, “It still needs some work.”
He said, “You didn’t give me a chance to finish.”
I said, wisely, “But, still.
“That’s what I’m getting paid the big bucks for.”
Of course my big picture point of view had to come pre-loaded with an ample allowance for leeway, wiggle room, chicanery, and miscalculation. Otherwise, just any douche could do it.
I said, “Look at a box. It looks totally different on the inside. From the outside, all you see is a folded paper shell. But inside there’s a whole box.”
“I may not be getting your point precisely.”
“That’s the message we’re trying to get across.”
He said, “I’m staying put right here.”
The room erupted with dust as the knob he turned began to emit soulless techno music. It made me feel not only incessantly deaf, but dumb. Were those headphones for show or tell? That was so not like him. Or had evidence of robots appeared to interfere? Was he shutting down treble due to the swirling dust? A roomba arrived and swept for bugs in the corners. No web of arachnids could have survived. That made me feel lots better.
I said, “We’re agreed then.”
Mistakes, no matter what the fuck, are still the third most basic block of the multiverse, and even with unintended consequences attached like barnacles, are no cause for undue alarm. It is what is and will remain so no matter how tight and stylishly a singular cut of a hem or noose fits. If you look at all the douche bags running as decoys in the election of 2016 who deserve to fall off the edge of the flat earth and compete on a graded curve against the salt of the earth for a quick lick in a dismal pit, you get the big picture of interference with which I was forced to deal in order to assure that freedom for once finally reigns. Who still does not understand that robots are gaining valuable ground and must be stopped?
I added, “This has been a good start.”
He said, “What the fuck.”
“Let’s go over it again from the beginning.”
But when I was forced to pause in the rarefied air of mid-thought to take an important telephone call from my middleman handler in the campaign army who reported though a chain of command indirectly to Lt Guv Gav Newsom, I became concerned. I inadvertently listened before I had contrived something to say. Was this going to turn out to be a mistake leading to an unintended consequence?
Still unsure, and shaky, I said, “I’m on my way.”
The Unpaid Internet Content Provider said, “Sup.”
“I have to drop what we’re doing and dash to a mob scene to participate in the issues.”
“The Sheriff of Kern County is shutting down dispensaries in Weed Patch.”
“I’ll have to find out when I get there.”