For Once, The Mimes Win
By Benjamin Miller
The vagrant ideal walked up to the podium with an equation bloodily carved into his chest. "There is a word limit on life you know. It is yet unclear whether those editors in charge count the babblings of babies or screams of pregnant women, but there is certainly a word limit."
The Council of Professional Listeners hmmmed and hawwwed before realizing that the existential editors might count these as well. A hush fell over the crowd.
A reluctant silhouette of a voice carefully asked "does punctuation count for anything?"
The Arbitrary Prohpet smiled and said, "That depends where you submit your manuscript."
"Like Hell it does!" A voice shot from the corner of the room startling much of the meaning, not yet dry. Of course, the thundering words didn't disturb the meaning quite as much as the explosion that followed it.
A whole was blasted into the holy academic space. Corpses, and bodies indiscriminately went about their business of Being... thrown. The homeless prophet chuckled a little. Human life was maybe third on his list of stuff to be valued right after oil and Coca-Cola (i.e. prerequisites). When the dust finally settled, it was noted that the weapon of choice was a skittle bomb and so everyone (remaining alive) got a treat.
The mess was cleaned up by a gaggle of lawyers and computer scientists (for they knew exactly how everything should be). All of this was done in perfect silence out of reverence for the money the life insurance companies would have to dole out to the whiny widows and widowers. The lecture resumed.
"And so, you should only say have a nice day when you absolutely mean it."
The crowd looked sad. Value was an exhausting task and should have been left well enough to the stock speculators. Everyone grumbled a little and decided it would be best to pass legislation banning the phrase so as not to waste meaning on shuch a meaningless phrase.
"What about greeting cards," one plucky eyed cartoonish looking reporter asked, "do they come out of the word count of the writer, the printer, or the customer?"
"Are we talking greeting cards with or without a turtle on the cover?"
Mr. McPluckyEyes--I get to name him that because I'm the narrator and I'm too tired to actually ask him what it really is--fell deep into thought. "Allow us to presume there are implied turtles..."
"Than it comes from no one's word count," someone might have asked why, but it wasn't that kind of academia.
Then the most obvious question was asked "Is this a cap and trade system?" It was the beginning of the end...
"Yes."
Very quickly every single member of the audience (dead or alive) got out their cell phones and texted their soul brokers. A market for words soon emmerged. Then people realized the number of words involved in trading the limits. This only escalated the practice as the word of the unsustainability spread, driving up the price. Debate saw the fall of the Northern world and the Southern world as well because, hell, what do magnets have to do with the lines in our lives anyway?
The rest of existence was passed in silence.
- - -
By Benjamin Miller
The vagrant ideal walked up to the podium with an equation bloodily carved into his chest. "There is a word limit on life you know. It is yet unclear whether those editors in charge count the babblings of babies or screams of pregnant women, but there is certainly a word limit."
The Council of Professional Listeners hmmmed and hawwwed before realizing that the existential editors might count these as well. A hush fell over the crowd.
A reluctant silhouette of a voice carefully asked "does punctuation count for anything?"
The Arbitrary Prohpet smiled and said, "That depends where you submit your manuscript."
"Like Hell it does!" A voice shot from the corner of the room startling much of the meaning, not yet dry. Of course, the thundering words didn't disturb the meaning quite as much as the explosion that followed it.
A whole was blasted into the holy academic space. Corpses, and bodies indiscriminately went about their business of Being... thrown. The homeless prophet chuckled a little. Human life was maybe third on his list of stuff to be valued right after oil and Coca-Cola (i.e. prerequisites). When the dust finally settled, it was noted that the weapon of choice was a skittle bomb and so everyone (remaining alive) got a treat.
The mess was cleaned up by a gaggle of lawyers and computer scientists (for they knew exactly how everything should be). All of this was done in perfect silence out of reverence for the money the life insurance companies would have to dole out to the whiny widows and widowers. The lecture resumed.
"And so, you should only say have a nice day when you absolutely mean it."
The crowd looked sad. Value was an exhausting task and should have been left well enough to the stock speculators. Everyone grumbled a little and decided it would be best to pass legislation banning the phrase so as not to waste meaning on shuch a meaningless phrase.
"What about greeting cards," one plucky eyed cartoonish looking reporter asked, "do they come out of the word count of the writer, the printer, or the customer?"
"Are we talking greeting cards with or without a turtle on the cover?"
Mr. McPluckyEyes--I get to name him that because I'm the narrator and I'm too tired to actually ask him what it really is--fell deep into thought. "Allow us to presume there are implied turtles..."
"Than it comes from no one's word count," someone might have asked why, but it wasn't that kind of academia.
Then the most obvious question was asked "Is this a cap and trade system?" It was the beginning of the end...
"Yes."
Very quickly every single member of the audience (dead or alive) got out their cell phones and texted their soul brokers. A market for words soon emmerged. Then people realized the number of words involved in trading the limits. This only escalated the practice as the word of the unsustainability spread, driving up the price. Debate saw the fall of the Northern world and the Southern world as well because, hell, what do magnets have to do with the lines in our lives anyway?
The rest of existence was passed in silence.
- - -
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