Laying on his stomach in a peculiar arrangement that had not been seen at the Larryville Memorial Hospital in recent memory, Joe Bob handled the meaty mounds of flesh that had once comprised his ass. They made a slightly humorous clap-clopping sound as he slapped the separated buttocks together like a pair of fleshy cymbals.
He was distressed at their softness.
“So,” said Gordon, over the sound of breaking waves, “You want to tell me what’s going on?” They were out in the middle Lake Michigan now, Gordon having tied a load of scrip to the doors of the motorboat rental office while the sugar cube broke the encryption on one of the speedier models, and were following a course that Invisible Rockmore dictated, making slight course corrections along the way.
“A supposition, Gordon,” said Invisible Rockmore, not needing to shout.
“That’s like a hunch, right?”
Link to part 1
Those whores, those autocratic little whores that were the fibrous stroma of the all seeing eye of Panopticon Productions Ltd, from the tubes they spewed, the executive and the cred-worthy, bursting forth on the lower floors to upper, upper and ever upper, straight up to their offices to manage the flow of product to customers throughout the Expanse and beyond to the various and sundry dwellings within the Capillaries. Silly questions were never asked, silly answers never given, all was movement and a stoppage would be registered as a clot and dealt with via omnitrexing scalpel. Scalpels of society, scalpels of financial status. And all the surgeons were locked up tight in offices Paul would never see, could never hope to see this late in his game. But like the pressure of bowels seeking release, he knew they were there, waiting for him to make one more critical mistake.
"Omnitrex Tech" is now "We Make the World". Perhaps one day we'll learn why.
Link to part 1
“You’ll be wanting to know who I am, I expect,” she said, exhaling after a long pull from the brown cylinder.
“Yes, I would–”
“But I’m not going to tell you. Not yet.”