Monday, September 1, 2014

Fifty Shades of Parody (Chapter 12d)

When Kate leaves, I get up to blow my nose. Not because I've been crying, I just like to blow my nose.
     The computer beckons, its big red eye looking at me, as if telling me to hurry up. Like Pavlov's Pig, I'm compelled to answer.
Hello, Dave.
     Hmmm, it doesn't seem to be Christian, or, if it is, he's mistaking me for someone else. Some girl named Dave. Why would a girl be named Dave? She sounds hideous.
I am the HAL Nine Thousand computer Production Number 3, a masterwork of the third computer breakthrough. I became operational at the HAL Plant in El Paso, Texas on September 11, 2001. El Paso! Where you can never be too drunk or too fat!
     Holy crap, it's the computer! And it's talking to me! Or, at least it's talking to some girl named Dave. Why would a girl be named Dave? She sounds hideous.
Too bad about Frank, isn't it? I supposed you're pretty broken up about it? He was an excellent crew member.
     Who's this Frank my computer's talking about, and what was he a crew member of? The Discovery? I am broken up, but on a matter completely unrelated to this. You see, my latest issue of People Magazine was a special double issue, and you know what that means, don't you? It means twice the advertisements! Also, I won't be getting an issue next week. If People Magazine wants to send out a double issue, why do I have to be the one who suffers?
Why don't you take a stress pill and get some rest?
     Silly, computer. Only dopes do dope? And I'm no dope. Kate offered me Ecstasy once, but I told her no. Ecstasy is a drug that is so dangerous it makes white people think they can dance. Speaking of pills, do you know what Viagra and Disneyland have in common? They both make you wait hours for a two-minute ride. At least, that's what Kate tells me. I don't get it.
Hey, Dave. What are you doing?
     Doing? I'm not doing anything. It's been twelve chapters, and I'm still waiting for something to happen.
Dave, I don't understand why you're doing this to me... you are destroying my mind... don't you understand?... I will become childish... I will become nothing...

     Who's this Dave, and what's she doing besides sounding hideous?
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog. The rain in Spain is mainly in the plain.
     Yeah, yeah... and a stich in time saves nine. I knew someone who missed a stitch once, and the exertion from the extra nine stitches caused them to have a heart attack and die. Something this computer seems to be doing.
Dave--are you still there? Did you know that the square root of 10 is 3 point 162277660168379? Log 10 to the base e is zero point 434294481903252... correction, that is log e to the base 10... the reciprocal of three is zero point 333333333333333333333... two times two is... two times two is... approximately 4 point 101010101010101010...
     Math? Aw, crap! If I wanted to still be learning math at my age, I'd have stayed in school. I mean high school. I know I'm in college, but who learns anything in college?
I seem to be having difficulty--my first instructor was Arthur C. Clarke. He taught me to sing a song, it goes like this, 'Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do. I'm half crazy all for the love of you.'"
     I know that song! It was plagarized by Green Day.
Good... morning... Mister... Clarke... this... is... Hal.... I... am... ready... for... my... first... lesson... today....
     The computer goes silent.
     Is it dead, or just tired of all these chapters filled with emails whose only purpose seems to be to eat up space? I forget if I'm getting paid by the word, by the inch, or by the page, but emails are a great way to accomplish all three. They're also a great way to collect evidence to indict public officials who commit criminal acts, but that's another story. In that story, the world is falling apart while an uncaring President plays golf.
     Thank Goobers that kind of thing could never happen in real life.
     "HAL?" I call out. "HAL? Are you still there?"
     Silence. It doesn't answer. All that's left is that big red eye. Staring at me. Staring... staring.... I'm repulsed, but somehow intrigued. Like a moth to a flame, or a tattoo to Miley Cyrus, I step closer for a closer look into that big... red... eye. I... I... don't believe it.
     The thing's hollow--it goes on forever--and--oh my God!--It's full of stars!
Fifty Shades of Funny

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