Futuristic Infantry 10
The student newspaper has a provocative article, written by an MBA student. He compares his academic and financial results to a hometown buddy. The writer owns 4 droids; the buddy, so poor he's never owned. This buddy shares the same horror of getting a real girlfriend; admits to using the centuries old method of manual relief.
The buddy has accumulated only 1/4 of the student debt and is getting better marks, less time spent on droids.
The tone of the article is not to convince droid users, but to cheer up those students who are poor. Hang in there, get that degree, it can be done. Remarkable in its compassion toward the poor.
Another story chronicles the suicide of a student, a long rambling note quoted verbatim. Owning nothing but three X10's, he recounts the feelings of tension and despair in the lineup at Porn Palace. One of his female classmates shall we say took advantage of the situation. The rant covers his total guilt and grossed-out disgust following this. He closes by urging other students not to give in to temporary horniness.
The editor's note states this was an upper-year student, excellent marks, everything to live for. Perhaps he should have gone to Student Counselling Services instead. Any others are advised to do so. Seems they have a counsellor who specializes in "de-grossing-out."
I digest 3 more sad stories as I eat at the coffee house. It'll be my last time. The sign says it becomes a private members club on Saturday.
I arrive 10 minutes before the lecture, find a seat. A student stops, looks at my face, "it's you."
"Me?"
"Don't give me that. Was you in command at Porn Palace," he opens the newspaper to the suicide story, "my best friend. By my reckoning, makes you a murderer."
I leave. As I ride the Metro home, I realize my world is imploding. At this point, I have precious little excuse to be off base anymore.
Next day brings a surprise. To my knowledge, the corporate media has never once even acknowledged that the student newspaper exists. Yet with permission, they reprint the suicide story.
The hue and cry is instant. The government should do something. After all, it isn't just students who got "grossed-out" by the X10 debacle. In typical knee-jerk fashion, Ministry of Health announces a toll-free line dealing with grossing out issues.
The silliness does not stop. A retail chain places an ad warning customers of a half day closure. Why? So staff can attend a de-grossing-out lecture. Yet, by so stating, they are admitting to being in the low end of the pay spectrum. After all, X10 is (was) the cheapest model.
In all this uproar, not one word, not one hint, that maybe this might be damaging the self-esteem of women. But then why would there? 99% of the media is male.
Then it takes an even more bizarre spin. Police raid an illegal S&M club, responding to neighbor complaints of excess noise. The found-ins include the editor-in-chief of the daily paper and the other Major Z. At the exact moment of the police charge, she had been found flogging him upon a St Andrew's cross.
And now do the letters to the editor scream of hypocrisy? Oh, you bet. The very same person leading the charge on de-grossing-out is caught in flagrantis with - gasp - a real woman.
My phone rings off the hook. To all, I cheerfully give the phone number of the remand center.
As it turns out, the found-ins get 14 days, disturbing the peace, a plea bargain.
For the other Maj Z, it is no prob; just more fame and notoriety, lotsa fun jokes.
For the editor-in-chief it is the end. The paper announces he has been demoted to proof-reading for "bringing disgrace upon the media."
I am the butt of innumberable good-natured jokes, such as "flogged any editors lately?" or "bet you ran out the back door, left the other Maj holding the bag."
Truth be told, this is flattering. Means they are comfortable with me, view me as approachable, easy-going, not some ponderous stick-in-the-mud.
As I bring my tray, Meena looks up from the paper, "soooo, ever actually cause anyone to need this de-grossing-out hoohaw?"
"That is beyond my experience. Bet you have."
"Oh yeah, lots."
"How on earth do you find them? No one else does."
She twists a smile, "journalists of course."
"Go on, you're just teasing me."
"Not on your life. I have bagged every dept editor and sub-editor you care to name. As well, over half the columnists."
I gasp.
"So talk of sheer hypocrisy. I've had the very person pronouncing on the disgrace to the media."
"Meaning of course, do it, but don't get found out."
"You catch on fast, library hound."
"Why do they do it? Got bags of money, can afford uber-droids?"
"Forbidden fruit. Why snort cocaine when marijuana is legally and cheaply available? The lot are into living on the edge, doing the dangerous, the risque. Yet to their readers, they come across as stodgy, conservative."
The financial world awaits on pins and needles. Today Consolidated Droids issues the quarterly report. They are so gargantuan that the recall causes them to miss profit projection by a mere 4.2%. The world exhales.
Not to miss his moment in the spotlight, the CEO continues, "first I'd like to say I'm hugely grateful to our armed forces. They proved their professionalism, came through in our hour of need. At home and abroad, they do a wonderful job. Second, I state the obvious, no one will ever trust the X10 again. So what is the logical conclusion? We wish to show ourselves as good corporate citizens. We will donate to the army as many X10's as it wishes, with any parts specific to the X10. We understand they have already studied the use of droids as infantry. This project was not abandoned on technical grounds, but on financial. We intend to help that process along ...."
The Infantry Technology Committee is reconvened.
Col Kent smiles, "Maj, your take on the X10 please."
"Col, makes me nervous. Last time, we mooted around larger droids, equivalent to industrial. I understand these have sufficient strength for sex and housework and little else," by now I'm blushing fiercely.
"Lt Williams, please share your technical views."
"Col, what the Maj lacks in specifics, I can provide. The X10 has a mere 19% of the lift strength and 22% of the thrust. It would be criminally insane to try them for combat. I would suggest, base cleaning perhaps."
And so it was. My girls' jobs are secure. I attend only the one session. Col Kent and Lt Williams carry on with a janitorial expert.
The buddy has accumulated only 1/4 of the student debt and is getting better marks, less time spent on droids.
The tone of the article is not to convince droid users, but to cheer up those students who are poor. Hang in there, get that degree, it can be done. Remarkable in its compassion toward the poor.
Another story chronicles the suicide of a student, a long rambling note quoted verbatim. Owning nothing but three X10's, he recounts the feelings of tension and despair in the lineup at Porn Palace. One of his female classmates shall we say took advantage of the situation. The rant covers his total guilt and grossed-out disgust following this. He closes by urging other students not to give in to temporary horniness.
The editor's note states this was an upper-year student, excellent marks, everything to live for. Perhaps he should have gone to Student Counselling Services instead. Any others are advised to do so. Seems they have a counsellor who specializes in "de-grossing-out."
I digest 3 more sad stories as I eat at the coffee house. It'll be my last time. The sign says it becomes a private members club on Saturday.
I arrive 10 minutes before the lecture, find a seat. A student stops, looks at my face, "it's you."
"Me?"
"Don't give me that. Was you in command at Porn Palace," he opens the newspaper to the suicide story, "my best friend. By my reckoning, makes you a murderer."
I leave. As I ride the Metro home, I realize my world is imploding. At this point, I have precious little excuse to be off base anymore.
Next day brings a surprise. To my knowledge, the corporate media has never once even acknowledged that the student newspaper exists. Yet with permission, they reprint the suicide story.
The hue and cry is instant. The government should do something. After all, it isn't just students who got "grossed-out" by the X10 debacle. In typical knee-jerk fashion, Ministry of Health announces a toll-free line dealing with grossing out issues.
The silliness does not stop. A retail chain places an ad warning customers of a half day closure. Why? So staff can attend a de-grossing-out lecture. Yet, by so stating, they are admitting to being in the low end of the pay spectrum. After all, X10 is (was) the cheapest model.
In all this uproar, not one word, not one hint, that maybe this might be damaging the self-esteem of women. But then why would there? 99% of the media is male.
Then it takes an even more bizarre spin. Police raid an illegal S&M club, responding to neighbor complaints of excess noise. The found-ins include the editor-in-chief of the daily paper and the other Major Z. At the exact moment of the police charge, she had been found flogging him upon a St Andrew's cross.
And now do the letters to the editor scream of hypocrisy? Oh, you bet. The very same person leading the charge on de-grossing-out is caught in flagrantis with - gasp - a real woman.
My phone rings off the hook. To all, I cheerfully give the phone number of the remand center.
As it turns out, the found-ins get 14 days, disturbing the peace, a plea bargain.
For the other Maj Z, it is no prob; just more fame and notoriety, lotsa fun jokes.
For the editor-in-chief it is the end. The paper announces he has been demoted to proof-reading for "bringing disgrace upon the media."
I am the butt of innumberable good-natured jokes, such as "flogged any editors lately?" or "bet you ran out the back door, left the other Maj holding the bag."
Truth be told, this is flattering. Means they are comfortable with me, view me as approachable, easy-going, not some ponderous stick-in-the-mud.
As I bring my tray, Meena looks up from the paper, "soooo, ever actually cause anyone to need this de-grossing-out hoohaw?"
"That is beyond my experience. Bet you have."
"Oh yeah, lots."
"How on earth do you find them? No one else does."
She twists a smile, "journalists of course."
"Go on, you're just teasing me."
"Not on your life. I have bagged every dept editor and sub-editor you care to name. As well, over half the columnists."
I gasp.
"So talk of sheer hypocrisy. I've had the very person pronouncing on the disgrace to the media."
"Meaning of course, do it, but don't get found out."
"You catch on fast, library hound."
"Why do they do it? Got bags of money, can afford uber-droids?"
"Forbidden fruit. Why snort cocaine when marijuana is legally and cheaply available? The lot are into living on the edge, doing the dangerous, the risque. Yet to their readers, they come across as stodgy, conservative."
The financial world awaits on pins and needles. Today Consolidated Droids issues the quarterly report. They are so gargantuan that the recall causes them to miss profit projection by a mere 4.2%. The world exhales.
Not to miss his moment in the spotlight, the CEO continues, "first I'd like to say I'm hugely grateful to our armed forces. They proved their professionalism, came through in our hour of need. At home and abroad, they do a wonderful job. Second, I state the obvious, no one will ever trust the X10 again. So what is the logical conclusion? We wish to show ourselves as good corporate citizens. We will donate to the army as many X10's as it wishes, with any parts specific to the X10. We understand they have already studied the use of droids as infantry. This project was not abandoned on technical grounds, but on financial. We intend to help that process along ...."
The Infantry Technology Committee is reconvened.
Col Kent smiles, "Maj, your take on the X10 please."
"Col, makes me nervous. Last time, we mooted around larger droids, equivalent to industrial. I understand these have sufficient strength for sex and housework and little else," by now I'm blushing fiercely.
"Lt Williams, please share your technical views."
"Col, what the Maj lacks in specifics, I can provide. The X10 has a mere 19% of the lift strength and 22% of the thrust. It would be criminally insane to try them for combat. I would suggest, base cleaning perhaps."
And so it was. My girls' jobs are secure. I attend only the one session. Col Kent and Lt Williams carry on with a janitorial expert.
posted by afghangirlscifi @ 8:01 AM
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