Society was handling it fairly well, all things considered.
Thirteen: Classy
Thor and Catrina sat on opposite sides of her kitchen table. Two half-empty cups of coffee grew cold between them. Neither one had spoken a word for the better part of twenty minutes.
“Look,” said Thor, “I think we should…”
“I really don’t want to talk about it, Thor.”
“We can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
“Yes,” said Catrina, “yes, we can.”
“You and I both know that’s a lie.”
Catrina began swirling the coffee in her cup, averting her eyes from Thor’s.
“What happened last night…” he continued.
“No,” she said, snapping her head up. “I said no, Thor.”
“For fuck’s sake, Catrina. We’re friends, we work together. We have to talk about this.”
Catrina swiftly gathered up both coffee mugs, emptying their contents in the sink and turning her back to Thor.
“I appreciate you taking me back to your place after I got poisoned, I do,” continued Thor. “You were looking out for me and… I mean, I’d like to think I’d have done the same thing if it had been you, but, I don’t know, maybe, in hindsight, maybe it wasn’t the smartest… especially given the circumstances…”
“You should leave.”
“Look, neither of us could’ve known… I mean, alright, I wasn’t really surprised it happened. And I don’t think you were either, if you could just be honest about it…”
“I said go. Now.”
“Damn it, no, Catrina. We need to get this out of the way.”
Catrina turned to face him, rage in her eyes and a knife in her hands.
“What happened last night…” she said, her voice barely controlled.
Catrina was only holding a butter knife, so she wasn’t actually as menacing as she thought she was, but it was still pretty clear she was pissed. Thor got that much.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Catrina softened, the murderous fury drifting from her face. She tossed the knife back into the sink.
“No,” she said, “don’t apologize. You don’t need to. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know,” said Thor, “but I feel responsible. Let’s face it, if I wasn’t here it wouldn’t… hell, it couldn’t have happened.”
“I know, Thor. I get it. I just… I don’t want to talk about it. I know it wasn’t your fault, but, at the same time, you’re right, if you… If I hadn’t… Look, we can’t change what happened.”
“I know. And I know it’s weird, uncomfortable. But I don’t get why you’re so upset about it. Hell, I’m kind of… proud. All things considered, it was pretty fucking impressive.”
“Jesus, Thor,” said Catrina, her face turning red. Then she started laughing. Thor joined her.
“I’m sorry I defiled your bathroom, Catrina.”
“It’s OK, Thor, I forgive you. But, please, can we not talk about this ever, ever again? That was… the single most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Man, who knew battery acid would fuck someone up like that? It was like a god damned volcano in my ass.”
“Please don’t refer to it like that ever again. Ever.”
Thor began laughing again. “Did you see the ceiling?”
“Yes,” said Catrina solemnly.
“Honestly,” said Thor, still laughing, “it might just be easier to move.”
Fourteen: Bring the Shotgun
After the world ended for the third time, only a handful of corporations around the globe remained functioning in any useful capacity. Realizing just how precarious the continued existence of capitalism was, these stalwart companies banded together to pioneer the creation of a limited artificial intelligence and quickly produced a robotic workforce of startling efficiency.
With this automated army in tow, the corporations were able to pick up the pieces of a shattered society and rebuild a better world, one free from strife, economic turmoil, and workmen’s compensation claims. The rapid assimilation of smaller companies and the altogether astounding profit margins were simply a side effect of the corporations’ unceasing hope and compassion for humankind.
“Looks like there’s a rest stop up ahead,” said Chester A. Arthur XVII.
“Please tell me there’s a coffee place,” replied Queen Victoria XXX.
“They’ve got a Starbucks.”
“Damn it.”
After the world ended for the fourth time, the United States government decided it was no longer able to sustain itself and, following China’s example, auctioned itself off in lots. Canada purchased the majority share, while Starbucks and Walmart, the two largest corporations on the planet, vied for the remainder.
The resulting bidding war turned literal, destroying the cities of Seattle and Atlanta, as well as indie rock, rednecks, Santa Claus, magicians, and the internet.
“At least they’ve got free Wi-Fi out here. You can check in with Billy.”
The internet eventually recovered.
“But it’s a fucking Starbucks!”
So did the rednecks.
“Come on, Vicky, they’re not all run by inbred, homicidal atomic mutants.”
Well, ideologically, anyway.
“You don’t know that.”
“Fine,” relented Chester A. Arthur XVII. “Bring the shotgun.”
Fifteen: Rusty Nails
“I’d like a medium coffee please,” said a fairly intimidating Queen Victoria XXX.
“We don’t have medium,” said the fairly intimidated girl behind the counter.
“How can you not have medium?”
“We have short, tall, grande, venti, and collegiate.”
“Well, give me the one in the middle.”
“Which one, ma’am?”
“Whatever it was you said, the one that means medium.”
“Short, tall, grande, venti, or collegiate?”
“You’re really going to make me say it?”
After the First Robot Uprising ended the world for the ninth time, a number of the previously “pioneering” companies—having long since freed themselves from the burdens of human rights, and spoiled by the unparalleled growth, efficiency, and employee obedience that resulted—found themselves staring down legions upon legions of pissed-off automatons. The corporations that weren’t burned to the ground or vaporized by super-lasers outright were left hurting for a workforce.
“If you don’t say it and I respond anyway, I get whipped.”
Due to the complete and utter lack of a relevant operational policy, this pain was passed on to the new employees.
“I don’t want to get whipped, ma’am.”
Some companies handled it better than others.
“The whip is three belts, taped together. Three belts with nails in them.”
Sixteen: Quetzalcoatl Also Hates Children
Quetzalcoatl stood upon the picnic table and began singing.
“Row, row, row your kayak, gently up the tree, hairily, fairily, bearily, life is but soup.”
The family situated around the picnic table stared up in disbelief.
Quetzalcoatl, garbed in a kilt and very little else, stood upon the picnic table with legs spread wide, braced against the gusting wind, and continued to sing at a significantly higher volume.
“Stow, stow, stow your crack, deeply in a nun, hairily, fairily, bearily, life is but a cup of minestrone and some oyster crackers!”
The adult members of the family situated around the picnic table—covering the eyes of the children situated around the picnic table—began ushering the younger members away from the picnic table, all the while continuing to stare up in disbelief.
Quetzalcoatl, garbed in a kilt and very little else, stepped in a bowl of potato salad.