Data Dump III

“There must be some way out of here
Said the joker to the thief
There's too much confusion
I can't get no relief….”

-Bob Dylan, "All Along The Watchtower"

(* * *)

That put me back in here after my cousin threw me out. I hit the pavement and the robots were there in moments. So no job, again, and back in a “poverty pen”.

I guess family ties just aren’t that strong. Even though my cousin was rich, she didn’t want to support me for the rest of her life, or maybe she just thought it was a bad thing to be poor and didn’t want me dirtying up her mind. So here I am, Michael Jordan Mackenzie, a prisoner. You know, my dad warned me about ending up in jail, and here I am. He’d die if he could see me.

I’ve run through what few people I thought I could depend on. Would I like to see you again? You bet. The problem is, I’ve already asked. The robots said that they don’t let people move, or “change their indigent housing domiciles” unless blood relation can be proven by the appropriate documentation. And unless one of our ancestors jumped the fence somewhere, that’s that.

I haven’t seen Jodie in years. Haven’t written her, either. I guess I’ve sort of been here without hope. But I’ll tell you something. Your letter gave me hope. It gave me hope that I was not forgotten or abandoned and left to die.

If I had a picture, I’d send it, even if I looked lousy. To hell with it. I don’t think either of us has much to write about. We have the same kind of days. But keep writing, even if it’s just to reminisce about the old days.

Mack

3457907 PRINTADDENDUM: SENT BY Michael Mackenzie038, 941919 Building 4 Resident Quant C – Homeless Detainee ****

(* * *)

“I thought more people would answer.”

“Maybe not,” said Daria, under the single comforter in the darkened room. “Who knows how people spend their time? Posting on message boards. Do people even answer their mail? Do they spend the rest of their lives looking up at a television screen? It reminds me of all those old people in the rest home, marking time until they died.”

“Daria?”

“Yeah?”

“You know…back when we were in Lawndale High School, I thought I had you sized up. I told myself that even if you were never popular, I knew that you were going to make your mark on the world. You were going to be famous someday. I would have bet all the money I had on that.”

“You would have lost it.”

“No really. I mean your sister was popular, but you were popular in your own way. I knew you were smart, and talented, and didn’t give a crap. I thought you’d be a novelist or a brain or something.”

“So how come you never said anything?”

Sandi laughed. “Come on. You know how it was. I would have never talked to you in high school.”

Daria chuckled. “Well, Griffin, you know that I figured you’d be married to a rich husband. You’d be sipping pina coladas and making the domestic help miserable. You were a real bitch on wheels, you know.”

“Yeah, training wheels. The world was a lot tougher than I thought it was.”

“Same here.” Daria was silent for a few seconds. “I’m surprised that you could run a newsroom.”

“Mom got me that job. I was good at it…but she never let me forget it. She always let it hang over me, that everything I ever got out of life was because of her. Daria?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Good night.”

(* * *)

Glad to know that you’re still alive out there. Sometimes I like to tell myself that I’m one of the only humans alive and that everyone else was exterminated like in the Terminator movies. It makes me feel special. You know, I’ve looked all over for movies like that on the public telly and can’t find them. I think evil robot movies have been cast into the memory bin, at least in public housing. Most of my time is spent on the Terminator message boards.

Of course, for all I know, you could be a robot. Maybe robots can write now. Maybe they send us e-mail messages to make us feel better, to make us think that someone out there is listening.

Right now, I don’t care if you’re the real Daria or just an evil Daria-bot. If there’s a way for us to get together, I’d like that. I don’t know if there is a way. I’ve tried running, I’ve tried sabotaging, I’ve tried assaulting the machines. Did you know I led the Great Goth Rebellion of Quad B? Yeah, that lasted all of 15 seconds before they pumped the tranq gas in.

Family? None of us made any money. We’re all here together, but I can’t get along with my family anyway. They’re all in Quad C, and I’m in Quad B. It’s a lot better that way. Once in a blue moon the robots will allow us to hook up.

Do you know what I miss? Ultra Hold Hairspray. I used to go through cans of that shit.

I don’t have any solutions. You might like to check out the Terminator Board, sending me a private message will get a faster response than e-mail, since my inbox reminds me of the dustbowl.

Vienna la tormenta!

-andy

313562 PRINTADDENDUM: SENT BY Andrea White734, 816665 Building 2 Resident Quant B – Homeless Detainee ****

(* * *)

Yolanda and Daria were playing cards. Sandi walked over to where the two were sitting in the dreary looking common room. “Dah-RIA.”

“Yeah, Griffin.”

“You have some mail. From Mr. DeMartino.”

“DeMartino is still alive?”

“When death came, he probably beat him up.”

“Does he offer a way out?”

“Well…no. I don’t think so.”

“All praise Chairman Mao,” said Yolanda as she put down a ten of spades.

“Let us all denounce Li Feng,” said Daria as she followed with a ten of hearts.

“What are you doing?” said Sandi.

“Playing Mao.”

“Oh, I love card games! How do you play?” said Sandi, sitting down uninvited.

“The only rule I can tell you is this one,” said Daria.

“No, seriously. What are the rules?”

“The only rule I can tell you is this one,” said Yolanda.

“What?”

(* * *)

Dear Daria,

it breaks my heart to see that you are in such a sad condition. I would lie and tell the goddamned machines that you were my own kith and kin if I thought it would help but their cold metal hearts are immune to any such persuasion

the only joy I get is knowing that the robot teachers are teaching the pampered princes of industry and im’ sure even their patience will be bashed by the jocks, the lunkheads, the stoners, and the other assorted flotsam that used to clog the educational system

if they had allowed corporal punishment this would have never happened. I would like to grab the son of a bitch that invented robots and give him a fist sandwich

Jodie Landon is now a princess of industry. Kevin Thompson and Tori Jericho made it big, too. out of all those I taught, they were the ones who made the money. to know that kevin is out there running the world gives me the agita.

as for me, I am an old man and I am in the nursing facility where the robots wipe your ass and wipe it with that industrial paper. I’m bedridden. I have arthritis. I don’t see too well either. That’s okay, I don’t watch that shit they call news anyway. it’s good that Im not teaching because who could teach that bullshit with a straight face.

If you get old, I hear the robots don’t’ watch you as closely. Where the hell are you going to go anyway? There are legends of wiley old men who got away when the robots are not looking and have established a free state of seniors. Me, I believe that the robots just shot them, that’s why you don’t see them again. There are days that I think a bullet to the head would be a blessing, but I don’t tell the robots that.

Forgive me for being old and profane but I think I’m allowed some profanity. That’s one of my few remaining blessings, thinking of ingenious ways to tell the robots off. I’m trying to invent a word for asshole that would mean something to a robot. you were a wonderful writer, I’m sure you can think of one.

anyway, I hope you figure a way out. Your talent were wasted on the world. And now look at the world. It serves it right.

Your former instructor

Mr. Anthony DeMartino

361510 PRINTADDENDUM: SENT BY Anthony DeMartino077, 5661127 Building 1 Resident Quant E – Homeless Detainee: Elderly****

(* * *)

“So why didn’t Mack ask Jodie for help?” said Sandi.

“Too proud,” muttered Daria. “Not that I’m not too proud to ask. When we get our one real e-mail a month in a few days, you should send Jodie Landon a persuasive letter.”

“I still think we should send it to Stacy Rowe,” said Sandi, “Stacy is a softer touch.”

“Griffin, a lot has changed since either of us were in high school. I don’t trust Stacy to be able to tie her shoes without a nervous breakdown.”

“No, Daria, Stacy would have married well. You know men love a dishrag, someone who kisses the ground they walk on.”

“Is that why you didn’t marry well, Sandi? You didn’t like the taste of ass?”

Sandi laughed. “I guess not. Not that men didn’t chase me. But they were all losers, every last one of them.”

“Poor Mr. DeMartino,” said Daria.

“Yeah,” said Sandi. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

“Oh Daria?”

“Hm.”

“All praise Chairman Mao,” said Sandi

“I’d denounce Li Feng,” said Daria, “but I don't have the good hand.”