The Morning Warning: Preface

PREFACE
...while it's still fresh in my head.' Nothing like a fresh turd for appeal.
As if: I was told that by another more famous guy, who gets a long look
from a bad dream of something maybe too real. Also for his own sake
temporary... to dwell on the whole picture would get one a permanent
vacation in Sub-basement 2 in a relined broom closet, canvas tux.
If you ate less than a couple of hours ago and you don't like the idea
of being physically and/or mentally modded come back later...
just kidding.

First a disclaimer. It wasn't as if I was trying to cook THIS one up, I
awoke a half hour late dry as a bone and just sad. The script is all laid
out: and the human race has very little if anything to do with guiding
the project-- but the people that can't keep their mouths or fingers shut
about the specifics don't stay above ground too long.
Dead or alive is irrelevant-- your interface with the world is history and
it's a good idea to get useful.

I let this much of the story go here because of the general intelligence
and experience of the readers-- don't get excited, none of us 'smooz' are
at all priveleged; just liabilitites of sometimes more or less significant
butt pain.
Besides, if we're halfway intelligent, repeating most anything of this one
to others may get you that broom closet sabbatical at a surface compound.

So halfway refreshed from an extra hour and a half of sleep I didn't want,
one may suppose it's alright for me to pad the story with enough 'facts' to
rub up against that 'comfort level'. That's the agreement, silent and telepathic
between MABUS and the employees. If from what I know I'm up against a
comfort wall, it's probably right for me to stop right there.
Holy crap, Blatman: looks like my job interview went well, I'm in it now.

I also know why a lot of the guys at low and middle level management are as
cheery as Voight with an exploding chip under the carotoid sheet. Nice visual
of two different movies... and op ed from two different eras?
"Look on the bright side Phelpsie.. the toys are great and the arm candy perks
would cost you five or ten grand a week out of pocket."
This from a guy whos ass is so regularly scraping the runway of literal sudden
extinction from just loose cannon we call their types 'skimmers'. They indeed are
aware of their limitations and the applied limits. It makes their demeanor no
more endurable.
Please just let me pop this prick and bury him face IN. If I could pick an
uncle with acting talent it's John. Also an appropriate reference to the more
classless, scavenging denizens. Some people don't even try anymore.
Would it be of any use for me to apologize for him?
Sorry to ruin your cocktail hour patron.. strike two.

MABUS is a pretty well known corp, and the storefront is mulinat-- scrape
the water color off the glorified Jeep and there's where the yellow brick
road turns into some nasty potholed asphalt. Spooks have to do their work
in order to keep the spot they earned... and everybody who gets to look
knows why their clearance is already there. Trust me the great majority of
people in the advanced classifications are just as internally churned, cynical
and fundamentally unhappy as a 'top loader'. Enough pecking order... there's
actually no incentive to descend on the corp ladder, is there?

Multinational Augmentation and Bureaudynamic Underground $#_ is what
the grunts call it, and there's no reason for it being named at all. It's just
'The System' to the blissful smooz (yes we're a little less than cattle and
crude nutrients with a pulse for all practical purposes)-- since the whole
structure is based on telepathy you can form the words out of your face
"The Good Star Ship Lolliplop parked at the hamburger stand 200 years too
long" if you want, trooper. The local ET's are just as unhappy about station
as we are. And they can get creative about sharing their pain, so shut up
about it.

The whole deal is nothing but a galactic mining op and truck farm. That's it.
No gossamer navel-less goodies with big breasts and skinny ankles, no four
digit IQ saviors looking out for our radiation poisoning or anything else.
Anybody who thinks our noble ancestors came from a distant heaven and
planted the seeds of their priceless essence in the human race in order to
preserve their species is more full of excrement than the handle given it.
Topside middle management with a control mechanism / profit center--
don't get me started, it's enough of a nightmare without high priests on it.

Overpopulation isn't restricted to just Terra, Sparky. These guys need to
keep their bloodline alive by coming here with about the urgency of a
Benedictine monk needing to requistion a third nut.

The whole corporate structure and interterrestrial co-op is about the most
efficient farming.. that means the general smooz have to be kept relatively
ignorant, entertained and oblivious to everything except possibly the last
rock star to OD on recreationals and the congested overhang in the pants of
the next door neighbor... gender-nonspecific.

They're on it, and it's nailed, isn't it? I mean, walk around a little and ask a
random stupid question. If you can peel the poor bastard off his Ipod long
enough to notice there was an inquiry, you'll probably get an answer that you
wouldn't think could ooze from anybody with even an autonomic nervous
system, much less enough uptairs to tell you something useful.
There was a basically unrewarding endeavor, I'll go ask that rain barrel...

It gets a little ugly down there, and has to do a lot with old, supposedly
abandoned houses between 100-150 years old and elevators to a kind of Hell
where we're not going right now.
But trust me, some of the cyborg drones in the parlor are less happy than
we are. The predominately robot baby blue colored demons are just as deadly
but less emotionally involved-- think about Robby getting a sex change and
having a wild weekend with a Dylek... and this asshole is the love child.
Don't putch the reality out there too far, trooper.
They have eyes everywhere, they don't need spies.

Oh yeah the mostly human receptionist in the musty black robe that needed
a good dry cleaning: I saw his three rows of refitted teeth apparently causing
his perpetual inflammation and more than discomfort: retracted for the most
part. All I could get from his half open-mouthed fury as he almost tore my head
off holding me in place was a non speaking "..to KISS you?"
I wish to retract the unspoken request.... it really was the last thing on my
mind when I pictured you blind dating my sister.
I could never dislike her that much.

You want character development on a personal level and the pilot?
I didn't think so.
But it's down there. I'll probably check in again sometime to clear the script.
Just somewhere I'd rather not go, and distant relatives better avoided.