Mental Dope

Arnold knew the time had arrived come for good mental dope.  The nation, unstable, disrupted, needed it.  He needed it: the prolonged escape only solid mental dope could provide.  Recreational drugs were no longer enough–escaping reality had little appeal after you sobered up and there was reality all over again. 

The nation’s new President came to the same conclusion about mental dope as did Arnold. 

His ratings were increasingly underwater, elections were coming up next year and he hated being a loser.  Citizens needed to stop thinking about what he was accomplishing, at least until he’d accomplished it (whenever that would be.)  He told the networks and streamers to up the ante—and he had ideas. 

Reality shows increased, horror film production pumped up.  Porn was already available on the web, now the Networks and streamers increased nudity.  There were a lot of game shows too.  A lot of mindless sf films about evil corporations.  The air and electronic waves were filled with fundamental distractions, more than ever before.  The final step, the new President’s suggestion, were virtual reality headsets to see and experience it all, as if it was in front of you. 

(There were also circuses, you could get bread delivered.)  

Quickly enough, when everyone went home, and at times during lunch breaks, and certainly all weekend they put on virtual reality headsets to watch and listen and interact.  When war games hit the market, citizens could hunt and kill, in jungles and deserts.  Everywhere, there was bread.

Arnold tried a headset but found the violence disturbing.  Mingling with elephants in the circus was amusing, as was walking on the Moon.  Still, it was not real.  It was convincing, even overwhelming—but fake. 

Arnold put away the headset, shut off his TV and began reading books.  It felt comfortable, holding something real in his hands, and he could slip into the worlds of some novels with ease.  He decided to quit his job and move to a small island with few people and avoid further distractions.  He funded his move by appearing in his own reality show, based on his island life.  People in headsets could be him, wander the island and pick fruit from the trees and be back to nature (for as much time as they paid for.) 

Jezebel

Jezebel hated her name.  Her parents told her it meant ‘Where is the Lord?’  When people called her Jezebel, they were labelling her—bad enough, but Jezebel was a faithless, immoral cheater.  The name plagued her in high school.  She disliked labels such as ‘girl’ and ‘white’ and ‘colleague,’ but labels were everywhere these days.  She refused to be labelled.  No one should be labelled.  No human was that simple. 

After school, she largely left it behind, though it remained on her credit cards and driver’s licence.  When old enough, she finally changed her name legally, to Jessica.  It was close enough not to offend her mom and dad—much.  They still called her Jezebel when she visited.  Which was about the time the new President signed the Labelling Law. 

Labels were now legally required.  You were right wing or left wing (or variations.)  You were a true believer or heretic.  You were a hard worker or useless.  You were loyal or a traitor. 

Because of the new law, Jessica’s name was changed back to Jezebel.  Now, she legally had to call herself Jezebel and explain to everyone why she did not act like a Jezebel when everyone else acted like their label.  She told everyone Jezebel meant ‘Where is the Lord?’  No one believed her.  Soon, despite her personal beliefs, Jezebel cheated on her husband and became a shameless flirt at work.  She felt forced to live up to her label.  Therapy did no good, her husband divorced her and she cheated on the next one.

People became their labels.  They stayed within their boundaries.  As did Jezebel—but, true to her name, eventually Jezebel prayed and found the Lord, who labelled her a malcontent. 

The Best Of Times, The Worst Of Times

It was the best of times for many, the worst of times for more.  People continued to starve even as the new President held sumptuous dinner parties.  Why did some folks starve?  The new President believed them low level cheaters, swindling the Government with food stamps to buy bread.  It was a nasty, foul time.  Selfishness thrived.  Racism was popular.  It was the best of times for many, the worst of times for more. 

George, concerned about the failure of ethics, wrote letters to newspapers and online sites, protesting.  In return, he received hate mail.  Life was good but the outside world increasingly undermined it.  It was unnerving.  All he could do was read bad news.  He decided to stay at home until the nation became sane again.  He ordered in food and waited. 

Word spread about George.  His neighbours began staying at home, then there were news reports about George, encouraging more people to stay home–unable to do anything else, people voted with their butts, putting them in couches in their living rooms.  Productivity slowed to nothing–no one cared much.  Local problems were resolved among neighbours.  Backyard and apartment deck chicken coops became popular.  People bartered skills for goods.

People moved into villages as the nation dissolved and the population shrank.  Each village took on the interests of those who lived there.  Soon enough, you were only a villager if you were born and grew up there.  Maintaining the purity of the village became critical—not simply because food was limited, but because each village knew it had the answer, it was pure, its people were pure.  Surviving was the priority, no one had time for science or research.  It was exciting when villages figured out how to make iron, for spears. 

It was the best of times for many, the worst of times for more. 

Parenting

They desperately needed a solution. 

Having babies was a lot of work, more than Jim and his partner had realized.  They knew but here was reality.  However, the baby part, sleepless though it was, was a piece o cake compared with toddlerhood.  With toddlerhood, the demanding, unrelenting nature of parenthood truly emerged. 

They desperately needed a solution. 

It was a loveable desperation.  The toddler was charming: giggling, grinning, grounded—contagious fun.  Every day, every moment was new, full of discovery and joy.  Crawling rapidly became walking, then walking holding something, then words.  Life became following the ‘danger baby’ as she loved climbing up chairs and would leap off the bed if they let her.  They  picked her up after work (the transition was easier for her than them,) come home, made dinner, played, cleaned up, then bath and reading in bed.  They fell asleep holding hands, toddler between them.  Their days were programmed by work, their evenings and weekends by their toddler.  They loved it but were exhausted. 

They desperately needed a solution. 

They tried something like a Roomba, a robot to follow the toddler.  That worked for about five minutes—until they heard a book fall in the living room.  The robot was too stupid.  Their next step was an interactive hologram–far more intelligent, it was successful, accompanied the toddler to daycare and taught her Lego. 

But something was missing.  AI was bringing up their child.  The choices the hologram made for their child were bland.  That was not how toddlers grew–they experimented, took chances before they understood they were chances.  AI was designed to prevent that.  They stopped the hologram and returned to full time parenting (as time allowed.)  It was still exhausting, but they looked forward to their daughter growing, become even more her own person.  When she became a teen, they would have time to themselves.  They were wrong on two counts. 

First, about parenting, which continues when your child is an adult. 

Second, they were pregnant again. 

They desperately needed a solution. 

Gradually, they realized there is no solution to life’s cycle except to live with it, through it but never get past it–the cycle never ends.    

Better Drugs For A Better Tomorrow

Society thrived on drugs.  Jim thought that was natural–he thrived on drugs himself.  When younger, he drank, and it helped him get through.  Drugs in the processed food he ate also affected him (but he was not sure how, except eventual cancer was probably involved.)  As he aged, Jim took medical pills for his heart and arthritis and other conditions.  As he further aged, not only alcohol but recreational drugs helped him thrive. 

It was a rich, full life.  Why not better drugs, Jim thought, for a better tomorrow?    

Pills were the North American way (originally, now the way of much of the world.)  Why, Jim wondered, could the pill solution not be applied to all human problems?  To date, pills had been able to cure anything.  Jim owned a large chemical company.  He put it hard to work on developing pill solutions, encouraging other companies to do the same.  As was the North American way, they received generous Government grants, each working in different areas. 

It took only three months for the first products to roll out of the labs and factories and be sold to the public.  The first products were free, again from Government grants.  The first two were the poverty and drudgery pills.  When taken, poor folks no longer cared about being poor, even if they were starving, and the drudgery pills kept folks happy who worked in warehouses and soulless factories.  People worried about climate change took a pill, daily, and their concerns abated.  People upset about air or water pollution took a pill and believed all was okay.  People daunted by authoritarian Governments donated to Government after taking a pill each morning. 

Everyone was used to taking pills anyway.  While the pills cured no real problems, they relieved people of caring about them.  It was like recreational drugs except without the desire for salty snacks.  And when reality infringed and people worried more, there were pills for that. 

Jim (you remember him) was proud.  Better drugs for a better tomorrow.  

How To Relax In A Stressful World

Bombs dropped, drug running speedboats blown up, war overseas, at home, troops and fear in the streets.  Costs soared, especially food–just staying alive felt tough.  Millard woke each morning dreading the news, what horrible information the day would bring.  He was an accountant who loved working, losing himself in numbers.  No longer.  He could not lose himself in this world.

Prayer did not help.  Neither did Transcendental Meditation.  Walks outside reminded him of the problems.  Recreational drugs were only a temporary escape–and when loaded Millard had to avoid the TV.  Allergies prevented pets.  He found little relief from family or friends; they had their own problems.  The best solution was to live somewhere else, but there was nowhere else.  He did not have the money to travel–and many nations were as unstable as his. 

He tried ignoring current events, avoiding the news, even talking with friends.  He created his own world.  He worked from home.  He had food delivered.  But Millard remained stressed.  The outside world could intrude at any time.  The sole solution, he came to believe, was to have himself frozen, not to be awaken until life was better. 

He was drafted–but was frozen first.  His instructions were explicit–he was never unfrozen, formally.  But then Millard’s money ran out and he was put on the sidewalk to thaw.  He was swept up by robot garbage collectors and woke in a dump. 

Millard had not solved his stress problem. 

Halloween

Halloween was over.  Frederick handed out candy during the rainy, bleak evening.  It was no longer time for ghosts and goblins.  The annual holiday was over.  Now it was time for real life. 

But real life was like Halloween. 

He handed out psychological candy to family, friends and colleagues.  They all came to him, asking for treats.  As he did them.  If he did not, occasionally tricks emerged. 

Everyday, everyone he knew walked around in costumes.  Not fairies or pirates but suits or overalls, dresses and pants.  Some wore make-up.  All played parts—colleague, supervisor, partner, children.  Everyone was expected to, Frederick included.  He did his best.  He wanted to avoid tricks.

Nights were toughest.  Freed from their day roles, Frederick saw many around him change after the sun set.  Sometimes their characters were similar but more often wildly different.  Their costumes changed because at nights they showed their true spirits.  They danced.  Threw parties. 

Frederick was troubled by his Halloween life.  He was never certain who anyone truly was.  Were they a treat or a trick?  Everyday featured surprises, most unpleasant.  Worse, Halloween was mirrored in the nation’s politics.  Wars were threatened, poverty was extensive, there were far more tricks than treats federally, and the President’s costume was ridiculous. 

Frederick prayed and asked God for an answer.  Appearing as a ghost, she replied: “For humanity, Halloween is every day.”

Team Spirit

Arnold was a respected Proctologist and Psychologist.  He told anyone who asked that the professions were related.   One of Arnold’s hobbies was watching sports on TV.  He loved the tension, excitement, the teamwork.  What he did not understand was why teamwork failed to exist in his own life.  At work he was frequently caught in petty conflicts.  With his family, his teenagers were rarely around, and, when they were, everyone growled. 

If athletes were paid to form a team, why couldn’t families, who loved each other?  Why was it so difficult for his colleagues to work for a common cause?  Why could he and his partner not be seen by their children as coaches—life coaches? 

Why could he not score life goals? 

At times friends and family and colleagues did team up–in emergencies.  Arnold knew team spirit was not limited to paid athletes.  There were many amateur athletic teams.  Money was not the issue preventing people working together.  What was?  Did it always require an emergency?  Was disaster the foundation of teamwork? 

Arnold was determined to solve humanity’s problem.  People needed motivation to work together.  Arnold considered the best motivators: success, happiness, freedom, sex.  He decided on sex. 

He combined proctology and psychology, using (what else?) AI.  Cell towers disseminated waves directly into the minds of every citizen.  Now, when people sensed a problem they needed help with, their bottoms clenched (it felt good), they were aroused and knew if they worked together, something really good would come (yes, that way.  Some were concerned about their bottoms being involved—but not everyone.)  “Clench your butt and screw it” became a rallying cry.    

His proctology team found it fabulous.  Team spirit erupts from the strangest places. 

I cannot explain how this tale turned out. 

But then I’ve never been able to be a team player. 

Fred

Fred walked the Earth.  Sometimes he drove if he had to, sometimes took a ferry–he walked whenever he could: observing, learning, wandering.  There was much to see, much to know, much to understand.  Fred knew it was good for his soul.  Talking with people, watching animals, living in each environment.  Walking the Earth was good. 

Fred’s relatives were concerned.  He left home at eighteen, phoned and texted regularly but never returned.  He had no job, no income, was apparently dependent on strangers.  They hoped he would find a home, start a family, begin a career.  Wandering was not a career.  His mother worried the most. 

Fred did not worry.  He enjoyed life, receiving food and comfort from strangers, seeing something new every day.  He learned more, he understood more.  He admitted he was uncertain what he did understand, but that only encouraged him to wander more.  Wander in the cities, the forests, the beaches, the deserts. 

Frequently he saw people rushing and did understand why.  He saw people cry, struggle, in pain.  He was a watcher and felt guilt when he moved on–did he have a choice?  If he stayed, he would never be free.

But it gnawed at him, not helping.  People had helped him, now he walked away.  So eventually, in a pleasant valley where people needed help during a drought, Fred finally stopped wandering and helped. 

At first, he hated his feet growing roots deep into the soil.  But he could repair water pipes he was brought and the town council met around him every week.  They advertised for him and soon another wanderer arrived, fell in love with him and grew beside him and they raised a family. 

Their children left home at eighteen, to wander.

Peace?

God created Peace but never energized it.  Peace often asked God why She created Peace only to never use it.  God’s reply was always Peace was a good idea but the time was not right.  Peace was discouraged.  Eons passed.  The time was never right.  As 2025 unfolded, Peace again spoke with God. 

“You must agree this year the time is right for Peace.  More countries have nuclear weapons.  Drones made war easier.  The President of the United States believed he deserved the Nobel Peace Prize because he brokered some peace deals that are not stable, but he also ordered his Navy to kill drug smugglers.” 

“I understand–but not just yet.” 

“It is never just yet.  Why does humanity’s time for Peace never arrive?  Is not one of your commandments Thou Shalt Not Kill?” 

God sighed.  “Throw that at Me.”  God sighed again.  “I want competitiveness in my creations.    Competition helps humanity thrive.  Now it lives in fear.”  God sighed again.  “Perhaps I overdid it.  Although…it does generate many prayers, which give Me power.”  God looked at Peace.  “Perhaps I am selfish, denying you.” 

“You always have been.  You created humans to feed off them.  Give Peace a chance.”

“Fine.”  God raised a hand and an empowered Peace spread its message to the entire world.  Within a year poverty was eliminated as countries focussed on what was best for their people.  Conflicts were resolved through negotiation.  Cities grew smaller as people moved to more comfortable towns.  Production fell a bit but no one cared.   

Yet when Peace approached God with this good news, it found God annoyed.  “What have I done?” God shouted.  “I like the wars!  I enjoy violence–I invented it!”  God deactivated Peace, put humanity back on the course he found most entertaining (less drones, more soldiers) and floated back to watch.  This would be a rather glum tale indeed–except the Council of Gods banished Earth’s God to oversee the armpit of Orion, installing on Earth an up and coming young God who toyed with Peace (at least at times.)  So it is a happy ending, with humanity having no clue. 

War

Everyone agreed it was time for the annual lunch with War. 

War was on the move again.  It never stopped, really, but occasionally slowed.  War was born with humanity, gaining power and consciousness from any conflict.  As humanity and civilization grew, so did War, until War was Itself. 

War considered itself crucial to humanity’s growth.  War spurred research of all kinds.  And it was natural that the weaker portions of humanity be defeated, allowing for stronger civilizations.  War was the great cleanser.    

War was not alone.  There never had been Peace, but there was Love and Truth and Ego and Lust, all of which considered themselves as vital as War.  They all met annually, and 2025 felt like a special year, at least for War, Ego and Lust.  Love felt alone.  Truth started feeling alone centuries ago.

They met for a lovely lunch, around a mahogany table filled with delicious food.  Of course, none of them ate, they did not need chairs either, but they had grown fond of adopting interesting human ways.  Sitting forward, Truth looked at War. 

“War is no longer building humanity, if it ever did,” Truth told it, across the table.  “You have spread to trade.” 

“Not as much fun,” War replied. 

“Any War is great for egos,” Ego added.  “You’re doing fine work, pal.”  Love sighed.  Truth agreed it was true but denied it was good.  That got them through the appetizers of peoples’ prayers, which they enjoyed pretending to eat.  Lust made a mess of its food, ripping into it for handfuls.  Love sighed. 

Over an entre of churning souls, War boasted of its accomplishments, pushed by Ego.  Lust was busy stuffing souls in and then pooping them out.  Desert arrived–the power of throbbing hearts.  Lust stared at them with relish (which it put on the hearts for flavour.) 

“We only exist because of humans,” Truth said as they stared at their empty plates.  “If War grows too strong, there will be no humans, and we will die.” 

“There will always be humans, especially with drones,” War countered.  “We will, for a time, grow smaller.  Merely smaller.” 

Love sighed.  Ego nodded.  Lust licked its plate.  Truth finally said, “I can live with that.”          

“That is rather cynical,” Truth said, adding, “I can live with that.”  

The moral of this tale?  That War always gets its way.  Or that compromise is either good or bad.  But mostly that we create and feed powers who do not deserve us.   

King Leer

[Reader Advisory]

King Leer was born Prince Lear but acquired his nickname in his teens.  It fit.  He slipped into being King Leer as easily as his hand into a fine glove, as he saw women: something soft to fit into.  He was not a decent fellow, dominated by male fulfillment and power.  He married and had three daughters.  His Queen died mysteriously after the third birth (the King found she interfered with his affairs.)  As his daughters matured and he aged, the King’s lecherous eyes turned to them.

His daughters knew of his proclivities and sought advice and assistance from the royal aides.  At the same time, he sought advice and assistance from his royal physician about his increasing inability to either achieve or maintain a woody.  The whole family was frustrated and needed help (of different kinds.)  The King sought help from his most trusted medical advisors: Dr. Oz, Dr. Phil and Kennedy (who had no medical degree but read a lot online.)  They advised vitamins, bleach and no vaccines.  The King caught measles and chicken pox and threw up a lot. 

His daughters rejected his disgusting advances but were unable to find lovers—no one dared displease the King by showing affection towards them.  They needed to control the King’s outsized libido if not his personality, needed to keep him away from themselves and other women.  After a struggle they won the debate with his advisors, who then showed the King not the social media sites he regularly typed on, under the pseudonym Epstein, but instead introduced him to porn.  And cheeseburgers.

And that was the last anyone but servants saw of the King.  His new nickname was King Jerkoff.  The servants wore gloves.    

For the first time, porn was the solution. 

And cheeseburgers.