Qualityland
Page 8
“She is tolerable,” he said coldly, “but not comely enough to tempt me.”
RECOMMENDATIONS FROM THE CLASSICS:
The Trial FOR YOU
Out of the blue, a bank employee is accused of committing a crime. He knows why. But he also knows this: he is innocent. First he flees, but then he decides to take the law into his own hands. Armed with his rifle, he fights his way through the system until he is able to prove his innocence. A straightforward thriller that leaves no questions unanswered.
Romeo and Juliet FOR YOU
The child porno classic. Thirteen-year-old Juliet is in love with the somewhat older Romeo, who comes from a rival family. Star-crossed scissoring, Montague muff-diving and Capulet climaxes galore, and a plot twist in the family crypt with an explosive and slightly necrophiliac finale.
The Diary of Anne Frank FOR YOU
Thirteen-year-old Anne Frank successfully hides herself away with her family for three years, in order to evade the Nazis. When the war comes to an end, she even gets the pony she was wishing for the whole time.
RECOMMENDATIONS FROM THE FANTASY GENRE:
The Bible FOR YOU
Only one hundred pages long, but it’s all there! Masturbation, incest, murder, and manslaughter! A punitive God and an original father-son story: “And Jehovah said, ‘Maria never told you what really happened to your father!’ ‘She told me enough!’ cried Jesus, hanging from the cross by one hand. ‘She told me you killed him!’ ‘No!’ thundered Jehovah. ‘I am your father!’”
FURTHER RECOMMENDATIONS :
Realistic Expectations by Charles Dickens, The Grapes by John Steinbeck, and of course Leo Tolstoy’s great masterpiece War.
ASCENDING OCULOGENITAL CHLAMYDIA INFECTION
Peter sits on the unfamiliar bed and waits. Something feels wrong. Then Melissa comes out of the bathroom naked, and Peter decides it feels right after all. The woman who QualityPartner has selected as being Peter’s perfect match walks toward him seductively. He begins to tear his clothes off hastily. Melissa watches him. “A word of advice,” she says eventually. “When you’re getting undressed before sex, always take your socks off first. Not last. There’s nothing more ridiculous than a naked man in socks.”
Peter takes off his socks.
“I’ll make a note of that,” he says.
They kiss. Suddenly, Melissa pushes him away.
“Uh-oh,” she says, “we almost forgot something.”
Peter looks at her in surprise.
“Safety first,” says Melissa, rummaging around in her bag.
“Condoms,” says Peter. “I have some with me.”
“No, no,” says Melissa, and hands him her QualityPad, with a document opened on the screen.
“What’s this?”
“A Pre-Sex, of course.”
“A what?”
“A Pre-Sexual Intercourse Agreement!”
“Err…”
“You mean you’ve never seen one before? Seriously? How long has it been since you got laid? I mean, it’s standard practice nowadays. And much more important than condoms.”
Peter looks at her with confusion.
“Don’t worry,” says Melissa. “I’m not making you sign anything weird. It’s the standard contract suggested by the QualitySexApp.”
“So what’s in it?”
“No idea. Just the usual,” says Melissa. “I’ve never read through all of it either.”
Peter begins to read the contract out loud.
“SEX CONTRACT
§ 1 Object of agreement
(1) This contract pertains to the forthcoming sexual act between Contractual Partner 1 and Contractual Partner 2.
(2) Both contractual partners confirm that they alone own the rights to their bodies, and that they have not so far made any dispositions to this agreement. They therefore indemnify each other from all claims from third parties.
§ Rights concessions
(1) The contractual partners mutually transfer, for the duration of 2 hours, the exclusive right to copulate with one another (coll. to sleep with one another, shag, fuck, bang, make love, have intercourse, listen to soft rock, etc.), without limitation of frequency.”
“Two hours is the standard duration,” says Melissa. “But we can change it, of course. To ten hours, for example…”
Peter laughs. “It’ll probably be more like ten minutes…”
He continues to read out loud.
“(2) The contractual partners grant to one another, for the duration of the principal right according to paragraph 1, the following ancillary rights…”
“This is where we click to confirm which sexual practices we’re okay with,” says Melissa.
“a) The right to vaginal intercourse, i.e. the introduction of the erect penis of Contractual Partner 1 into the vagina of Contractual Partner 2…”
b) the right to oral sex, in other words b1) cunnilingus…
c) the right to anal…”
Peter pauses. “There are over a hundred pages here! We’re really supposed to read through all of this?”
“No, you idiot,” says Melissa. “You just click ancillary rights a to k and then confirm by TouchKiss.”
Peter flicks forward a few pages.
“k) the right to record on devices for repeatable replay by means of image or sound carriers, as well as the right to their replication, dissemination, and reproduction.”
“Oops,” says Melissa, “I meant a to j.”
“So there are a hundred pages here describing sexual practices? This is the weirdest porno ever.”
“No, of course not. The last pages are about money.”
Peter flicks further on and reads out loud:
Ҥ 5 Consequential Costs
(1) The contractual partners assure one another that they are not infected with any of the following sexually transmitted diseases, and agree, should this not be the case, to assume all consequential medical costs. This applies especially, but not exclusively, to
a) arthropods;
b) pubic lice (phthirius pubis, coll. crabs), i.e., a parasitic type of animal lice transferred from Contractual Partner 1 to Contractual Partner 2 or vice versa…”
Melissa closes her eyes and says: “Has anyone ever told you that you have a very erotic voice?”
Peter reads on:
“c) scabies, i.e. a parasitic skin disease in humans caused by the mange mite (Sarcoptes scabiei) transferred from Contractual Partner 1 to Contractual Partner 2…”
“I can’t help myself,” says Melissa. “But for some reason this is turning me on.”
She slides her hand beneath the blanket.
“d) fungal infection, candidiasis, i.e. infection of the sexual organs by the Candida fungus, for example vaginal fungal infection…”
Peter interrupts his reading. “Melissa, forgive me for asking, but are you masturbating?”
“Keep reading,” groans Melissa.
“Have you made a contract with yourself too?”
“I trust myself,” says Melissa. “Now keep reading!”
“e) Viruses: Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV)…”
“Yes!”
“Genital herpes…”
“Faster!”
“Hepatitis A, Hepatitis B, Hepatitis C…”
“Yes, yes, yes! Harder!”
“Bacteria,” says Peter. “Syphilus, Gonorrhea…”
Melissa groans.
“Ascending oculogenital Chlamydia infection…”
“Say that again…” she murmurs.
“Ascending oculogenital Chlamydia infection…”
“Yes! Oh yes!”
Her breathing is quick and heavy.
“Bacterial vaginosis.”
“Keep going, don’t stop!”
“Pregnancy,” reads Peter.
Melissa opens her eyes abruptly and pulls her hand up from beneath the blanket.
“Well, that was a turnoff…” she says.
“But it’s defini
tely one of the consequential costs,” says Peter. “I guess you have to give the lawyers credit for giving it its own paragraph and not listing it under the illnesses.”
“Are you really planning to read the entire contract?” asks Melissa. “If you are then I might knock out a few hate posts about gypsies while I’m waiting. Election period is a busy time for me.”
Peter shakes his head.
“Well then, just kiss the damn thing and fuck me.”
Peter sighs, presses his lips against Melissa’s QualityPad, thereby sealing the contract. The QualitySexApp thanks him courteously and recommends as an in-app purchase a quick blood test of both contractual partners. Peter moves to turn off the QualityPad.
“Leave it on,” says Melissa.
“Why?” asks Peter. “Does the app tell you after orgasm how many calories you’ve just burned?”
“Of course,” says Melissa. “Sex is healthy. My health insurance even gives me QualityCare points for it. It also means I can immediately rate your performance.”
Peter shakes his head, then gets up abruptly and begins to pull his clothes back on. First his socks, intentionally. Then the rest.
“What’s wrong now?” asks Melissa. “Don’t you want to fuck?”
“Hmm,” says Peter. “Not really. I guess I want to go home and rethink my life.”
He goes to the door.
“Hey!” Melissa calls after him. “We have a contract!”
SECRET POWERS
Oliver House-Husband, the CEO of World Wide Wholesale, is sitting in the presentation room with important clients when his contact lenses convey an urgent notification from his new assistant. “QuantityLand 2 has filed an official complaint. Such a shame. A very unpleasant development.”
Oliver groans. He is responsible for QualityLand’s new tourism campaign. His team has thought up some great slogans. “Spend QualityTime in QualityLand” and “Come to where the quality is! Come to QualityLand!” But now there is tension with the neighboring countries, and merely because they erected signs at the borders with the announcement: “You are now leaving the QualitySector.”
Oliver types an answer onto a free-floating keyboard that is visible only to him: “The disagreement can be easily settled once everyone accepts that QualityLand is not a powerful country, but the most powerful. Don’t get your period over it, dear!” He makes a send gesture, and the message is sent. Of course, the company’s internal algorithm for political correctness deletes Oliver’s last sentence and replaces it with “Don’t worry.”
Oliver turns his attention back to his current clients.
“Where was I?” he asks with a smile.
“Perhaps you were about to explain to me,” says Aisha Doctor, “how you could think that any of the problems in your insignificant little life could be more important than the next fucking president of this lousy country!”
“Well, the opinion polls are leaning more toward Cook…”
“And it’s your job to change that, you moron!”
Oliver presses his thumb and index finger simultaneously against his eyelids, switching his augmented reality lenses to standby.
“My apologies,” he says. “But I’m sure your mood will improve once you see our new campaign video. I’m very excited about it.”
“Well, put it on then,” says Tony Party-Leader.
Oliver is just about to start the film when John of Us himself comes through the door.
“What are you doing here?” snaps Aisha. She looks at her watch. “You’re supposed to be doing a video interview now.”
“I’m doing that too,” says John.
“Now?” asks Aisha. “Right now?”
“It’s called multitasking, my dear woman. Something that my kind have been capable of since the Amiga. I know humans still struggle with it.”
“Don’t ever call me your dear woman again!”
“How can you be giving a video interview if you’re here talking to us?” asks Tony.
“For you humans, there’s a difference between text, image, and sound,” says John. “But to me, it’s all simply data. I receive the questions as data. For the answers, I synthesize my voice and generate a lip-synched image of my face. Believe me, it’s not in the slightest bit difficult. The questions are too stupid for that.”
John sits down. “Go ahead,” he says, in a prompting tone.
Oliver starts the advertising video.
The recording shows John of Us smiling broadly as he strides past a crowd of excited people up the steps to the presidential palace. John shakes hands, has a brief chat, and takes a baby into his arms. Suddenly, a man with a machine gun, dressed in the classical garb of a religious fanatic from QuantityLand 7, storms toward John. He shouts out the name of his god, but before he’s finished, red laser beams shoot out of John’s eyes, and all that’s left of the attacker is a charred heap of remains.
“Okay, stop!” cries Aisha. She turns to Oliver. “Perhaps we should leave that bit out.”
“But why?” asks Oliver in bewilderment. This is the part he is most proud of.
“I think,” says Aisha to John, “that we shouldn’t tell anyone in the world you can even do such a thing.” She looks at him. “Can you really do it?”
John focuses his gaze on a buzzing fly that has been annoying him for the last 25.6 seconds and incinerates it in midair with a swift laser beam.
“Never do that again!” shouts Aisha. “I forbid you! Do you hear me?”
“I don’t understand what the problem is,” says Oliver. “I think it’s awesome!”
“Tell me, you halfwit,” explodes Aisha, “did someone with diarrhea take a shit in your skull? Do you really think we can make people elect the Terminator as their president? How brain-dead do you have to be to think up such a ridiculously stupid image?”
Oliver hasn’t felt this insulted for sixteen years, since the time he tried to get his best friend’s fiancée into bed. He is a rare sight: a speechless ad man.
“Someone should have warned him about her,” says John with a smile.
“Conrad Cook’s campaign is trying to overtake us on the right, Aisha,” says Tony. “On the far right. We have to make it clear that John isn’t to be messed with either.”
“You don’t conquer the wolves by howling with them,” says Aisha. “And we can’t defeat the right by bellowing out right-wing extremist slogans.”
“I don’t want to offend you,” says Tony, “but I think that because of your heritage you may be… well… a little biased. You’re not seeing things objectively.”
“What do you mean by that, you small-time fascist?” retorts Aisha. “That I’m one of ‘them’? A towelhead?”
“Aisha, please,” says Tony. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No? So how did you mean it, for fuck’s sake? I’ll tell you this: if the people want to elect shit, then they’ll elect original-brand shit every time, not the rehashed instant shit you want to offer.”
“She’s right,” says John. “If I extrapolate historical examples into the future, the strategy seems misguided to me too. We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”
“You’re quoting someone, aren’t you?” says Aisha.
“Yes,” John admits.
“Vonnegut?” asks Aisha.
“Yes.” John gives her a penetrating look.
“What are you looking at?”
“I’m revising my estimation of you.”
Oliver clears his throat and tries to get back to the matter at hand.
“We will, of course, only share this video on a personalized level, with people who want a hard line to be taken against the terrorists.”
“If this video ends up anywhere near the internet, I’ll personally rip off your balls and use them as cocktail olives at my next girls’ night,” says Aisha. And for some reason, Oliver takes the petite, delicate-looking, 1.61-meter-tall woman at her word, believing that she really could and would
do it.
“You, er, have a very vivid way of using language,” he says. “We need people like you. If you ever get bored of election campaigns…”
Aisha shoots him a look that makes it clear he should shut up. She’s on the brink of an idea.
“What we want to create is not the image of a killer machine,” she says eventually. “Not the Terminator. What we need is more… Wall-E.”
John smiles.
President Condemns Drone Attack as Inhumane
by Sandra Admin
During a drone attack on a shopping street today, thirty-two people died in the Jewish quarter of the city of Growth, the pulsating industry center with a heart. Terrorists from QuantityLand 7—“Sunny beaches, fascinating ruins”—claimed responsibility for the attack after just two minutes via QuickClaim, a new What I Need service for activists of all kinds. According to investigations, they used the latest generation of the multi-purpose drone Valkyrie, which QualityCorp—“The company that makes your life better”—is currently offering at a 16-percent-cheaper introductory price. The terrorists equipped it with a self-built explosive device, as depicted in the Number 1 nonfiction bestseller from QuantityLand 7, And It Went Boom: Explosives for Beginners. The victims were a Level 32 female technician from Profit, a Level 64 male business economist from QualityCity, and thirty Useless. Our dying president (thirty-eight days to go) strongly condemned the attack from her deathbed, saying that drone attacks were inhumane, barbaric, and cowardly.
Comments
» BY ERIK TILER:
Well, that’s a given, the president condemning the terror attack—not exactly relevant news! It would only be news if the president had said she supports the attack and doesn’t like Jews very much either. Or it would be news if she had said, “I know one of the terrorists; I was in a Progress Party training camp with him in Profit” or if she had said, “Sorry, I didn’t hear anything about it. What happened? Where is this Growth place, anyway?” That would be news. But this is just time wasting!
» BY ERIK TILER:
And what kind of childish response is it to accuse the terrorists of being cowardly! Would it really have made things any better if they had killed thirty-two people in a “brave” attack?