The Ninja Attack on the Pleasure Sphere Begins.
ManCock woke screaming and firing his pistol into the air. The lady had enough. She yelled at him for a while. Told him that they were lucky they were not on the dirigible, then stormed out of the room. The dreams were getting worse. Every night he would wake with nightmarish visions of working at Wal-Mart and find that he had removed the pistol from below his pillow and expended the clip into the ceiling. She was right about the dirigible. Or the moon. By his own rules pistols were not allowed on the moon. They should never have given him so much power.
He threw on a nightgown and left the bedroom. Left to wander the subterranean pleasure sphere of his own creating. There were waterfalls and grottoes and warm pools filled with naked women. There were hydroponic growing operations that self monitored the lush creation of all manner of delicious fruit and drugs. There was the solar wind array above. Climbing high above the salt flats. Colossal and black. Providing the subterranean facility with everything it required until the wind stopped blowing or the sun stopped rising. Then there was the single TV.
The key to maintaining a clutch of supermodels in a subterranean pleasure sphere was control of information. And food. Absolute control of food also gave ManCock a decided advantage. But information was important as well. It was vitally important that the world class gymnast or Olympic javelin thrower be willing to forego their contact with the outside to truly be happy in the sphere. To that end it had been decided fairly early on in the design process not to have more than one source of digital information. As a monastery lacks sex so shall the sphere lack information.
It is a vexing dilemma that faces any developing world when the information exceeds interest. There are flow charts and graphs that are maintained by the Vatican as regards these statistics. Sally Struthers was the first champion of broadcast charity. A real pioneer. She is generally credited with making people hate the third world. Infotainment was not meant to brook the presence of misfortune unless it was tragedy that could not be stopped. Oh, an earthquake in India? Too bad for India. Money? They want money? Click.
In an amoral sex commune any such information is sure to be met with an instant call to action.
“What are we doing fucking one another!? We must help those poor people!”
It is a curious effect that ManCock had noticed at inferior sex communes he had been forced to destroy. Conventional wisdom would tend to make you believe that the opposite was true. That perpetual and progressively increasing amounts of sex and drugs would breed a healthy sense of apathy. This would be true if not for the boredom inherent to an insular community gathered together under the mandate to preserve drugs after the apocalypse.
Taking the lift to the surface level ManCock mused over the nightmare. It was always the same but he could never remember it. It was about this time the ninja attacked.
He threw on a nightgown and left the bedroom. Left to wander the subterranean pleasure sphere of his own creating. There were waterfalls and grottoes and warm pools filled with naked women. There were hydroponic growing operations that self monitored the lush creation of all manner of delicious fruit and drugs. There was the solar wind array above. Climbing high above the salt flats. Colossal and black. Providing the subterranean facility with everything it required until the wind stopped blowing or the sun stopped rising. Then there was the single TV.
The key to maintaining a clutch of supermodels in a subterranean pleasure sphere was control of information. And food. Absolute control of food also gave ManCock a decided advantage. But information was important as well. It was vitally important that the world class gymnast or Olympic javelin thrower be willing to forego their contact with the outside to truly be happy in the sphere. To that end it had been decided fairly early on in the design process not to have more than one source of digital information. As a monastery lacks sex so shall the sphere lack information.
It is a vexing dilemma that faces any developing world when the information exceeds interest. There are flow charts and graphs that are maintained by the Vatican as regards these statistics. Sally Struthers was the first champion of broadcast charity. A real pioneer. She is generally credited with making people hate the third world. Infotainment was not meant to brook the presence of misfortune unless it was tragedy that could not be stopped. Oh, an earthquake in India? Too bad for India. Money? They want money? Click.
In an amoral sex commune any such information is sure to be met with an instant call to action.
“What are we doing fucking one another!? We must help those poor people!”
It is a curious effect that ManCock had noticed at inferior sex communes he had been forced to destroy. Conventional wisdom would tend to make you believe that the opposite was true. That perpetual and progressively increasing amounts of sex and drugs would breed a healthy sense of apathy. This would be true if not for the boredom inherent to an insular community gathered together under the mandate to preserve drugs after the apocalypse.
Taking the lift to the surface level ManCock mused over the nightmare. It was always the same but he could never remember it. It was about this time the ninja attacked.
Comments
You sure do love the word brook as a transitive verb…
Uh…well alrighty. Let’s see if this continues.