You Give, You Get. So Where's the profit?
Sigmund was doing the things he would always do , surrender to those riffs blazing from the computer amplifiers. With the song playing 5 decibels above normal, it exerted this certain 'feeling'. The current track ended...
"Hey Siggo... want more songs?" hollered the computer.
"Yea, dump a few more... and the name's Sigmund, stupid!"
"Whatever... What song!? Hey, I haven't got all day!"
"Shut up and just play 'Aliens knock at the door' by Meliorators!"
Sigmund really thought his computer was going too far.
A second's pause and out came the underground hit 'aliens knock at the door'. Sigmund pondered. Why, for heaven's sake, do those greasy commercial musicians get the spotlight. There are about a billion underground bands that totally rule. But I guess being underground's the best part. Sigmund hated this. Whenever he questioned himself, he always seemed to conclude with a satisfying answer. Damn. Now as he almost drifted back to the aliens, the loud electro-acoustic transducer - better known as EAT, or phone, bellowed!
"Talk to me..." The guy at the other end really seemed to be a good talker , a propaganda artist , Sig assumed, "Yea, later on... ". The conversation continued... "Will do... no, really!" This guy a stand up comedian?
The guy at the other end had been talking nonstop for about three hyperminutes, "Hey, you've been talking for three hyperminutes! I'll get back to you, okay?" ... "Okay then..." Sig replaces the receiver. They tell you to donate money to charity and then add 'Look for my black limo with that logo'. Where did marketing go?
Something was furiously racing through his mind , he didn't know what. That 'something' was winning the race (the only participant though). Not that he cared as to what it was, but it really was intimidating. Deep down inside, the neurons are reacting to little somethings, and Sigmund wasn't the neuronic kind of person. With 55.95ON of intelligence, his kind hadn't cheated as much.
"Ugh... the bass is missing! Some recording!"
"Hey, don't blame me... I just play it!" cried the computer.
"Shut up and connect to the InterPlay System and download the remaining bass"
"Account name and password..."
"Okay okay... don't get all fuzzy! Wait..."
Stupid computer... "Well...?"
"Done... I've added the missing section at 4hm:34hs:2mhs , 5hm:2hm:23hs. Now let me hibernate till this stupid song's over"
"Till what song's over?"
"The great song... whatever. Just let me have some rest!"
The song kept playing, but the visuals went dead. A light hum confirmed internal activity for eRazor, the totally in-your-face computer.
The EAT rang. At the other end was Gabriel Jets, guitarist of the band Sig drummed in, Evolaris.
"Greetings Sig. And how the hell are you today?"
"Umm... Gabe, that's not how you use 'how the hell'..."
"Whatever. What's up?
"The Intermolecular Civ-Thrif drumsticks! They totally rule. I got them from DeltaC. You can program them to automatically control hand pressure on the drumheads..."
"I thought your previous sticks did that."
"They did, but this one's new!"
"You never learn, do you?"
"Nope." Sigmund smiled.
"Well... I called to tell that I've composed this new number. It rules man! Inspired by Electro-Ray and Melloween. It's a mix of styles. Want a clip?"
"Sure, transpose it to server quad at serv://stor.fil.sig-.mop/flap," Sigmund said in a tone that caught Gabriel by surprise.
"Whoa... Sig! You got yourself an F-L-A-P authorized server?"
"What can I say? The authorities go nuts about me..."
"Let me guess , transfer speed 40 MC per LS."
"Nope... 42!" Sigmund proudly announced.
"Give me a break!"
He breaks his last Break-o-matic.
"Thanks... Meet you on-air" Gabriel pronounced and clicked off.
This has been the second episode of the Void Fruitcake series titled VF #2: You Give, You Get. So Where's the Profit? . For a list of all episodes, go to Darkwin's Personal Space. To read the next episode, click on to VF #3: Poets are Born, That's the Trouble