by Larry Low
At the moment of his clonception, Jonathan Firthrup had been programmed to desire everything that he had been granted and nothing more. As a newly emerged adult, he was permitted to feel neither revoltingly rich nor pitifully poor. He had however been granted a large measure of contentment. All of his needs had been addressed so adequately that he never gave personal fulfillment a second thought. In Virtual Life One, constructs such as richness or poorness had of late decayed so completely that it is unlikely that Jonathan Firthrup would have been so adroit as to question such a notion if one had strayed into his ken.
Due to recent perfections, achieved over millennia of trial and error, it was now considered vulgar to disparage those who had been destined to struggle in vain. Archaic concepts, such as richer, poorer, sickness or health as well as a host of other social ills had dissipated. They were no longer considered subjects suitable for drawing room conversation. In any case, the mandated memory bank of Jonathan Firthrup would assuredly have been granted data insufficient to the enterprise of entertaining such gauche ideas. Such great progress had been made recently that it would be absurd to insinuate that Jonathan Firthrup would have been capable of insight required to appraise his place in the scheme of things.
No one in Virtual Life One can ever be sure when our glorious Millenium actually began. Simplistically, it was instituted when our Governing Obmutescent Designers say that it was. Of course, they never would actually utter the very word, for they are too far beyond the pale. That is good enough for me. For all right thinking individuals it must suffice.
Near the beginning of our glorious Millenium, richness and poorness had replaced the eff word, so prevalent a malapropism during the sexual era. Fortunately, this practice had fallen into disuse a millenium or two before our present glorious epoch. Almost the only trace that we have of the behaviour of these primitives, who once fabricated life, was the survival of the eff word. It certainly seems to indicate that engagement in an extremely disgusting ritual was the norm. It is a ritual that is now thankfully devoid of meaning, and of late, desire, due to a lack of necessity. How much drudgery that one advance has saved us! In the space of thirty years or twenty-nine or thirty-one, it is difficult to remember without a measure of history or even the more reliable herstory; a great leap forward took place. Worship at the icon of the oval orifice suddenly became passé.
Although technology had recently accomplished wonders in banishing the dissatisfactions of the past, there are those among us, who, for one reason or other, refuse to be satisfied. Those Unsatis-factories, still remaining, emerged before their programming glitches could be successfully treated by skillful application of the écraseur. Fear not! The clonceiving process is under constant refinement. Minor anomalies and abnormalities are rapidly being eliminated. The last of the defective genes from which our fore-designers used to draw, in order to re-seed, will soon be expunged. Therefore, these glitches will soon no longer be capable of plaguing us. Such is the progress that has been made by our Grand Ovate Dissectors.
This annual harvest of genes was accomplished using the rudest of tools and the most primitive of techniques. Indeed, it has been suggested that among some of the less cultivated fore-designers, the technique was so primitive that it virtually constituted degradation. Although, from the begetting to the getting was a long drawn out process, it seemed to work reasonably satisfactorily, all things considered.
Our present state of being has allowed us to leave this antiquated practice far behind. Even the idea has now been virtually eradicated. There is, however, an enclave or perhaps two, buried jungle deep that have been allowed to maintain primal ways. Should a virus overtake the programming functions upon which our virtual life hinges, the primitive practitioners of primal ways would be allowed to function. A computer virus could radically alter life on the planet, as we now know it. Therefore, we must not leave ourselves open to the effects of such possibilities no matter, how repulsive regressive rescue attempts may prove to be.
In consequence, Operation Failsafe was instituted at considerable expense and personal risk. We have since reconstructed our lost knowledge through an application, in the primal enclaves, of diligent scholarship. It has been a process requiring much sacrifice on the part of our scholars. These dedicated souls, with no thought as to their own comfort or wellbeing, follow the shining path and endure incredible agony. Graciously they pass it off as intellectual ecstasy lest we should suffer untoward concern for their wellbeing. Such is the sacrifice of our Grand Obeah Dilettantes.
Where was I? Oh, yes! I can never quite remember how to figure out when the Millenium actually started. History and herstory are now only footnotes to life in Paraiso, the official name for Virtual Life One. History has now been transformed so beautifully that it has all but atrophied. Herstory, however, refuses to die. Isn’t that just like those creatures! No wonder our Grand Ovate Dissectors worked so diligently to make them obsolete!