The Astroturf Rebellion

Please be quiet in the library.
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The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 7:59 pm

Oct 2, 2007 at 11:33pm
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Post by miokalia on Oct 2, 2007 at 11:33pm
"I'm not laughing. Does it look like I'm laughing. I'm not fucking laughing.", said Andertol sternly. Across the room sat justice Riyholzon of the Hokyldaryon District Supreme Court. He had just chuckled dismissively at something which he thought the Secretariat was joking about.
A matter of a recent decision of his.
"Well, sometimes people get caught up in the gears... and sometimes they get ground up in the mechanics of law, But I am a person of principle", he began to try to diffuse Andertol's switch of attitude.

"Don't use words like principle. What happened in that case is so far below us. I'm sorry, it seems you have forgotten he have a constitution... technically, we have 3 constitutions. And you have stepped outside of the guidlines of those. And for what?!", yelled Andertol.

"Diplomatic Politeness damn it. We can't just pick and choose the diplomatic laws we follow. He was being extradited for fuck's sake."

"Violated a law which does not exist in this country! It is a barbaric law which we do not recognize. You did this to win preferrence with a foreign politician.
That's what!"

"And what if I did! What if I'm trying to soften relations with the international community!"

"You don't sacrifice our CITIZENS to do that! Especially ones which aren't even criminals by our law!"

"SOMEBODY has to make an effort towards not alienating every damn government which we have a slight difference with.
Your punk-ass shit is inappropriate. People like you aren't supposed to ever get any further in life than a fry cook!
I don't know why those machines have coddled you and stuck you into this position intended for someone with money and a legal background!"

Andertol then leapt and tried to bite at the justice's head. The two dinosaurs rolled across the floor in a quite feral fight until security showed up and seperated them.

"Riyholzon you're so damn fired. You are ejected from the supreme court. I don't give a fuck what your constituency thinks. You're psychotic with power. Just like the whole of you fucking power-elite.", he screeched while being pulled back by the Yamatoe units.

"You can't hide behind the machines forever, peasant", said the justice, being sat down by other Yamatoes.
"Get your cold claws off me", he spat and shoved at one of the ones holding him down.

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Re: The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 7:59 pm

Oct 3, 2007 at 12:04am
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Post by miokalia on Oct 3, 2007 at 12:04am
DCN News at Evening.


"Our top story tonight is Secretariat of State Andertol's hostile ejection of Hokyldaryon District Supreme Court justice Kado Riyholzon.

And his announcement of a 25% reduction in the seats of the supreme courts all over the nation. He states his reasoning as a 'phasing out' of 'corruptible and inconsistent' leadership from these councils in favor of spreading the responsibility over an automata with lower-profile justices and experts.
The move is seen as radical and has already attracted the attention of the legislature which is currently asking, 'can he really do that?'

Justice Riyholzon doesn't think so. And he intends to have his Socialist and Military Coalition party compatriots do something about it.
A motion to eject Secretariat Andertol has been presented in the Upper House and a motion to impeach President Phong has been mentioned as well, though it was dismissed in a preliminary vote.

Ejection of Secretariat of State would require a majority vote in all three houses of legislature. However, to put the secretariat on Moratorium, thus suspending all of his powers and actions in his office, only requires the majority vote of a single house.

It appears as though elements in the Senate have been unhappy with Andertol's unconventional methods of diplomacy and informality for some time, as the senate is currently voting on the matter. We take you to Zye right now with a live report on the voting."


A feline stands outside the Zye City capitol building, lit up at night.
"The senate is currently completing their voting on the suspension of Secretariat Andertol's powers. This is a sudden and unexpected move for most, but it appears as if this may be a staged party-politics move against the Biszlocsun party and quite possibly, the CA.

And we have a vote..

viewers what we may have here is an attempted coup.
It seems..

yes

I'm getting reports that a fight has broken out on the senate floor and voting was completed with only 40% of the senate responding.

The end vote is to suspend Andertol's office. But because it's only 40% of the senate...

It seems many of the senators have been physically blocked from entering the chamber, which is an unconstitutional act.


We are getting reports that the Senate has been adjourned, The office of the Secretary of State is being suspended until all three houses can vote on this. This is an unexpected event and we have yet to hear a reaction from the president.

Back to you."

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Re: The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 7:59 pm

Andertol, disobeyed the senate ruling. He went right back to his office, and began making the calls to declare the provisions of the second constitutional document, the Zagckza-II treaty, that pertained to the event that a coup is attempted against the democratically elected parts of the government. That would be, he and President Phong.
Unforetunately, it doesn't give them very much. Andertol is only able to stay in office, and sign regular everyday things, but can't even negotiate with other nations. The document primarily protects the less-democratic part of government: the protectorate.

But with what he could do, he did.
Declaring the senate suspended on the grounds that the vote cast against him was done on unconstitutional grounds, as members of the senate used force to prevent other members from voting.


----



SurveyIIP:


Should Andertol be impeached?

72% No
8% Yes
20% Don't Care


Should the Supreme Court be reduced in size and power relegated to decentralized automata?

48% Yes
18% No
34% No idea/don't care




SurveyDCN- Talkback:


Should Andertol be impeached

45% Yes
46% No
9% No Opinion


Is the Conventional Supreme Court in need of pruning?

12% Yes
10% No
78% No Opinion




TCI One - UserPoll

Should Andertol be impeached?

82% No
10% Yes
8% No Opinion


Should the Judicial Branch be down-sized?

34% Yes
20% No
46% No Opinion

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Re: The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 8:00 pm

GlobeNews
-Erenmor Morskoj conflict an elborate cover up of a high-budget film production!
-Starbucks Coffee is actually crack-cocaine!
-Izixs has secret pan-sexual bordello in lavish 257th-floor bathroom suite!

Andertol Has Freaky Intimate Relationship With Security

See the shocking photos online!
Andertol gets down with an entire flock of zoids in trip to KZ!
Do we really want someone this loose running government?


----


"This isn't even me. Its a bird in an allosaurus costume having sex with a car with eyes painted on it...

You'd think he'd have enough money to do a real mudslinging campaign.", said Andertol in response to being shown the supermarket tabloid in his office.

The aide handed him a more reputable publication.


----

Dorigan Times-Call
Gossip Section


Andertol's Thugish Path of Ruin
Secretary of State goes overseas and abuses diplomatic immunity to commit acts of vandalism and theft


----


"Okay, this is being taken out of context. I didn't hurt anyone who didn't totally deserve it. I only hurt very powerful people who have done nothing but hurt other people. I am an instrument of justice damn it.

Ok.

Riyholzon was in college power-elite-secret-society crap.
Like Skull and Bones or something.", Andertol trailed off while staring at his mechanical aide.

"Well, hell, you know what to do. The guy probably snorts a mountain of coke every day, ties live birds to his lawn for 'decoration' and has mounted the decapitated head of every endangered animal as trophies in his grand mansion. Everyone knows people that powerful are totally psychotic, cruel bastards.
He's a member of the Bay of Inleef Pirates... old skull-and-bones members who went to Universitat Daiachata in Jauriesan, Dincota and moved to Hokyldaryon to beat the mayor up every time he doesn't give them a certain percentage of the yearly budget.
For Fun, they all probably meet up at the top of the Gomi-Iyeron Tower, kidnap some hapless smuggled persons and then commit horrible obscene acts upon them until they're dead... and then commit more horrible obscene acts upon them.
While doing Mountains of cocaine.

Find the obvious.", he said.

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Re: The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 8:02 pm

Oct 12, 2007 at 12:00am
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Post by miokalia on Oct 12, 2007 at 12:00am
"This building wouldn't pass code even in America", said Andertol
shaking the foundation jack holding the woodbox lentil over the
doorway to Gan's office.
"Please don't make my apparent hovel of an office fall apart, Dl
secretary, I know it's ugly but it's mine", he said.

"Well with the money you're going going to get from this, you can buy
a real pre-fab to put between these two buildings.", said Andertol.

"I don't want to 'escape from the city'. That's a very unusual desire
and one usually harbored by creatures covered with filament protein
trash who have live unshelled crotchfruit."

"Crotchfruit is a highly inappropriate term for offspring, Gan"

"What do you want from me? I thought you prided yourself on not toying
with us 'little people'"

"I need you to confirm things I already know. I know what this guy is
hiding. It's very hard to hide things when you wield so much power so
conspicuously. I just need the proof to expel Riyholzon from the right
to influence policy."

"How, might I ask, do you know these things", said Gan interlocking
his fingers and leaning forward.

"Because I am an utter fucking genius. I can read it in the latency of
response between his eyes. There is a rule about things like this, you
see. The richer you are, the kinkier you can afford to be.
Though this usually applies to cultures where wealth buys exception to
falling in line with a very narrow sexual norm.
Regardless, the guy is a baby-petting, necrophiliac psychopath who
must be stopped. I want the world to know what he does up there in the
Gomi Iyeron suite with the Bay of Inleef Pirates."

"How is it that you have money to do this? Or is that whole low-wage
executive thing just a joke?"

"I'm not paying for it. They are", Andertol pointed out the window at
the security. three boxy white mechanical dinosaurs.

"And why?"

"Because they have in interest in not having to fight organic
power-elite for simple and basic things which they enjoy the power to
implement right now. Right now, we enjoy a kind of hidden security
which is only possible because they have a monopoly on many aspects of
government. We enjoy having democratic representatives who don't
compromize civil rights, and we enjoy those rights because they make
many things that would normally ruin it for everyone simple.
If we think somebody is a terrorist, we don't take away everyone's
rights and thus allow an inferior external ideology to dictate our
policy.
No, they... impartial, mechanical and totally uncaring, tap as many
wires as they want until they find the fucker. Then run the guy
through the questioning. Its a lot simpler when you just let them do
it. They're far gentler than regular law enforcement, and less
bumbling than a security bureaucracy.
More importantly.
They're experts. They know what's what. They don't mistake traffic
control boxes, LED graffitti or electric sweatshirts for bombs. They
are smart.
If you type a bunch of terrorism-related crap in your email, yeah sure
they'll read it. I can guarantee you a machine is going to read the
stuff you typed into another machine. Duh.
But are they going to do anything about it?
Not unless you really intend to do something. How do they know? They
look at your factors. You're intelligent for one. In general the SI
index of terrorists is below 74. They could have an IQ of 140, but if
they adhere so much to an ideology that they are willing to kill for
it, their SI would probably be 30 because they haven't spent a damn
second of their lives even thinking about what they are.
So yeah, they collect info on us and don't tell us, yeah they tap our
wires. Big damn deal. It's not like they care what you're doing. And
it's not like in an ideal world they are impartial. They are impartial
in practice.
This is why you want to see Riyholzon get the smack-down.

Because if we're run by organic justices, then the secret wire-taps
WILL care. They will be preferential. The wrong people will be
put in jail, the government will be more concerned with shifting
accountability around to the lowest extremities, thus rendering them
useless. Riyholzon wants to throw your tax money away on reducing your
rights. Collective Accountability.

That's why I don't want his ass hardly even able to vote, much less
directly speak with a legislator ever again. I want him to be so damn
small and insignificant. I want him to not matter. There is a fate
worse than death for someone who has always been power elite: that is,
to be irrelevant, a statistic, a sacrifice.
He wants to helm a revolution for plutocracy. Do you understand how
important it is that he is unmade?"

"Well. I know what the neighbors over the bay would say about that.
They'd say both of you..."

"Those idiots lets plutocrats get too much wealth in their system and
let them cause a civil war. Anyways, Salato called me and said she
doesn't buy Riyholzon's democracy hype."

"You actually talk to them."

"It's kind of awkward. You see, she always does this whole 'more
socially libertarian than thou' thing, but then I cough various snide
remarks about the fact that the whole nation suffers from an
affliction of super-frivolous race issues, and they haven't
fixed it yet. Usually followed by her insinuating that I'm a lapdog.
Then I insinuate that it's them that let themselves sink into civil
war. Then she yells at me about not having been through war, then I
yell at her about not doing anything to ensure it never happens again.
Then she screams at me about freedom of information, then I do the
same about not letting empowering everyone in the damn country with
the means to start wars, then she says something about freedom of
information and then I say something about holding doomsday weapons
over other people's heads needs not be a tenet of 'democracy'. Then
she says something about information filters, then I agree, then we
run out of things to dispute because when it all boils down we want
the same damn thing."

"Do you have anything for me to start with?"

Andertol gave to Gan a folder full of papers and photos.
"Jorge is from up north, he has a lot of things which can gain you
entry into a lot of these exclusive places."

Gan set it down, wondering why he didn't just put it on a computer or something.
"And why would that be"

"Jorge is an Kazian Oil Man."

"Good god"

"But he invested a lot in new-urbanist developers"

"Seems slightly odd. An oil man investing in a business which tries to
reduce daily reliance on cars."

"He doesn't like having to drive to the bathroom"

"I guess everyone has their limits to how much of something they like
they can handle"

"I had a steak dinner with him some time ago..."

----

Andertol's dinner with Jorge DeShaun was a reccomendation by the board
of trustees of Kuzoco. Mostly to try to get their fuel sold at a few
more stations along the border. Maybe they could woo the secretariat
into loosening the restriction a little bit and letting them further
south. With a large slice of meat.
The theory being that given Andertol's being an allosaurus, he would
be impressed by the sheer qualitative freshness of the meat and thus
be more amiable towards the deal. To Andertol, it was a free meal in a
different place which he could act like a Japanese tourist around and
take pictures of absolutely everything.

"Everythings bigger in KZ", said Jorge. Outside there were 4 cars
parked in a space that would hold about 8 cars back home.
Andertol snapped a picture of the retro-style metal sign that said
"Hot Dickings" mounted on the wall for ambiance.
About 5 pounds of steak, lightly seared with a hair dryer, was plopped
in front of Jorge. The steak made the fox look very small, and
Andertol knew that there was no way he would eat it. And indeed, also
assumed that this was an act of trying to show off somehow.
Andertol didn't remember ever even seeing a menu, apparently a special
order had been made for him.
Steaming and blood-soaked, the rear half of something was presented to
him upon an oven tray. Aside from the steaming, it didn't look as
though the thing had ever been heated to more than 85 degrees
fahrenheit.
"Fresh, freshly delivered by speedfreight from Omotron. It was alive
less than 2 hours ago. It doesn't get much fresher than that.",
Jorge's voice quivered slighly.
Andertol stared at the carcass, it was surreal. More surreal than
Geneec leaping into Rincon's arms and announcing "I am so
pregnant" the last time he was there.
Unsure wether to laugh or protest, Andertol divided his gaze evenly
between the Jorge's meal, Jorge and the steaming torso before him.
Jorge, shoveling in huge amounts of steaming flesh, blood all over his
muzzle, began crying.
Thinking that this was apparently something typical of the denizens of
this nation, Andertol assumed it was his reaction. Even this tough-guy
oil-fox was pulling some weird random sensitivity thing.
He rolled his eyes.
"Oh god I hate it. I hate it all. I don't even like steaks"

"Can we not eat here please?", said Andertol, "I appreciate the... um.
the freshness... but...

it's kinda really nasty. I can't fit this whole thing inside me. We don't...

We don't dismantle meat like this in public settings."

----


"So he owes you a dinner?", asked Gan.

"No, he owes me a favor because he doesn't want the other trustees to
know about his 'sensitivity' back at the steakhouse.

I think all of them are like that though. They're all just kidding
themselves. They need to do some self-relfection", said Andertol.

"So where do I meet him?"

"He's coming here. Bye"

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Re: The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 8:02 pm

Oct 13, 2007 at 11:15pm
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Post by miokalia on Oct 13, 2007 at 11:15pm
Gan took the bus over to a cluster of vending machines which sold everything from underpants to sodas to inexplicable bottles filled with pickled crickets.
We had to put something over himself otherwise Jorge might misconstrue his nakedness as being a sexual invitation. He had heard stories.

"Did you know necrophilia is legal?", asked some raptor. She had drawn all over herself. One of those hipsters who bodypaints themselves a different color every week.
"I've never had reason to check", said Gan.

"You're going to the vending machines to get pantsu aren't you?", she said, "Sick fuck"

"No... And you are you calling sick fuck? You're the one talking about tapping dead ass."

She laughed.

"I never said I did it. I just said it was legal"

Gan attempted to tune her out.

"Although, you shouldn't knock it until you try it.", she then said.

Then she laughed, obviously trying to get a response from him.
She handed him a card.

'Ax Norlarcoh.
Investigator and Scientist of Sex
and Paranormal Therapist
32-150-3180 handuparse@holyslutarmy.mrz
81.14.2 Tamarack ro. Docshwop, Dorigan, ZDFD'

"What is it that you do?", asked Gan

"Things kinky, gross and eveything in between."

"I mean. You don't happen to know about the secret sexual exploits of the very powerful?"

"Well, this is a culture which doesn't buy up entertainment tabloids like most others do. Most of us couldn't give two shits about who some famous or visible people happen to be fucking or marrying.

So I assume you want to know this for a practical reason."

"I'm working on a project."

"Do tell."

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Re: The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 8:03 pm

Oct 14, 2007 at 1:01am
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Post by Killer Zoids on Oct 14, 2007 at 1:01am
"Arf.. whats with these tiny parking spaces.. Theres now way this car'll fit in here..." A very long and wide super car was inching into a parking lot. Behind the wheel was a smallish sized fox, wearing not much more than a light coat, as it was a little cool outside. He was also wearing a matte black, green, and grey tail-ribbon.

The red, yellow, and purple license plate sneaked up close to the curb, the thin metal scraping at the ground just a bit before stopping. The rumbling engine switched off. Its echoing in the parking lot faded. The door latch sounded, scaring a few birds, the noise of their wings beating faded after a moment. Out stepped one tightly wrapped paw.. then the other. It was Jorge. He was wearing sunglasses with a mirror finish. He reached into the vehicle for a moment and pulled out a cigarette. He moved it towards his muzzle, and then paused, then dropped it back down to look at it again. This repeated twice more before he just decided to chew on the filter a little.

Shutting the door he avoided a puddle on the ground and bounded in a quick motion onto the side walk. He pointed a keyring at the car and its lights flashed once and the windows tinted pitch black. He looked up at the building, it was very dank looking.

"Not the greatest spot in Miokalia for a meeting..." He continued to what he figured was the front door. It was in an odd place, somewhat catty corner to the parking lot. There were wet playbills scattered here and there. The grass was long and some was growing up through the relief cracks in the concrete, searching for that 1 hour worth of light that peeks through between the buildings. The fox stared at the tall grass next to him, fox-tails resembling wheat almost, and placed his paw out to feel the tops brush against it as he walked past. ".. but for a drag its kinda pretty." He noticed how the mirrors placed on the exterior of the building reflected the light against neighboring buildings, splitting the spectrum.

He followed the diagonal sidewalk for about 70 feet until he came to the entrance to the building. He brushed some seeds off from his paw and went to give the door a tug.

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Re: The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 8:04 pm

Oct 14, 2007 at 8:50pm
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Post by miokalia on Oct 14, 2007 at 8:50pm
He entered the office, which smelled strongly of urine... and other body smells. Also, oil, oddly enough.

He felt a cold tube against the back of his head.

"Oh shit son, I'm here for business, nothing else.", said Jorge. Assuming this was the person he was meeting. Having not heard a click or a whine associated with an electronic firearm... he knew this was just intimidation or something.

A few drops of urine still appeared on his pants though.


----


Mercifully, a few minutes later, Gan waddled up followed by a bouncing feathery raptor on speed.
"Nostromo, he didn't kill your brother, stand down", said Gan with a hint of tiredness in his voice.

Nostromo, the black-and-red mechanical raptor, with various things stenciled all over him, removed the weapon, one of about 10 mounted on his arm.

"I apologize. He has low SI right now, but he's getting better.", said Gan.

"Is this yours?", asked Jorge.

"Mine? No. You see down here in the civilized world, we don't own other sentient things.
He's the neighbor from downstairs, and he thinks he's protecting me... Like I said, his SI is low. He's not all... there right now." said Gan,
"He's not going to kill you. He's loaded with blanks".

Jorge examined the thing, and realized the stencils were maybe not an artistic thing.

"Is this stolen?", he asked.

"No.", said Gan. "I prefer... as well as SHE prefers... the term 'liberated'."

Jorge seemed unimpressed, and then Gan continued, "She was going to be destroyed. Rarehertz is the term you use. She crashed too much equipment. That's what she told me. But I don't know. She's just my neighbor."

"oh", said Jorge.

"So I guess you are the idiot that took up three parking spaces.

I'm the idiot that's supposed to find crap on some asshole in Hokyldaryon.", said Gan.

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Re: The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 8:04 pm

Oct 18, 2007 at 1:09am
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Post by miokalia on Oct 18, 2007 at 1:09am
Nostromo was of unclear origin but it was clear that she was
classifyable as an 'improvised sentient device'. Her speech
synthesizer was a typical computer synthesizer optimized for the
language ranges of Kohtohkhan, French and Simplified Nimiyapo. Though
it could speak English as well. It would resolve to the nearest
language pronounciation, which resulted in a highly unique voice. A
deep, grinding, silicon-paced vox electronique French accent
that sounded like it was pulled from a Kraftwerk album.
You could even hear the noise in the background. Her amplifier was a
simple 741 transistor hobby amp. It was likely her entire speech
synthesis was constructed from homemade circuit boards and hobby parts
purchased from Tandy's or All Phase.
"Vous. Have. oon. Pack-ahge.", she said in her distinctively
genderless, tuned monotone drone.

"I don't remember ordering anything, are you sure it's mine and not
the Soumete Sisters'?", replied Gan.

The Soumete Sisters weren't sisters at all. But rather a married
couple of lesbian cats who were for the most part, very easy to have
as neighbors. The only bother from them is every night at 3 in the
morning, they wildly make out in the bathroom and it is quite
extremely audible from Gan's office.
Which he happens to work at in 3 in the morning. If you want to catch
all the ethnic off-world dinosaurs who are accustomed to Dincota's
36-hour day, then you want to be open at 3 in the morning. Which is
their biologically expectant late afternoon.
But he hadn't had much business from them lately.

"Leh Noombars. Not Lie.", she said.

Gan took the package and opened it. It was from Andertol's office.

"It's a Chumby", said Jorge.

It was a little touchscreen, a couple USB ports, and a soft exterior.
A 'beanbag' computer.

"Well this is interesting.", he said holding it up and looking over
it, "Are you still sure this isn't the Sisters' package?"

Logic being, with this incredibly chic, shiney, and soft device, it
just looked like something that would appeal to cats. Stereotypically.
All it would need to be in 'jangly' and it would be the perfect cat
consumer product.

Jorge turned it on.
"It's nothing too special. Hey.
Aren't these supposed to run Linux?
This isn't Linux. It's all... Appley."

"It's CRTDC. Take Ubuntu, give it 40 years of development and
standardization, add modular multiple processor support in increments
of 16, 32 and 64 bits. And there you go. This is our Linux.

Gan took it and opened the text file stuck in the middle of the desktop.
A note from Andertol.

"O Hai thar.
I just thought I would give you this thing which has a lot of stuff on
it that I know
just so you know where to start. Jorge is probably there right now.
He's probably commented on the GUI of this operating system and
dislikes it very much.
Well, I picked this theme myself for just that purpose. I picked the
most superflat, minimalist gel theme I could find.
Just to make him cringe.

So.
Chumby, thank Zorastra, is an open-device. You can thank my
string-pulling and trade negotiations with SOTO for that. Most
consumer products here are open, that is: you don't have to hack the
hell out of it to hack it. Because it is an open-device, I was able to
put some third-party evil government firmware on there to get some
special software on it and then.
Lock it up so much it makes an major telecom corporation look like
Linus Torvalds.
With this device, you have access to not just the internet, you also
have access to CA-pool. The far, far, far weirder and actually...
kinda safer cultural-intranet of the Malych. Why?
Because that's where a lot of the information, a lot of the weird,
seemingly unanswerable information you are going to need can be found.

So why is it locked up more than a ocean full of Telecom-specific cellphones?
Because, this is an intranet. When you search this intranet, you
aren't going to have to sift through a mountain of irrelevant crap
trying to sell you things. This is a cultural intranet, not a business
venture. There is a place for e-commerce, and it's not on this
intranet.
It's locked up so that people can't find ways to ruin it.
Empowering everyone with the means to destroy everything is not
democracy and it is not a good goal for the open-source movement.
Enhancing democracy is the goal, that's what they want, that
requires some minimum level of security, so then some random psycho
can't just get together with enough other psychos and then erase the
entire democracy all together and establish a fascist dictatorship
built on fear and brutality.
This is why we keep some things closed. We do it, so things like this,
and speech, and expression, and elections... can be open. The things
that matter, the things trully worth fighting for, the things you'll
miss if they're gone.

Hopefully I've convinced everyone who's reading this with you again of
why it's really important that this 'mission' is a sucess.
Also: I've met your neighbor downstairs. She's not going to kill
Jorge. Put her in front of an instrument, let her just play with it.
It's good for her, and you'll see why."


"What instruments do you play?", Jorge asked Nostromo.
She didn't say a word.

They all piled into Jorge's enormous car and he, pridefully ambled
their way onto the freeway.
About 2 minutes into this, he realized Nostromo was in the car with
him. And he found this highly unnerving.

Remembering what he read on the Chumby, he handed the guitar to Nostromo.
She took it and looked at it for a while and then began tuning it.
After about a minute of evenly-spaced strums which would work their
way steadily towards correct pitch, then start over again. For six
times. She began playing random chords for a while. Surprizingly, it
wasn't incredibly irritating.



Continued in next post

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Killer Zoids
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Re: The Astroturf Rebellion

Post by Killer Zoids » Fri Jul 19, 2019 8:05 pm

Oct 18, 2007 at 1:11am
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Post by miokalia on Oct 18, 2007 at 1:11am
"This is a bad idea", urged Gan as Jorge awknowledged the challenge
issued by the driver next to him at the red light.
"I can kick these kitties' asses easily. In the straight-away race.
Easily.", said Jorge confidently.

The car next to them was a small, bright orange Itelari something.
Hatchback, and very thoroughly riced. The cat driving the car wore
narrow little glasses and his stereo was turned up.

"No, this is a bad idea because he can stop a lot faster than you can.
Also: the cops?", said Gan

"I can beat them too", said Jorge.
"Yes. You can beat the Community Service Officers' Kei-cars. But, the
Public Safety Officers' cars?", asked Gan.
"Those too. This thing is rated for use on t-var. Balls-Highway
rating.", Jorge didn't care if it made sense or not. He was not going
to pass up this challenge.
"Fine. Whatever. I suppose if I'm going to have my innards thrust
through my ribs as a result of a car accident at 130 MPH, then I
suppose I have the best chance of surviving here.", said Gan.
"Our cars are safe.", said Jorge.
"Yeah sure of course, but Mass by Acceleration is force no matter how
many airbags you put in here.", said Gan.
The light went green, Jorge stomped on the gas.
The car next to him jerked forward with a clatter, and the air behind
it shivered hot in the streetlights reflection on the asphalt. Indeed,
Jorge's car was actually the quieter of the two. The rythmic clatter
of the Radial Electronic engine has accented by it's occasional
buzzing. As static friction inside the apperture discs generated tiny
lightning, visible through the front turbine as white flickering.
Normal operation for such an engine at high-RPM.
They were right next to eachother for what felt like an hour, but was
really only a few seconds.
Then the cat spun the steering wheel rapidly. The car responded with
an elegant drift to the side, making a 90-degree turn and then
speeding off perpendicular to their own.
"Another win for internal combustion!", announced Jorge, eyes huge,
teeth bared, and probably very aroused.
Soon the reason why the cat turned became apparent.
Cops hiding on the side of the road to catch speeders is almost
unheard of in Miokalia, traffic cops always make their presence known.
Headlights on, in clear view of traffic. A study was done in the 1950s
on how people react to speed limit signs, visible cops, and hidden
cops. Long story short: if people can see the traffic cop, they follow
the speed limit in astounding uniformity. Whereas: when hidden, only
50% of those people follow the speed limit. And speeders are just as
common as when there is no law enforcement present. Conclusion?
Visible cops prevent speeders better than tickets. Ruling languished
in the legislature for a year until CA got involved and declared it as
part of a constitutional segment having to do with making law
enforcement effective, and safe in 1954.

The Public Safety officer was in clear view, but. The coloring was unfamiliar.
Used to the primary color scheme, yellow, red and blue of the KZ cops,
Jorge wasn't even looking for the Green-and-white prius-shaped
Omickron.
Immediately after passing him, the lights came on in a sudden flourish
of red and blue. Followed by a couple menacing, deep, slightly gritty
blatts of the "pull the bloody fuck over" horn.

The Public Safety car was not cramped, but it was notably smaller than Jorge's.
The officer was Malych, no surprize. About 60% of them are. He was
black and grey, with rectangular red eyes on the sides of his head. It
was a design refferential of the EM-26 model series familiar up north.
As it is the direct MZA6-cousin of the Genosaurer. Same body, smaller
size.
Jorge gulped as he saw him approach. Of all the cops to pull him over.
An ex-zoid.

"What the hell were you doing?", he asked him. He spoke without moving
his mouth hardly but a slight opening. His voice was clear and organic
sounding. His covering was a black pleather jacket. He had small,
swept-back antenna where on his zoidy cousin, was mounted a gun.

"I was just having some fun, and.. I'm sorry. I'll take the ticket.",
said Jorge.

"Why am I even talking to you? You there. With the doofy grin. Is this
guy tripping balls or something?", said the officer.

"Insufficiahnt sociale infohrmacion, Defaine: Questiohn deerected
to:", said Nostromo. Revealing one of the least reliable social
interaction components of not only himself, but his species.
Occasionally having a total failure to determine who is being talked
to.
The cop paused a moment and then said, "You are planning on leaving her here..
By here, I mean, in this country."

Jorge then realized that this was an ultra suspicious-looking
situation. A haphazardly-improvised inorganic in the back of a large
gas-powered car with Kazian plates driven by a fox with no pants.
"It's not that. I swear. I don't. She's his neighbor. We were just
going out for a night on the town...", said Jorge.

"It's never what it looks like, is it.", said the cop, "I need you to
step out the car please."

"All of us?", asked Gan, saving Nostromo from having another 'is this
instruction being directed at me' error.

"Eventually. Just him for now. You sit right there.", said the cop.

Jorge stepped out of the car. His hands behind his back. He felt just
a little awkward with the clothing choice of the lower half of his
body in this situation. To him it felt just shy of having lingerie
printed with a giant KZ tri-color and star. It was a foreign place, in
front of someone who very clearly at some point left his country, and
from common knowledge, did so on not the most pleasent or ambivalent
of terms.

"Please put your paws where I can see them.", the cop said.
Jorge did so.

"Okay, I ran your plate, it got forwarded to KZ and they returned us
the stuff on it.
Now I need to see your license or passport. Please.", said the cop.
He was quite polite, although very stern. And the whole thing with the
not-moving-the-mouth thing really accentuated that.
Jorge pulled a license out of his underpants. Gan suppressed laughter
at the fact that was where he put that stuff.
The cop didn't seem phased at all by the crotch-card. He ran it
through and then waited a bit.
Now here was the problem, the cop just blankly stared at Jorge while
the card was running through, which entailed being redirected all the
way up north and basically sending a request into KZ's police system,
which would then return the information. It was a bit longer than
domestic information look-up.
Feeling awkward, Jorge decided to break the silence with small talk.
"So. Um. Is this fun?", he asked, "I mean, being a police officer. Is
it fun? I mean. Do you. .. Enjoy it?"
"I got into this because I wanted to be an instrument of justice for a
while. No, I don't enjoy pulling speeders over and doing tickets. It
is boring. I enjoy saving children from falling into lakes, Breaking
up fights, Being the first person to extend kindness to emaciated
refugees who are found inside shipping containers, and then hunting
down the people who took advantage of them.", he said.
"A passion then", said Jorge, calmed slightly seeing that this guy
wasn't out to get him out of spite or something.
"When one has the opportunity to be a part of something right, then
one is often compelled to take it. Especially if they have been on the
receiving end of some injustice.", he said.
"I'm sorry.", said Jorge, assuming that by injustice, he meant
something having to do with their tumultuous history.
"I know who the individuals are who executed injustice onto me and I
hold only those specific people responsible for it. To hold others
responsible for the discreet acts of someone else would be to create
and further propogate injustice. Justice must be as accurate and exact
as possible or else it defeats it's own purpose.", he said, "And I am
going to give you a ticket for speeding. It is not wreckless driving
because all you were doing, technically, was speeding. Because we're
not out to brutally punish everyday random people who happen to drive
too fast, we're not going to inflate your infraction beyond what it
actually is.
I know you're thinking I pulled you over because of
nationality. Well, that isn't true. It's because the other guy took
the hint and saw the car and had the sense to not to speed by a Public
Safety Officer.
Have a nice evening."

"I thought he was going to make me do a bunch of tests, and then take
drug tests just to make me squirm.", said Jorge.
"Because you're from KZ and you... kinda totally look it.", said Gan.
"Well yeah. I thought folks. Especially folks like them, really didn't
get along with us at all.", said Jorge.
"That guy was weird. Lot of flag-waving idealism there. He was being a
bit prejudiced against you, but in a different way. In a patronizing
way.
He was all like, "Look at me, I'm not going to be an asshole to you
because I'm freaking Buddha Christ and I don't blame entire groups of
people for the acts of an individual"
I don't think he does that speech for everyone, just Kazians.
I'm sure it makes him feel awesome.", said Gan.

They drove into a part of Gohua that was very different from the rest.
The height of buildings dropped, and suddenly there were vast lawns.
There were tall white fences and peeking through the gates as the
drove by, one could see exotic imported vehicles parked over expensive
driveways paved not with asphalt or concrete but only the most
laboriously layed brick.
They approached the Heit Manor. An unnecessarily mile-long driveway
meandered up to the white plantation-mansion. A distinctively foreign
object in this municipality, but the jewel in the crown of the
apparently exclusive community they just drove through. This was the
tiny other part of Miokalia, the powers deposed and shoved out of
government by the Malych in 1952. Here, they brought a little bit of
old socialite civilization and put it here.
Gan couldn't help it anymore, and did as all his ethnicity would do in
reaction to this environment, he said,
"Ooooohhhhhhhhhhh MY", in a high-pitched voice, then followed it with
a slurred and pompous, "Do you have any Gray Poupon?".
This began a avelanch of relentless ridicule of his surroundings as
they drove up the driveway.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh Dearh, If you would so please as to not step upon the
master's lawn. For it would simply be such a catastrophe if one of his
trillions of fine blades of grass were to be disturbed from their
proper positions... OHHHHHHHHHHH MY!", he continued in the pompous
high-pitched voice.
Jorge began giggling. And Gan continued, He couldn't stop. Everything
was subject of ridicule.
"Dear servant! please come fetch the shitbucket so I may evacuate my
bowel. Chop-Chop. Now hold it to my rumpous.. yes like that. Would you
please lower my pantalones and undergarments as to unobstruct the
path. Ohhhhhhhhh MY.
Manservant! Please use these fine silk squares to wipe your tongue off
after you use it to remove the residue off my heiny. Ohhhhhhhh My.",
Gan continued right up until they got to the vallet station.
Gan, not really caring how he was dressed, and how his dark earthtone
tight-shirt and pants made of patches of different material totally
didn't match the opulant but stark dress of the other clientele of the
restaurant, got out the Chumby and reminded himself why he was here.
And it wasn't to make fun of them.

"Jorge. You get us in. Even though you're not dressed like them,
you're not from around here and you're important. So that means you
can get us in.
Just say I'm a music label producer or something. Or maybe a film
director. I don't know. Some arty thing so then my dress can be
acceptable for that role.", said Gan.

"What about Nostromo?", asked Jorge.

"Nostromo is going to have to hide. In the car I assume. The public
relations team we're supposed to 'disable' is going to disband at
hearing of the sighting of an inorganic. They know what they're doing,
and they don't want to risk any kind of leaking of whatever wool it is
they plan on pulling over the populations' eyes.", said Gan.

"All that's in the Chumby?", asked Jorge.

"Yeah.. it is. These are pretty clear instructions. I hope it doesn't
get stolen.", said Gan.

"It won't.", said Nostromo, "It's un cheap equipi-mahnt. Nobodie
wohuld bothare."

"But that's not why they would steal it. It's the information on it.", said Gan.

"Biyometriques", said Nostromo, "Ahre involhved. Is compleixe."

"How do you know. Oh...", Gan realized that there is a reason why
Nostromo was mentioned to be involved in this. Likely, it's that maybe
the Chumby can only be unlocked by Nostromo's wireless signal. It
could only be used under Nostromo's supervision.
Thus why it was delivered to Nostromo for her to give to him.

"You aren't telling me these things, Ms. Nos.
I'd appreciate it if you would let me know the rules about these
things further in advance.", said Gan.

Somewhat nonsensically, she replied, "Lithuania".


----


Putting on his most petroleoriffic gemstone cowboy hat, and a tough
demeanor, Jorge exited the massive car and nearly pulled the vallet's
paw clean off with a handshake of pure testosterone.
"Howdy fucking do!", he announced to the vallet cat, "Be nice to my
baby will ya?".
He then ended the conversation with a rough slap on the back which
made the boy cough.

"He's so going to run your car into a tree", Gan whispered to Jorge as
they walked in.

"Naw, the kid definately has worse customers than me. I'm sure he gets
spat at and verbally abused by about a third of these people.", said
Jorge. And he was probably right.

"Invitations?", calmly demanded the Maitre-D in a drawn-out
pronounciation which reeked of snootivity.
In any differant of a situation, the bird would have looked totally
stoned or at least, on heavy pain killers. He had a comatose
wine-tasting face on. Contemplative only in appearance. It was the
same expression as drowsiness.

"Jorge!", declared the fox in underwear and a bedazzled cowboy hat,
shattering the bird's drowsiness like a shot of methamphetamine
straight to the heart. "I don't ableive in Invitarios, Get lost in my
vast ocean of a car. HAHA", he hit the bird on the shoulder, he jumped
slightly, "Ahm' on the list.", he then said in a more calm tone.

The bird looked through the paper list, and then said, "Well, Let me
check the computerrrr", still in a drawn out tone. "Ah I see. You were
a late reservationnnn. This is your plus-one I assume?"

"Time can go fuck itself sideways, boy. I make my reservifications
when I please!
And yeah. This kid. Makes some mighty fine marketeerin' magic like ya
wouldn't beleive!
A real rising star, I better watch out or he'll take over the whole
damn board o' directors!", he said jovially and almost issued another
congenial slap on the shoulder, but the bird backed away slightly, so
he spared him.

"Markerteerin' Magic?", said Gan as they walked into the quiet din of
the restaurant, led by one of the waiters.
Seeing that the waiter could very well be a lookout for the enemy,
Jorge continued the persona.
Quietly he 'confided', "I think I had a few too many Jacks than adviiised."
They sat down and a tray of wines were presented. All of them ancient,
and from far away.
"Don't drink anything, or else you might really get... well, you may
loose your dignity.", said Gan trying not to reveal anything.
"Yer riight", Jorge said while stretching, "I can practice some
self-control. Garcon!", he brutalized the french word, "Garcon!"
"It's pronounced 'garsson'", said Gan quickly, pretending to be
ashamed of Jorge's presentation, which was also pretended.
"I would liek... A glass of caviah puh-leeass", he said.
Gan saw the priceless look of total and utter confusion and distaste
in the waiter's eyes. And knew why there weren't any of his ethnicity
working here.
They would shove that glass of caviar right up his ass, if they were
asked such an idiotic, and excessively opulant request.
Seeing this reminded him that the mission had to go through.

He looked around the room. He pulled out the Chumby, which looked
awkward in here, but he noticed that indeed. It wasn't on. He couldn't
turn it on.

"You don't happen to know what those guys look like, do you Jorge?",
asked Gan quietly.
Jorge reached into his cowboy hat and pulled out a small pleather
notebook with a letter-brand decoration pressed into the fake leather
surface. Inside it, were photographs.

"The bathrooms.", said Jorge. "Go to the bathrooms and look at
everyone that comes in. See if any of them match any of the pictures,
Primarily, this one. Then we need to find out what he ordered and then
put the Rohypnol in it. He'll collapse and then we take him to this
address, then call the cops."

"Wait, we're drugging him, dragging him to a place where a crime scene
is set up to make it look like he did something he didn't do? Thus
making his public relations goons a public relations liability?
I have a simpler idea.", said Gan looking around, with some distaste for it all.
"Do tell, partner", said Jorge.
"Take everyone down. We know they're in here somewhere. If we knock
everyone out then we will get them for sure.", said Gan
"Yeah, and it will be obvious it was foul-play.", said Jorge.
"How about this. We don't act like we're not trying to find them. We
go and visibly search for them, and act like we're interested in
discussing business.", said Gan.
"Social engineering. Awesome. Yes. And then what do we do?", said Jorge.
"I don't know. But at least we'll know who they are and where they
are.", said Gan.
"I need to... go to the wangroom, partnah. Ascuse meh.", said Jorge in
the accent again. He then got up and went to the restroom. Leaving Gan
at the table alone.


----


In the restroom, Jorge whistled while using the urinal.
He was none to pleased to have a gun pressed against his back.
"You boys best get out of here. You don't know who you're dealing
with.", said the voice,
"We can make everything you own disappear in an instant and turn your
life into a real hell, so do not think you can just up and change
this. Because you can't."
He roughly pulled on the fox's shoulder to turn him around. He was still peeing.
"So Andy picks his goons up off the street. Maybe we've over-estimated
his unwillingness to hire real manipulation personell.", said the
bear, he was broad-shouldered and could snap either Gan or the fox in
half.
"We'll get... go.. We'll just go now.", said Jorge. Totally not
wanting to provoke the bear.
"Naw, We'll jus' have yew hang around a whiiile", the bear said in an
accent mocking Jorge's fake one.
The bear then grabbed the fox around the snout and pulled him out of
the bathroom, still urinating.
Squirming against it, he got dragged into a back office room. Past
several desks and into an area that had been cleared out.
"Put this on", a T-rex demanded, he tossed him a white sheet and a
clear plastic cone intended to be worn around the neck.
"What the fuck is...", protested Jorge.
"Put the fucking cone on your neck, and get that sheet on!", he hissed.
The bear pulled a sword used as decoration off the wall, and held it
out. It was sharp.


----


Gan went to the restroom, it had been a while since Jorge had left,
and there was this one table which seemed empty. Unusually empty. As
in: they had been gone as long as Jorge.
In the hallway between the gendered doors, a trail of urine caught his eye.
Laughing a bit to himself at first, he thought that these people were
so opulant, that they didn't think they had to wait to use the
restroom and simply expected service to come by and clean up the stuff
they leave on their leisurely way to the restroom.
Then he realized that it was going from the restroom to another hallway.
His cellphone, for some reason, didn't work here. So calling the
police wasn't going to cut it.
Although, it was comforting to know that in this case, the police. As
far as he knew, were on their side.

Gan walked back into the main part of the restaurant and came up with
an idea. He reached down and grabbed some sausages that were on a
plate, then he went into the kitchen and, with the diner who was going
to eat those sausages, he quickly grabbed any little electronic
devices he could, he stuffed them into his pants and then, in the
middle of the kitchen, with as many people in earshot as possible,
With random electronic devices turned face-back as to expose their
technical underbellies, a collection of adapters for blenders and
toasters and other kitchen machina around his torso. The owner of the
sausage finally caught up with him, out of breath from his rapid pace.
"Hey what the hell are you doing! That's my sausage!", he chided.
Gan threw open his jacket, revealing the improvised electronics and
declared untruthfully, but convincingly enough,
"I HAVE A BOMB!"

In the Chumby, there was mention that calling the police to the location where they were in trouble would ultimately get the right people to the scene. More importantly, it would publicly expose whatever was happening there. This was Gan's emergency plan. Not only get the police over there, but to get a lot of them over there.

Much to his surprize, while a few of the people in his immediate vicinity didn't fall for it. And began saying "Hey wait a minute, that's just a bunch of adapters and credit-card processors", someone out in the dining hall peeked in and shrieked in horror. Easily confused by technical matters, she rousted her husband from the slab of meat, blood still dripping from his mouth, and brought him to the kitchen. Like a total moron, to have a gaze at the psychopath threatening to blow them all up.
He fumbled around for his cell phone and called the police. Mentioning a bomb threat will get the police to a place really damn fast.
And in his second idiotic move, he gathered the attentions of the entire dinning hall to announce that there is a live bomb in the kitchen.
From Gan's perspective, what followed was so utterly retarded, he simply couldn't beleive it.
The occupants of the hall literally trampled eachother trying to get out of the manor, which had insufficient exits for such a population. In the front vestibule, a riot ensued. Mass panic had driven people to pushing and shoving their way through doors. Paintings were being knocked off the walls, and a total disregard for life and property brewed.
Gan noticed the Maitre-D, the bird from before with the weird pronounciation leaning out the door to the main vestibule, holding up his camera phone and taking video of the incident.
Gan pulled the electronics off his waste and set them all down on the table.
"What the hell are you doing man?", asked the sous chef, who saw this entire tableau unfold as... a really spur-of-the-moment and surprizingly effective hoax.
"Conceptual Terrorism, I suppose", said Gan.
"The police will be here any minute.", said the Chef.
"Good.", said Gan.
"You're crazy. But wow. You'll be legend among the community radio stations. What's you're next project? Cover some skyscraper with jell-o?"
Gan smiled slightly. The police. Well, not the usual police. The most military part of the police, A Civil Safety team poured into the building.
But first, there was the matter of the mob. Breaking up the riot.
Maitre-Bird and a manager both were video-ing the whole tableau on their phones, in awe.
Gan hoped that Jorge was okay, and that the police would break this whole thing up in time. But. He knew he ought to get moving before they get to the kitchen and order evacuation and enforce it by kicking them out.
He ran down the hall, following the trail of dried urine, through an office and finally. Up to the barrel of a gun.
Gan put his hands in the air, without being asked, he fell to his knees.
He could feel the footsteps in the floor and soon, the T-Rex, getting out a pair of nylon-ties to tie up this new prisoner, realized that what had just happened, was planned.
The first to enter the room were the armored black-and-silver Malych. These ones were called Revvies, based on another KZ platform, armed to the teeth, literally, with everything they could fit on them, it seemed.
In a smash the door went down, The metal raptors screeched in, though it was sound produced from the mechanical action of thier claws gashing long lacerations in the tile from their rapid shifting of footing after breaking in.
Then headlong into the room, directly towards them.

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