Thu, 19 May 2005

Extual
I can’t remember the year. It was the year in which every film that was released was compared by critics to Pulp Fiction, a trait some of my slower friends have since taken as the whole of their critical process. I was working for STS, on the suggestion of an advisor of mine looking to place me in a friend’s post-grad mill. Sheridan Testing Systems designed those psychological evaluation tests that most of us had to take at some point in our educational careers, whether for placement in certain classes or because teachers were concerned about that new “sullen” trend you’d developed that fall. Miserable shag-carpeted rectangle on the edge of town, where like-minded businesses clotted and throttled the hills lining the riverside. All said, however, I was fond of this job for the simple fact that being a question-writer was not only a cush job, it allowed me certain perverse joys for child-brain fuckery:

127. It is four am on Christmas morning. You hear a crash and discover that Santa Claus has been involved in a horrible sleigh accident, in the course of which his neck has been broken and his reindeer let loose to roam the countryside, seeking out Salvation Army Santas to become their surrogate keepers, which results in massive donations to the SA that year. You see, amidst the twisted wreckage, a bag filled with all the world’s worth of toys, practically bottomless, all yours — if you are willing to dispose of the body and the evidence? What do you do? (50 words or less)

The point of education, many would say, is to acclimate children to the mores of the society in which they live, training them not only for vocational aptitude but for proper psychological and moral health. This was certainly the outlook at STS. Our tests, therefore, were designed in order to teach children how to lie and sublimate, two traits most definitely necessary for future success. Setting up hypothetical situations in which it becomes both increasingly important and increasingly difficult to effectively sidestep the truth most likely affected us in certain ways. It most definitely didn’t make for a healthy relationship environment.

Consider, for example, the following:

1. Jimmy Cheerios has been taking The Test for three hours now. Jimmy has a weak bladder — it’s not his fault, it’s in his genes — and is soon to be all over his jeans if he doesn’t relieve himself post haste. Jimmy has three story problems to solve before he finishes the test, the time limit being 45 minutes away, farther away than Guam due to jimmy’s power-chugging a pitcher of oj this morning for the mythic “vitamin c rush”. jimmy, early developing a diet of things which give him ‘pep’, jackhammers his way through his days on steady staples of coffee, ephedrine, oj and raw sugar, and is well past due for a full-body crash soon, which means any te spent non-testing lessens the time between now and a jittery snooze atop his desk, awash in his waste should he play this wrong. Thus, is
a) the amount of time long enough that Jim should stick it out (so to speak) and finish the test, make a mad dash for the door and hope he can finish tinkling before sleep hits;
b) should he run out now, do his business, and hope the envelope of bodily endurance he’s pushing doesn’t collapse his preteen body; or
c) go number one right there on the classroom floor and hope to frighten his instructor enough to give him a perfect for fear of his life?

2. Jimmy Cheerios is playing scrabble with Phillip Funk, heir to the Funk and Wagnalls, well, empire is a strong word, but the dictionary/encyclopedia marketplace is solid as slate and, being in second only to the Webster conglomerate, it’s safe to say P. Funk is well-off, perhaps tutored from a young age so as to be a scrabble prodigy — top-ranked scrabble players, after all, make a very healthy living, not to mention the kind of rolling-stones-circa-cocksucker-blues debauchery forbidden on the pro-chess circuit. Why Jimmy got into a match with a ringer like P. is beyond us. Maybe it’s a setup. After six turns, P. attempts to use the word ‘butterly’ off Jim’s previously-placed ‘butter’, extending onto a triple-word score. Jim cries foul, at which point P., smugly, calls up his grandfather, president of Funk and Wagnalls, and insists that the world ‘butterly’ be included in all funk and Wagnalls dictionaries from this point on, effective ex post facto. Phillip defines ‘butterly’ as any item which shares properties with butter, i.e. ‘that oleo sandwich was positively butterly!’. Should Jimmy
a) immediately quit, realizing p. doesn’t understand that making up words in the midst of a heated scrabble came is, well, not quite cricket;
b) immediately get in touch with the top brass at milton-bradley and get their ruling;
c) let it go and eat the loss, knowing full well irking the young funk could result in a dictionary entry for jimmy Cheerios (jym-e cheer-i-ohz, v., one acting in an unsportsmanlike or irrational way, i.e. ‘he went totally jimmy Cheerios on me when I told him there’s no such thing as dry ice hockey’); or
d) just go all-out king-hell batshit and throw the board at the wall and sulk out in the hope that scrabble-beat weekly will wonder and fawn over ‘this brash, temperamental young upstart, whose first victory was stolen by an unfair move by veteran and trust-fund baby p. funk, leading thousands of scrabble-groupies to mob jimmy’s house, professing offers of love and revenge…’?

3. Can a living human get frostbite on the brain?
a) no. are you mental?
b) yes! trepanation is a procedure dating back to ancient times which consists of a small hole being drilled in the skull, exposing the brain to outside elements. practitioners claim this results in ‘a constant high-state’ or ‘one endless orgasm’, a pyrrhic victory at best. All frostbite requires is exposed tissue, so it is possible, but not at all fun;
c) yes! liquid oxygen is medicinally used in order to freeze and then remove parasites burrowed beneath the skin. The same practice, accompanied by delicate neurosurgery, could result in a frostbitten brain, though the resulting neural trauma could well result in death; or
d) absolutely, if one is willing to somewhat redefine the term “brain”. a small amount of brain tissue could be pulled through the nose and frozen by nothing more than daily exposure with only minimal damage to the brain or to sinus cavities. Leonard Niemoy says the Egyptians used to do it, though I think he’s kinda fucked on that one, cause I don’t know how you’d freeze anything in Egypt.

4. If you had to choose half the population of the earth to be destroyed, which half would you choose?
a) the first half;
b) the second half;
c) flip a quarter; or
d) kill ‘em all, let the jackals sort ‘em out.

5. Jimmy Cheerios is looking for a means to enter the high-risk kick-happy world of geopolitical control. For example. The Baulerland Tactical Near-Space Program has begun fundraising and grassroots campaigning and plan to be the first privately-funded space program by 2010. a personal fave has been the Satellite Skeet Shoot, where for the low cost of $1000 American (which we quickly have transferred into gold, having been clued into the World Bank’s attempt at returning the American tender system to the gold standard and thus collapsing our credit system, yes we’ve got our sights on them) old-money hunters are given one shot with the Baulerland Projectile System, aiming and firing on the satellite of their choice. We provide detailed maps and up-to-the-minute targeting information to assist such heads of industry take aim at competitors (who are then invited to do the same to the original shooter’s satellites), while bringing the global information system to havoc and making a sweet sum in the process. You gotta problem with that?
a) yes, destroying property is wrong, and besides, the gold standard is aces with me;
b) no, but c’mon, any tactical weapons dealer NEEDS satellites in order to do business, and besides, with this new push to pass Reagan’s old warhorse SDI as a defense against asteroids God knows the kind of wicked- cool money is to be made in the near-space racket, why shoot yourself in the foot?;
c) hell no! hit the fuckers where it hurts! and should I pass this test and be allowed to continue my education, the first thing I’ll do with my first three paychecks is shoot me down one of them planet-killing lie-spreading angels of misery!; or
d) if the Gaia-mind is making use of advanced technology as a means to leave this planet, that would make Sat-Net the visual system, which means, as anyone who knows that Cataracte is Greek for floodgate (of Heaven) understands that by blinding the global consciousness we stunt both the modern capital system and…uh, alternate consciousness would, um, shit.

Can I have a do-over?

Extra Credit: in keeping with our plans to uplift the populace, Jimmy Cheerios has been throwing a series of marches. Earlier today, for example, he began his March on 7-11, where he marched the distance from my house to 7-11 and back in a symbolic gesture of the ongoing struggle the people have made in their ongoing fight for freedom and the distance we all have come. Other planned events include the March on The Mall, the March to Jimmy’s Car, and the March on The Kitchen. This may seem like an inordinate amount of marching, but he will spare no expense, not even his own comfort, in supporting common peasant causes. Being a young peasant-type, and seeking proper guidance in both your life and in your politics, between what two geographic points (no more than five miles from each other) would a march best represent your hopes and dreams?
(12:07.05.19.2005) [/alpha] #