Cosmic Anthropology 101

Journal of a Cosmic Anthropologist

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CogDisco (flash fiction from 2004)

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Posted by m1k3y on April 5, 2012 at 10:08 pm

Here’s an old piece of writing (from 2004!) I thought lost when Warren Ellis shut the door on his Engine forum. That is until some recent late night media archeology turned it up from my then Livejournal.

Its eight years old, and not as polished as I’d like (even after lightly editing it); but hey, I only seem to be able to finish micro-fiction, so… enjoy:

Saturday night. 7pm. Three joints in and I’m ready. Teles on, surrond sound cranked to the max.

It’s time for CogDisco!

The audience this week looks brave, but nervous. But who wouldn’t want to be a contestant on the globe’s biggest game show? Where the winner is the last audience member conscious.

Big John McCarthy takes the stage, massive headphones fixed to his skull. Looks to the audience.. “Are you ready?”… they scream affirmatively.
Looks to the stage, a mass of turn-tablists running sound-checks, cueing up their first track…

“Are you ready?’ he asks… they barely look up, but all nod. “Then lets get it on!!”… and Big John runs off stage.

The spot-light hits the first DJ, and he’s off… mixing a Beatles track with some Chuck Berry lyrics. Most of the audience are already standing, and start dancing in the aisles. They seem relaxed. Then DJ-1 kicks it up a notch, adding the bass line from an earthy-period Madonna song. People become frozen mid-sway.. and it’s on.. the cognitive dissonance is hammering them..

The paramedics run through, taking only those with full facial paralysis away…

About 10% have been culled. Not as good as last week, but then that was the Senior Citizens special… they thought it was a World Idol reunion episode… I’d never seen so many gray-hairs vomit on each other so fluidly!

Big John comes running in, full body tackling the DJ… the idiot’s gone over his five minute time slot. He’ll know better next week! Or not. Big John took him down pretty hard.

Spot-light shines on the next DJ. He kicks in some old-school Public Enemy with a Sting vocal overlaid. This one gets me up on my feet, as I pick up the cat and dance around the lounge.

When I wake up it’s Tuesday, I think. I’m in bed… in a white gown… in a private clinic. One kidney missing.

Bastards were monitoring my web-cam. Saw me go down. Got a nice, fresh gash on my forehead. Knew that bookcase should’ve gone in the study.

I think I’m in Africa, but I can’t be sure. Whereever it is, it’s bright. Last week it was Malayasia, and they only took a tonsil (I don’t even…).

I check my credit. It’s up 1000 dollars.

Should just get me home in time for next week’s show…

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