Person #1: Y'know, despite the fact that we’ve been conquered by a mad scientist, you’ve got to admit at least they make the trains run on time.
Person #2: So the train /won’t/ be late?
Person #1: Might be a bit early. And on fire. With electricity flying off it. And a dark cloud of doom preceding it. And a strange, shrill laugh.
Person #3: You know, like the 11:25 one.
Say what you like about Mad
Doctor Snapcase… in fact, he rather insists you say what you like
about him. Preferably in a really loud voice with clear enunciation.
That way, the secret spy devices installed for free in every home can
pick it up. And then the secret police can pick you up in short order.
It’s more efficient, that way.
But
for those who survive the obvious intelligence test, things are not so
bad in the newly-renamed Snapcasedonia. The trains and the buses all run
on time. He had to re-order time especially for that, you know.
And
while we’re enjoying the benefits of the resultant temporal freedom,
let’s give thanks for those. Loudly. In a nice, clear voice. For
instance - life is an all-day breakfast. And an all-day lunch. And an
all-day dinner. Whatever your food fancy, you can have it, all day long.
You
can pick and choose your birthdays. Eternal youth is just around the
corner. Literally. No, not that corner, the other corner. Run! You can
still catch it!
Faster! Faster! Left, left, right, left left right, leftleftright…
Oops. Looks like the cost of eternal youth is eternally chasing it in an infinite temporal loop.
The management does not have to apologise for that inconvenience. After all, you got exactly what you wanted.
You
don’t even have to go to work. Some alternate,
temporally-inconvenienced echo of yourself is enjoying the benefits of a
perpetual workday! You, gorging yourself on your all-day feast, get
paid for their hard and, indeed, eternal labour.
And if you’re
listening in the office, don’t despise your boss. It’s not worth your
energy. Despise, instead, the temporally-advantaged echo of yourself who
is growing fat on that luxury ice-cream you purchased last week. And
won’t share. That bastard.
We can’t choose which temporal echoes we experience. We must enjoy the ones we have. We must enjoy them. Mad Doctor Snapcase insists that we do.
Loudly.
And in a nice, clear voice…
[Muse food remaining: 16. Submit a prompt! Ask a question! Buy my stories!]
