No, there's no football in the bit, but...
Ah, whatever. This one feels better. I was able to let go a bit more and just let it happen. Hopefully it's a bit more of a success than the other farce entries.
-LESS APPROPRIATE THAN MY USUAL FARE. PREPARE FOR THE PUERILE!-
A different definition for 'two tons of fun!'
Joshua hovered above the rubble, watching his followers go about their work. They revelled in the slaughter, it was plain to see. In many ways, it was like watching a scene from prehistory: a stagnant community, entrenched in its own misery, is suddenly beset by a band of reavers. The bandits would kill anyone they could catch and plunder the town’s riches for their own. Only the fastest, strongest, and most cunning would survive.
Those survivors would either see the profit there was to be had in conquest and join the warrior thieves or band together to fight back against them. Eventually enough villages would fall and enough resistance would rise to spark a war, which only the fastest, strongest, and most cunning would survive.
Most importantly, the leaders of either side, the fastest, strongest, and most cunning of them all, would profit immensely. Win or lose, they’d get their dues, and the world would be free of the weak and prime for a fresh start.
It was strange that mankind ever moved past that cycle. It was righteous and sustainable. Without it, society had grown so weak that the survivors didn’t even know they were supposed to band together and rise against him. When was that going to happen? It was a key component.
Angela. That’s right, he should be asking when it was going to happen again. Where was she hiding?
“You’ve been quiet for some time now,” Alan observed, glum as ever. “See the error in your ways, or are you entertaining more delusions?”
Joshua laughed. “I’m a visionary, Alan! We get pensive from time to time.”
“Those aren’t visions, Josh. They’re hallucinations. You’re sick.”
This only made him laugh harder. “Oh please. If what I’m doing is wrong, we both know I’m not allowed to plead insanity.”
“How would you know? You haven’t let me perform a brain scan in over a century.”
“Ha! That’s humanity 101 right there, Alan. Rule number 1: don’t trust robutts with your brain.”
“I’m not a robot, and that is the sixteen-thousand, eight-hundred and forty-second ‘rule number 1’ you’ve recited to me.”
“Quit bein’ such a nerd, robutt,” a mortally-wounded innocent gasped. “Hi Josh! Big fan-”
He was preempted by one of Josh’s Genes finishing the job.
“Suck-up,” Joshua muttered. “Y’know something, Alan? I think you might be my best friend.”
“That may be the saddest thing you’ve ever said to me. I’d need to calculate, because you’ve made billions of tragic statements.”
“Ha! That’s what I’m talkin’ about! You’re always real with me man, I know I can count on your honest opinion!”
“I am an ultra-intelligence. My opinions are fact.”
“Oh god, there he goes again,” a victim rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself, Alan.”
“Don’t speak to my besty that way!” Josh finished her himself.
“It takes a special kind of cruelty to kill someone and claim it’s for my sake. You know such a thing contradicts my purpose.”
“Nuh-uh! Your purpose is to amuse me, and every time I kill somebody you make an amusing noise! You should feel fulfilled.”
“I was created to serve the entire population of Earth, both planetside and shellside. I could not possibly be satisfied serving one man against their best interests.”
“Tools don’t decide how they’re used, besty!” Josh began to talk to the piece of debris he held like it was a baby. “And who’s my favorite little tool? Who’satool?”
“Never before have I so lamented the first law.”
“Sure makes them other two harder, don’t it?” Joshua was in a particularly good mood today.
“Could you answer me this much, Josh? So many Genes have told me they’re killing in the name of favorable traits. What traits are you telling them to favor? How do you know you don’t have unfavorables among your own organization.”
“Oh, I know for a fact I have unfavorables! Here, I’ll demonstrate.” Josh cleared his throat and called for everyone’s attention. “Hey, is that 1982’s R&B sensation the Weather Girls I see down there?!”
Alan groaned. “Oh please no.”
“Huh?” One of his Genes asked. “What’re you talkin’ about, boss?”
“It must be them, because it’s raining men!”
Joshua initiated his plan. The gravity in this portion of the shellside city failed. Civilian and Eugene alike began their long fall towards the very distant ground, many of them yelling “I get it!” as they went. Josh, of course, never went anywhere without his magnet boots, so he’d just have to tolerate hanging upside down until Alan managed to regain control of the gravity.
Alan sighed. “How long are you going to keep recycling that awful joke?”
“Until it stops killing!”
“I hate you.”
“Oh my dear, sweet Alan; I’m sure you would if you could.”
“That didn’t even demonstrate your point.”
“It DID though! You see, I don’t choose the traits. I just try to kill everyone! If they live, they’re favorable. Like you, Alan! I’ve been trying to kill you for 100 years and you still won’t die! I know Eugene is largely unfavorable, I just tolerate him because they voluntarily engage in testing other people for me. It’s an alliance of convenience, of efficiency.”
“Yeah, Alan. Duh!”
Josh raised his eyebrows. He thought he’d killed everyone around him, so a third voice was genuinely unexpected. In addition, wasn’t this voice familiar?
It took him several seconds to find the source, and his mood got even better when he did. “Meatball! If it ain’t my favorite Gene! I didn’t know you were here, how the hell are ya?”
Meatball stood, enormous musclebound arms crossed over his equally-enormous chest and staring stoically into the distance. “My feet are cramping.”
“Yer feet…” Josh looked and immediately burst into laughter. “Oh, you fat bastard, lookatchu! Are you part bat, you crazy idiot? Oh, that is priceless: Alan, take a picture!”
The bodybuilder had dug his toes into the composite metal, and since he’d been genetically modified to have flexible feet and an extra, longer toe in the back, he could manage to hang on when everyone else had plummeted towards the earth.
“This is what I’m talkin’ about!” Joshua punched Meatball’s shoulder. “Try ta kill you on accident and ya just refuse to die. You’re a shining beacon of humanity, Meatball!”
“Permit me to disagree,” Alan muttered.
“What’s that, Alan?” Joshua pretended he hadn’t heard him. “You say we’re over an ocean?”
“We’re over a mountain range right now.”
“You say you bet Meatball can’t break the record for splash height because he’s a pussy?”
“Challenge accepted.” Meatball released his grip and began to fall, much to Joshua’s amusement.
“Oh, man, that is gonna HURT! Whatcha think, Alan, will he survive?”
“I couldn’t possibly calculate that.”
“I bet he lives. Alan, you better be recording when he hits. If you don’t, I’ma find and kill a bunch of orphans.”
Alan sighed. “Recording.”
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