Infamous Carson Colt #6

“We need you to cripple him, Eddie,” said Ala.

“What am I supposed to do, get him to masturbate on camera? I’m not exactly the conscience of a nation or anything. I’m just a guy writes dirty stories and sometimes writes about politics.” Ala, June, Eddie and Robin sat around a conference table.

“You don’t see it. You are the conscience of the nation. People’s bedrooms are their last place of privacy. The way they touch themselves, and what they look at when they touch themselves, that’s the one area in life that people can choose. You’re the one who tells people that they don’t have to be ashamed because of what they like. You’re the one who tells people that they deserve to find something to spark their interest. Even your transgressive stories, the ones about domination and sadomasochism, you take the worst things that could ever happen to a person, and you make them into something that could be pleasurable. That’s the whole point of life and religion. We have to suffer, how can you make it mildly less painful?”

Eddie smirked. “You’d have to be a real pervert think like that.”

Robin cleared his throat. “Save it for your blog, Eddie. This is a country and an empire with real problems. Everyone is being watched by everybody else. We’ve all got surveillance on us all the time, whether we realize it or not. You might you’re being anonymous. You live in a house with an intelligent speaker scanning your every word. You have a camera and microphone on your iPhone and iPad. All those could be turned on remotely and used to monitor you.”

“Should I be concerned about getting arrested by some real federal agents?” Eddie asked.

Robin shook his head. “We are real federal agents, we’re just working for Urthona too. We’ve been covering your tracks, obliterating any data that could be traced back to you so Chester can’t get you.“

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “You guys are just using me because I’m vulnerable. My wife and kids are gone, I’m depressed. You’re trying to turn my innocent little sex blog into a political weapon.”

June put her hand on his wrist. “Play the game, Edgar. Come on. You know these pricks deserve it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re just lucky I’m a sucker with low self esteem. What can I do?”

Ala spoke. “What are the two major problems in this country right now?“

Eddie knew. “We have a mega-flu virus that’s killing everyone, and Chester is so worried about reelection that he’s encouraging people to drink bleach and ignore our public health precautions.”

Ala nodded. “And what’s the other one?”

“The police keep killing black people. Police can’t quit brutalizing people. Half the country is ripping down statues and burning buildings, the other half is on their front porches with assault rifles.”

June leaned forward. “We need everyone to stop using their phones. Everyone boycotts social networks, blanks them out. Everyone stays home, calls in sick to work. No one buys anything. If you get people to boycott Marathon, the online shopping website, you can get the empire to demand Chester’s head on a platter.”

Robin raised his hand. “How would anyone communicate without their tech?”

“Nobody needs to know anything until Chester resigns. When they get the news that he’s leaving office, they’ll know it’s over.” June crossed her arms.

Eddie sighed. “OK, let’s do it.”

Eddie typed out his blog:

“Hello you beautiful monsters. This is Carson colt. Many of you are wondering what’s become of me. Well, my wife left me and took the kids. I haven’t been sleeping, I haven’t been eating, and I haven’t been posting. What can you do to help me? Stay at home. Don’t go to work. Call off.”

“We’re all worried about this virus, the one Chester said came from Cipangu. Now the health service told us to stay home, wear a mask, and keep 6 feet away from other people. Chester‘s out there prancing around, orange as a Cheeto, telling you that to get close to each other and build up here immunity. That’s all bullshit. Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

“The police are on a rampage, killing everyone. And when you protest, you get killed too. So quit tolerating it. Don’t buy anything. Don’t buy any more than you absolutely need to to feed your family. Stay home. Bring these people to their knees.”

“Now Chester will want to take down your organizers. So here’s what you do. Turn off your devices. Wrap them up in aluminum foil and put them in the freezer. It’s not going to hurt them, and it’s going to keep you protected so that they can’t listen. Anything with a microphone, anything with a camera, wrap it up and put it in the freezer. They can’t listen to you, they can’t break you.”

“Blank out social media. Nobody writes anything. Talk to each other. Fuck your spouse. Fuck your girlfriend. Fuck your boyfriend. Fuck yourself. Whatever it takes. Don’t leave your house.”

“When you hear that Chester has resigned, then you get your device back out and go back to work. However long it takes, we’re gonna break this Cheeto stained motherfucker.”

“Carson Colt out.”

By the third day of the boycott, the country was a graveyard. Chester Camullus had been posting on UBIK furiously, and no one was listening. No one was liking his posts. No one was arguing. Every post was several days old.

He kept refreshing the Carson Colt post again and again. “Harry, who is Carson colt?”

“Sir, we talk about this every day. We don’t know who he is. We can’t find him.”

“Harry I want you to call somebody. I’ll give you the number. I want Carson Colt’s head on a fucking stick.

Infamous Carson Colt:


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