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Defau Winston III stared at his reflection in the lens of the government video camera installed in My living pod and wondered how he was going to expend his ideologically valid emotions for the rest of the evening. It was Saturday night after all and Re-Population festivities were mandated between 2100 and 0400, Defau Standard Time (DST).

Defau Wandas with sanctioned uteruses were encouraged to enjoy My feelings with one another on scheduled evenings. Or as Defau Winston III liked to say: “Give it up!”
“Aw, man,” Defau Winston III barked, slapping hands with his podmate Defau Winston 257. “We’re going to party tonight.”

“With great conviction,” Defau Winston 257 responded accordingly.

Lost in the severe geometric shadows of the 300-story Podrise, outside in the courtyard the un-My screams of Defau Winston 102874 mournfully resounded as Re-education Facilitators dragged him to an awaiting clean-fuel Ministry Hovercar. They had 102874’s journals sealed in evidence cases. They would be sent to Compliance for Vetting. Incidentally that’s where Defau Winston III worked.

“I told 102874 that his journals were gay,” III shouted to his podmate while he applied multi-use gel to My hair made from the bone-reduction of the heroic Volunteers. III wonder to himself what was going happen to 102874’s Pod. That thing has some awesome views.

“Would you hurry already,” Defau Winston 257 shouted to Defau Winston III. He was horny and wanted to make sure he didn’t squander his emotions this evening like he did last weekend. Winston shot one last glance into the lens to make sure his hair was sufficiently ideological. “Alright, let’s get Grogged!”

At Grog Bar 2112 many of My Wanda’s had already arrived, their uteruses were alluringly outlined in fluorescent electric reds and greens in the slate gray utilitarian tight fitting pleasure smocks.

“Dude!” Defau Winston III whispered to his podmate jabbing him in the ribs with his elbow. “Check out that Wanda!” He pointed to Defau Wanda 69. They high-fived and saddled up to the Grog Injection Units.

Defau Winston III slipped into the unit and smiled. A mechanical arm with a syringe fixed to the end of it zipped out. The syringe flooded with Grog, it gurgled a bit. “So Wandas,” the arm whipped down and slammed the syringe into III’s head, “you ladies come here often?”

The following conversation was accurately captured in the bank of digital recorders in the sterile white studios of the monolithic Ministry of Memory and Accuracy building CenTown in Defau Bloc 1. A Listener missed that particular memory as he jumped out of My chair protesting a bad call on the football game.

A camera fixed behind and above the monitor captured the transaction, as the light flickered in his face. Come Monday, the MMA bureaucrat’s actions would be reviewed and his feelings toward the game would be determined to be ideologically sound and thus valid.

Date Written: January 30, 2005
Author: scoop
Average Vote: 4.3333