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In the cluttered, wirey privacy of his workstation at ThoughtCorp, SUBLEV 6, teenaged ace technician Oskar Buttriguez grinned suddenly, his creamy eyelid skin crinkling mischievously at the corners of his old skool Toshiba X1 ocular implants, implants which now radiated a voracious light, filling the space six inches in front of his nose with crimson luminescence. He reread the name that scrolled across his clear panel AXS-Pad. His mouth fell open. He read it again.

"Puta madre. Mira a quien tenemos aqui!"

::IG497B Goldberg, I., Esq. 43M.
::Partial PDR. Cerebral Core Plumb. Dendrite Cleanse. Axon Scrub.
::Access 9 level codex required. PASSWORD [ ]

Coils of simusmoke spiraled off Oskar's Marlboro holorette and swirled in the glow of his eyes, the limpid whisps roiling with nefarious intent. He depressed the orange button with his fat, gritty thumb, sustaining a mouth-O as the thrum of motors and rumble of rubber belts conveyed Goldberg's portliness into position. A pallid dollop of excess, Goldberg jiggled to a hault like dessert, unconscious and prepped for the standard suite of head-tweaks popular among opulent 40-somethings in the year 2150.

Buttriguez couldn't believe his luck. Of all the work orders that come in, day after day, here was Ira Goldberg! Ira Goldberg, the dogbite attorney! Ira Goldberg, the same son of a bitch who coldly and successfully argued in '46 that a certain American Pit Bull Terrier named Nina be put down for biting fat-assed Leo Tecuente, even though fat-assed Leo Tecuente had PROVOKED Nina by repeatedly smacking her on the nose with a copy of Racing Forum. Yeah! Even though Leo Tecuente hated animals in the first place and had had it in for Nina in particular ever since she pissed that one time--as a PUPPY--on his snakeskin loafers, fucking Leo Tecuente PUTA FUCK! She was a PUPPY, ok? And in '44 an 11-year-old Oskar Buttriguez really was trying his very best to train her, ok? Because the only way he was going to be allowed to keep a dog was if he promised to "train her and walk her and care for her like a puppy really needs, ok papito? Do you promise?"

"I promise." Oskar caught himself speaking aloud, clapped a hand over his mouth and furtively darted his eyes around in the techie gloom.

You see, when Nina was destroyed in '46, Oskar had withdrawn from family and friends, spending more and more time at his home terminal, immersing himself in technology, and soon discovered a natural ease and acuity with advanced computing, robotics and cyberneuro interfacing. Sure, kids are more tech savvy than adults in general, but Oskar was a true wizard, unmatched. He could do things nobody else in the field could fathom. He was kind of a rock star, to tell you the truth. And now here he was, lowering the digicranial auger upon the reptilian, litigious turd who'd killed his beloved Nina.

Hmm. Maybe he'd work it so every time Goldberg heard the word Nina he'd punch himself in the dick. Maybe he'd wire it so, like, Goldberg would think his asshole was his mouth and vice versa. Yeah but, as much as Oskar liked the idea of Goldberg attempting to feed his ass a bagel, plunging his head into the bowl when he had to "make," etc., he just wasn't sure. He had to think about it. This was a real once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The prospects were dizzying.

But whatever. And in a day or two, if his supervisor came by asking what the fuck with the Goldberg foul up, he'd just blame it on the gear. That was the great thing about Management. They had no god damned clue how anything worked, so you could bullshit them pretty easy.

Date Written: May 12, 2004
Author: Dick Vomit
Average Vote: 3.6

05/14/2004 Will Disney (4): if i were goldberg, i'd be *real* worried. also, this fucker is 622 words long. holy crap. i'll give it a 3.5.
05/14/2004 TheBuyer (3): this short is so goddamn long, i got yelled at by boss for saying, "jus'sec" when he goddamn well what i was doing. fuck. minus one star. cool short.
05/14/2004 qualcomm (3): please use fewer words. i am bored.
05/14/2004 Dick Vomit: Yes, The Lerpa. I will, The Lerpa. You are bad at Halo, The Lerpa. I'm sorry a made a long short, The Lerpa.
05/14/2004 qualcomm: did it ever occur to you that maybe Halo is bad at me??
05/14/2004 Mr. Pony: Solid. I think it's dumb to take a star off for length, so I won't. That Halo comment was off topic and out of line, though, DV, and you know it. Shame on you.
05/14/2004 Dick Vomit: It had.
05/14/2004 Mr. Pony (4):
05/14/2004 qualcomm: i didn't dock stars for length. honest. i docked stars for unnecessary length. blah blah blah, you know?
05/14/2004 Dick Vomit: Halo was and is off-topic. I agree. As for length...I just wanted to make up for my absence of late by giving a little extra. That's all I ever wanted: TO GIVE. And then The Lerpa takes a shit on me. I mean, the bored The Lerpa takes a shit on me. And TheBuyer, if you elect to visit ACME during work, which is utterly irresponsible, it's certainly no fault of mine. and another thing! If
05/14/2004 Dick Vomit: nyeah...
05/14/2004 Dick Vomit: Hey! And I totally blew it with the Mark as 'From Author' function, eh?
05/14/2004 qualcomm: i mean, it's all overwritten and shit. crimson luminescence? f u
05/14/2004 Mr. Pony: yeah dude you have to check box
05/14/2004 Dick Vomit: Pony: you're right. The Lerpa: fag. Alright boys, time to curl up on my futon and smoke some sherm.
05/14/2004 TheBuyer: Yes Richard, I know but I have a job and that's why I am during the day. Anyhow, I'm shitting on the length because it could've been just as good AND shorter and my boss is like, a dick? n stuff.
05/14/2004 John Slocum (4): Long, but an enjoyable read.
11/17/2004 TheBuyer: hey dick, i carelessly lowballed you, let me make it up to you.
11/17/2004 Mr. Pony: This is gonna be hot.
11/18/2004 Dick Vomit: What's going on here? Pony? theBuyer? What's going on?
11/18/2004 TheBuyer: You'll see. Just remember me when you get Made, jack.
11/18/2004 Dick Vomit: If I put on a silver suit and walk into some shitty buffet only to get capped in the back of the head, I fully intend to launch my ropes of hot blood in your direction. F your god damned I.