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NAZIS FOR PEACE |
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by Tara Carreon
Table of Contents:
They were penned in like the animals they were. Vicious pigs who had been milking the body politic of its life for decades, rounded up in the sudden dragnet known as the Vengeance. A sudden sweep that worked its way through the corporate netherworld like a convulsion, leaving the corporate body headless, suddenly. And now they were here, herded into a steel-lined fortress that was hers to command. She stepped forward, her leather cape parting to reveal remarkable vistas briefly, and leaned into the microphone: "Gentlemen. We are about to begin our day's activities. We will begin with a healthy 300 microgram dose of LSD, followed by six hours of mandatory viewing of live feeds from refugee camps around the world. After that we plan a brisk four hour hike to a chilly hilltop, where you will pitch camp for the night. In the morning we will have a forgiveness rite for those who wish to be reborn. Warm jackets, tea and companionship will be provided for repentants. Your soul waits to be reborn. Bon voyage, pigs." This was the softening-up stage, using the psychedelic to randomize outcomes. Put a person through the loop-de-loop, see how they come out ... it's always fun. Of course, you're tracking all their brain waves through their implants, getting real-time holograms of their consciousness configurations, recording it all to your drive, and uploading it to your bosses like right now. So you're hearing their voices in your ears as well. Running a concentration camp for the revolution, specializing in the reprogramming of corporate executives, is interesting work. If you find pounding steak into hamburger interesting. Has to be done, though. Goddamn republican programming goes so damn deep. You have to break through this arrogant programming, this certainty they are best. You have to make these bastards crawl through their own snot before they will realize that they are lucky to kiss my sweet ass. Which they will do many times. Back in uniform, and feeling refreshed, our heroine does her makeup and brushes her hair. Another day whisking herself about elegantly, like a willow on a brisk summer day, glinting in the afternoon sun. From a distance, the sound of corporate executives doing jumping-jacks floats on the breeze. She jumps into her silver two-seater, twists the key and applies a firm foot to the accelerator. She will certainly be there in time. © Tara and Charles Carreon 2005
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