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Died in a Blogging Accident has lived up to its name and died... in a blogging accident. That is to say it has concluded. You can still re-live the magic by clicking here to start at chapter 1. For genuine criticism of XKCD, please click the top link to the right (XKCD Isn't Funny).

Saturday, August 2, 2014

DiaBA chapter 2 - Blown Apart

“Let me go she said, let me go she said 
Let me go and I will want you more”
—Cake

The room was dark. Its windows had been blacked out and replaced with computer displays. From each display, a trailing HDMI cable that routed back to a blade server in the middle, upon which red and green lights were flashing.
A young man paced diagonally across the tiled floor, treading carefully to avoid the tiles that weren’t directly in line with the black ones. He caressed the server, before sitting down in his computer chair, staring intently at some moving code on one of the screens, until he saw it stop moving.
A chuckle sounded out from of his pasty face.
“Aha!” came his basso voice. “You see that, my dear? My enemy appears to have dropped dead without my intervention.”
A woman spoke from the other room. “Either that or he just disconnected from the internet.”
“Ah... well I did anticipate that would be a possibility. So... I built a miniature spy drone from an Arduino taped to a Raspberry Pi. And I programmed it with Python. It’s loaded it with explosives and it can track him with the GeoIP signal from his cell phone.”
“I see.” Megan replied faintly.
“Is it not a magnificent thing that I, Randall Patrick Munroe, do?”
“Won’t that kill him?”
“Probably...” said Randall. “Anyway, pretty cool for something I made in my free time, right?”
“Don’t kill him.” Megan almost begged.
“Why not?” inquired Randall.
She choked up. Megan knew that if Randall went through with this plan, she would never feel Rob's burning member up against her wet pleasure-garden. But she could never tell him, so she invented a lie.
“Because... you want him to be looking in your eyes when you kill him, knowing that you’ve won.”
“Hmm, a face to face defeat is tempting. Alright then. I shall disable the explosives.” Randall declared.
Megan gave a quiet sigh of relief. That would buy her some time, but for other reasons her time was still running out.
“Now will you please do one more thing for me?”
“What’s that, Megan sweetie?” he said, walking towards the door.
“Will you let me the frak out of this ball pit?!” she screeched, rattling against the heavy chains that bound her arms.
Randall peeked in through the doorway. His ball pit occupied an entire room, the largest room in the house with tunnels and slides everywhere, and in the corner sat Megan, wriggling about within the two-metre radius that the chains allowed her. She looked so beautiful and vulnerable.
“You know I’d never do that, my dearest darling danish.”
Megan sighed with sorrow. Desperately, she reached for her usual sympathy card.
“But cancerrrr!”
“And I vowed to take you in sickness and in health.” said Randall. “Besides, I’m still working on a cure.”
A silent tear began to roll down Megan’s cheek. She had trusted this man, NASA engineer, internet cartoonist, god of the nerds, and now the master of her every whim.
It was a strange relationship that they had. While Randall continued to dominate her in every way, sometimes even threatening to take away internet access, Megan knew that he needed her. Thus he could be treating her like a slave on minute, and a surrogate mother the next.
“Cheer up Megan.” he said. “I want you to be happy for your last few weeks alive... with me.”
As if on cue, a timer buzzed in the ceiling.
“Ooh, milk time!” Randall squealed in excitement. He dived in and waded through the coloured balls to sit on Megan’s lap, and latched on to her.
Megan gently rubbed Randall’s back and ran her fingers through his hair while he suckled, for thirty rapturous minutes. Though she was sure he’d had enough, Randall asked for more, and continued to feed until Megan had no milk left to give him.
Licking his lips afterwards, Randall said to Megan:
“Okay, now it’s time to check on my captive.”
“Here I am.” Megan countered.
“Not you.” barked Randall. “The other captive.”

Rob was heading east. The train stopped at some no-name town in Montana. It would only take him this far. Rob ate at a gas station, then walked until he found the interstate. He found a car, and hitchhiked east until he found a Wi-Fi hotspot. And along the way, he took a shower in a carwash.
He didn’t find an open Wi-fi until Minnesota, sitting outside a busy truck stop as the sun began to set. He took his netbook out of a fat fold, and pointed his web browser at the IRC channel, and began to type.
Rob has joined #xkcd-sucks. said the text on the screen.
“i love you too juicy” said Lord_Kitten.
“i love you more kitty” said @jwc
“did i miss something?” Rob typed nonchalantly.
“only the most touching piece of theatre ever” said Ravenzomg.
“was it touching?” said @jwc.
“i was touching myself” said AnnApolis.
“ok” typed Rob. “anyway i just had a stupid idea”
“was it an idea to lift your giant arse from the chair?” said Lord_Kitten.
“lol” said AnnApolis.
“stfu” typed Rob, mashing the keys with his fat fingers. “im actually going to suggest we start operation raptor”
“whats operation raptor?” asked Ravenzomg.
“we find randalls house and delete xkcd” Rob typed.
“k” said Lord_Kitten.
“bring  lube.” typed Rob absentmindedly. “it will be a long and lonely journey”
“it might be dangeous out there. be carful my darling kitten” said @jwc, blowing a virtual kiss at Lord_Kitten.
“i would cum” said AnnApolis. “but im busy with college next week”
“this is more important” typed Rob.
“yessir” said AnnApolis. “ill go book a flight to america”
“ok” Rob typed. “and spread the word. let it be known that anyone who considers themself an opponent of xkcd should join me on my holy crusade to rid the world of its awfulness”
“yay” said Lord_Kitten
“im sending you the coordinates now” typed Rob. “we will meet there at midday on the 31st”

The sun was now behind the horizon, staining the sky a brilliant red. Rob found a truck driver heading for the east coast, and threatened to eat his family if he did not give Rob a ride. So together they carried on eastward through another five more states, stopping only to refuel in Illinois. Rob also typed up an angst-filled short story about coffee, which he published to his other blog. Every mile of the journey brought him closer to Randall, and closer to Megan.
The truck driver was reluctant to make conversation at first. But eventually Rob broke the silence. Once they started talking, they found they had alot in common. By the time they crossed the border to Ohio, Rob’s initial threats were all but forgotten, and over the next few days they became best friends. When he dropped Rob off in upstate New York, they shared a fond farewell, as he continued south on his route, while Rob would be carrying on eastward. It was then that he realised he hadn’t even exchanged names with this truck driver.

Rob sat down at a bench where pigeons were flocking. They all flew away when they saw him. Rob was feeling quite alone, but he also felt a strong itching sensation above his butt. He reached into his lower fat folds, and retrieved a molested hunk of metal. He didn’t know quite how long that had been there. It was hard to tell what it was, because he had been sitting on it, but it might have once been a model airplane, albeit a poor quality one. It was held together by lots and lots of duct tape, wrapped loosely around two circuit boards, and hastily soldered to something that looked like a battery. At least, Rob thought it was a battery.
He sized up the wreckage in his hands, before deciding to take a bite out of it. It seemed safe, Rob thought as he chewed on the sticky metal, so he swallowed it whole. He didn’t even notice the explosive rounds as they detonated violently against his cavernous insides. All he felt was a slight tummy rumble, followed by a hot, smoky belch.
Rob went to a coffee shop afterwards, where he drank a metric gallon of coffee and took out his netbook. He set it down by the huge pile of paper cups in front of him, and fell asleep with his eyes open. It had never been easier to score a free place to sleep.


DISCLAIMER: this story and its characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons or cuddlefish living or dead is purely coincidental.

Author's note: This chapter goes up 11 hours early for the benefit of my readers who got linked here from XKCD Isn't Funny. *Waves*

9 comments:

  1. I believe a few edits are in order.
    "It's loaded it with explosives"
    "treating her like a slave on minute"
    "had alot in common"

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    Replies
    1. First two corrections - done! But not the third. Alot is a proper English word, thank you very much, just like the words another and around. Get used to it.

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    2. http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/04/alot-is-better-than-you-at-everything.html

      Delete
  2. This was like totally roflage. I was like like like ceriously grinning at this masterpiece of writing. #lol #hashtag #rofl

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    Replies
    1. How did you get past the captcha?

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    2. Maybe I'm the first person to say it but I find hash tags really boring. I have started reading hundreds of hash tags of various irony levels and probably finished at a few dozen throughout my life, not including pasta-related ones.

      I find it hard to read hash tags without immediately engaging a mindset of, "Here's a consumable that some guy has produced to make himself seem edgy. What comfortable fantasy is he creating to enable this?" And that's how my whole hash tag experience goes. Hash tags make no point well which can't be better made with reference to emoticons. It takes me nowhere without giving me the uncomfortable sense that someone thinks this is what I need to click on in order to see something false or escape something true. The hash tag idealises; it romanticises; it preaches. It falls asleep and it dreams. It is a selfish journey away from the truth.

      The world already has enough that is beautiful and that is abhorrent - and reality is far more challenging to confront. Hash tags have always seemed like the easy way out.

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    3. #tldr.

      Sorry. It had be done. HAD to be. This is the internet. I'm sure you understand.

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    4. S'alright. I didn't read your comment either.

      Also, it's a copypasta.

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  3. This is funnier than xkcd. That's not saying much tho

    ReplyDelete