Aerosol.

One of Kaman’s favorite things these days was to get totally, utterly stoned on that fine, prime-time Afghani hashish and watch those romantic, soapy “reality shows” on the TV. The ones with a hunk of a bachelor surrounded by dozen or so busty, young females all angling to get the hunk’s matrimonial attentions.

“Why, Kamran?” Asked a voice inside one of his purple bedroom sofa pillows.

“Well,” mumbled Kamran, running a soft finger across his four-day-stubble. “These reality shows.. as they are called … really turn real when and if watched totally and utterly stoned, y’know.”

“Here,” he said, sticking his brightly lit joint in a burned out hole of the pillow. “Watch what I mean.”

He then turned on the tele and luckily one such show was already on. It was called Joe Bachelor.

“Hey, I’ve already seen this one,” said Kamran. “The bastards keep repeating it. Not fair, aye sofa?”

But the sofa was busy. Busy slowly catching fire.

“There, you see this woman.” Said Kamran, pointing at the screen. “She’s Betty. One of Joe’s best busts. Let me turn the volume up,” said Kamran, upping the volume of the TV.
“ Joe’s such a hunk,” said Betty, flirtatiously playing with her brunet curls. “So rich and all and, yea, reminds me of a walking, talking, jogging penis! Wonder why can’t we just call him Dick?”

“What?” Said the sofa pillow, slowly burning. “Did she really say that?”

“Yes and no.” said Kamran. “We’re just stoned, brother. We can actually hear what they are only allowed to suggest.”

Betty continued: “Tonight it’s Sara’s turn with Joe. And even though her bust is bigger than mine, but I doubt if Joe will notice the difference because we both got ‘em enlarged by the same surgeon. Here, see (Boing! Boing! Boing!).”

The scene cut to Sara and Joe sitting in Joe’s mansion.

“Love those teeth of yours, babe. So white,” said Joe, smiling sheepishly. “Yours aren’t too bad either, Joe,” purred Sara.
“But mine are not real,” said Joe.

“Neither are mine!” Replied Sara. “We have so much in common, Joe.”

“Yes.” Said Joe. “In fact not much on me is real.”

“Oh, why should it be, darling.” Smiled Sara. “This is after all a reality show. So let’s just make-out!”

Joe smiled back: “That we will. Obviously. But what about me judging your sex of humor … I mean, sense of humor, and your.. and your .. Gee, what was that word I was supposed to use?”

“What word, baby?” Asked Sara. “Gucci? Nike? Mickey? Sexy? Panty? What, baby, what?” Joe looked totally out of it, scratching his gelled hair and all: “Urrmmm .. err.. I’m trying to remember … umm .. err ….”

“Oh, my poor baby,” said Sara, kissing Joe on the forehead (Smooch!). “What word honey? Breast, Clitoris, Penis?” She asked, looking concerned.

“Of course not, babe.” Said Joe. “How can I not remember penis?” He then turned to the producer of the show and asked him: “What was that word I was supposed to say, Bill?”
The producer scampered onto the set and whispered it to him. “Whisper, whisper, whisper.”

Joe looked baffled: “What? What’s that?”

“What’s the word, baby, what?” Asked Sara.

“Intellect!” Said Joe, all confused.

“What?” Said Sara, angrily. “Screw that, baby, let’s fuck!”

Hearing this Kamran couldn’t stop himself from laughing out loud. He then turned towards the sofa: “So, how do you like it so far?”

But the sofa was quiet. It had completely burned down, with the poor pillow struggling to speak.

“Gee,” said Kamran, staring at the charred sofa. “That bad, aye? Yup. Reality can burn out the best of us.”

“Cough! Cough!” Coughed the sofa. “Don’t insult my intellect.”

“ What?” Said Kamran. “Screw that, man, let’s get stoned!”

**********************************

God Pulp

And finally man had the technology to finally travel to that edge of the universe where he believed God lived. Even though the universe had numerous edges, many were sure that here dwelled God.

It was the far-future and many others had lost all concept of God. In fact interestingly, the believers of a God mostly included androids and certain versions of the many super computers that had been helping the Homo-superiors of this far-future in the running of the world.

The non-believers saw the mechanical believers and their few human sympathizers with suspicion. They knew well the tragic history their elders and the elders before them and so on had inherited of the many religious wars that were waged by their ancestors between the 1st century AD and the 24th Century AD; and before religion was abolished along with capitalism, and private property in the 31st Century.

For more than five hundred years Planet Earth ran as a world government and a singular global state based on what became to be known as Astro-Marxism.

A majority of diseases had been eradicated or effective cures found, population growth perfectly regulated, economic balance and near-equality achieved, use of petroleum products banned, solar energy harnessed, even though oil had rapidly vanished from the deep grounds during the last great religious wars seven hundred years ago.

No classes existed among the humans. No religion. No conflict. But the ancient class system was applied to the androids and the super-computers. And these divisions were all acquired from the remaining knowledge of the planet’s religious and capitalist pasts.
But ironically it was these that had now ended up, as the humans would say, “short-circuiting the machines into believing in a God” and in his residential corner in that edge of the universe.

This irked the humans. The majority. The non-believers. The Astro-Marxists. If they loosened or abolished the ancient social and economic class system that they had enforced upon the aneroid population, then surely, the androids, with the help of sympathetic humans and super-computers, will evolve into a more intelligent and eventually dominating population.

But the irony which was generating “these delusions of an edgy God,” as the humans would say, was also bringing with it patterns of irrational emotions to the machines’ make-up and these might give birth to another set of wars. Between rational, advanced humans and the mighty powerful but gradually short-circuiting machines looking for God and wanting to re-impose his belief and worship on the planet.

So soon came the government’s new pilgrimage scheme. An announcement that it wanted to patch things up with the disaffected machine population by providing them with the means and ways for them to travel to that edge of the universe where they believed God lived.

Off went the androids in sixteen spaceships through hyperspace, wormholes and at the speed of light towards that edge, looking for God.

In three years they were there, within and inside a place of gaseous blues, static reds and smoky whites. In the centre of it all hung a cold, gray shell of a dead sun. On it they were convinced God resided. And on it they landed, carrying, reading and chanting the various holy words that they carried: Pieces of rag paper and pages containing literature banned and forgotten for a very long time but collected, preserved and revered by generations of androids and their human sympathizers. Ancient battered pages from the Bible, the Koran, the Torah, the Bhagwat Gita, Adam Smith’s Wealth of the Nations, 20th Century brochures of petroleum and software corporations, of what were called Shopping Malls and Supermarkets, of Sex manuals and fashion magazines, of old religious pamphlets and more.

For hours they roamed in a large shining procession on the barren plains of the dead sun looking and calling for God. But behind them, one by one, their spaceships exploded, turning into heaps of burning metal and plastic. They had been programmed by the government to explode almost precisely after 3.2 years.

Anguished but still determined the androids walked ahead, calling and chanting, until they came upon a stale, pale skeleton of a dog. What, they thought, was a dog doing wondering around God’s home?

On closer examination of the skeleton they noticed a rusty tag. It read, “The Cosmology Dept. of the Astro-Marxist Republics of Planet Earth.”