Arne Neumann

Autonomous Penal Colony Epsilon 43A1T

Ray hated his job. He had been working at Wealther&Jacobs for a little over 22
months now and could tell there was no rope to grab onto. Within 2 weeks of
getting the job he had found out about the internal narcotics department, also
known as Tony and banged Jessica on the toilet, twice, without picking up an
STD. That was where the fun ended. His annual bonus was nice and he enjoyed
the exotic massages in tropical locations he was given courtesy of W&J on
business trips, yet he could tell there would be no more icing than that on his
slightly dry chocolate cake - Ray liked chocolate.
Primarily, the issue with the situation was dullness and commonality
throughout all of his daily experiences. He was numb and well cared for, but he
wanted to be number, forget more. What he wanted to forget, Ray wasnt quite
sure. He simply had the desire to create a swirly blur and sink into it, to drown
his deeper thoughts and participate within societies boundaries without
causing a stir, to slowly drift out of his meaningless existence with no
newspaper articles written on him or too many Phasebook posts that
mentioned his name. Why was that the case, Ray sometimes wandered. But
then, it just was, was what everyone did, wasnt it.
Except, of course, for the reproductive parts he cleverly had skipped so far, the
one responsibility most people took for granted and serious, the
multiplication of the species for the greater good, to up the chances of another
Einstein or Newton or Ronald McDonald.
When he was in middle school, Ray once asked a stupid question that got him
in trouble, it was something like:
If humanity is working at optimum level and everybody is contributing to the
overall betterment as much as possible, then why do we have 3 billion soccer
fans out there whos life goals and lifelong activities fit on a small piece of
paper?
Ray didnt like soccer, never had. To him, it was about as much an activity to
stay awake for as watching paint dry in the rain.
Ray got suspended from school for a couple weeks, his parents had to buy the
principal a deluxe season ticket to his favorite club including free food and VIP
backstage locker room access - that Ray had to partially pay for with his debit
card - to straighten the situation out.
Never again did Ray ask stupid questions. He regurgitated well and got good
grades, watched important soccer matches during after school special sessions
without falling asleep and even purchased a jersey, which he later found out
was for basketball, so he had to go swap it for a soccer shirt, making sure it
was the same club his principal, Mr. Skinner, liked.
But from then on out, it was all pretty much smooth sailing. Chess club, Evy
league, 18th birthday defloration luxury attendance companion provided by Mr.
Skinner, champagne and limousines, sometimes at the same time.
Ray liked champagne, not as much as Whisky, but when ice cold it was
tolerable.
Much of his time up until the late 20's was spent in such ways, a hedonistic
celebration of the void, a supression of interrogative thought whenever
possible, what was the difference between news of experiments involving
pumpkins grown in zero gravity biomes conducted on the Associative Space
Station or news on meth addicts from south Compton eating peoples faces
anyway.
For his 35th birthday, Ray got a super smooth vehicle from his boss. It wasn't
one of those fancy modern solar ones, it guzzled fuel like a baby did powdered
milk solution from a bottle and it was red.
Didn't do much for Ray, though. Somehow wasn't empty enough, so after
parking it in a shady area and "forgetting" to lock the doors or taking the keys,
he went to a close by tattoo shop and got an ejaculating penis with wings on
his left buttcheek.
Ray had contemplated getting it skin carved instead, but couldn't risk an
infection in the gluteus maximus since he had an important client to pamper
for the next couple weeks to facillitate a semi-hostile merger between an
eastern European conglomerate, a Macrohard subsidiary and a bunch of
investors from Taiwan.
When Ray was 43 he finally bit the proverbial bullet and impregnated his
current fulltime companion, Saskeya, who had a Ph.D in biochemistry and also
memorized the Kama Sutra during a brief missionary encounter in the kitchen.
The kid was named Bartholomew and given the best education available with a
purple and green striped corporate card. Cello lessons from age 4, Wushu
training from a real Shaolin monk from age 5, greek and latin tought by another
companion with strict rules on physical restraint and so on. Bartholomew also
received the best entertainment and friends available, of course, when he was
11 he somehow managed to blow his brains out with a hand crafted shotgun,
the construction involved baking powder and balloons, the guide was still open
on Bartholomews gold plated laptop when he was found naked and covered in
chocolate syrup.
After that incident, Ray decided against another try at procreation and
dismissed Saskeya, she went back to Estonia.
When he was 57, Ray had a brief glimpse of rememberance between extended
stays in the virtual pleasure palace, a high end entertainment dungeon with
the newest suction devices and pulverizers. That one morning he woke up and
craved eggs but while trying to slam his hand on the personal assistant button
he hit the wallscreen button and the news blurped something about the limits
of human physiology in terms of spin cycles in microgravity on the ASS, but
Ray really was only interested in an Omelett, with cheese please, some
synthetic caviar and adamantium shavings. Those made his poop chunky, but
he loved the metallic aftertaste and sense of entitlement those gave him.

Ray died when he was 109, "We heel the World" was played at his funeral.