From the Desk of Gabriel Morton: Fuck you, Sound.

From the Desk of Gabriel Morton: Fuck you, Sound.

The office is clean, the Baboon hut is back on its little pedestal, Janice’s hair has grown back, and the office is buzzing along like a happy little organism. I’d say everything is finally sorted out but we’re still to find one last home for one of the Glenn Ridge heads. For the moment I’ve put a little bell collar on it, it’s sitting a bit like a tiara as the thing doesn’t really have much neck, and have been feeding it kiwi fruit. I don’t know if this is because Glenn Ridge loved kiwi fruit or if this is a quirk particular to the little heads. The 3D Printer may be able to shed some light on this after it’s done with HR’s Virtual Team Building Camp and Pain Amplifier, though I suppose I could run it by the Mutants.

There were no videos last week. God only knows what you got up to during that dark period. If any of you felt sick it’s because I had my voice modified to contain slightly addictive properties so the absence would have triggered withdrawal symptoms. I got the idea from a leadership seminar that had formed around me after I blacked out in a hotel. Ha ha! Blue Whale pineal gland, wacky stuff. There were no videos last week because I got into a fight with the concept of sound.

Look, I don’t much go in for this PC garbage, living concepts may have been given rights but that doesn’t mean you’re entitled to the same forms of treatment. We evolved, you were the result of Dr Mindlord Ph.D’s Sapience Bomb artificially tricking chunks of the universe into being aware of itself. The universe already had a process for that, evolution! You leave some hydrogen sitting about and eventually it forms a human brain, and I’ll be damned if some upstart glorified wobble is going to erase the eons of work biological life put in with its historical revisionism. You weren’t a fucking thing a thousand years ago, you dicks, I’ll treat you like you’re people now but I’m not gonna pretend you were something when you weren’t. You’re worse snowflakes than the snowflakes. Ha, now those bastards can take a joke. Dish it too, cruel little crystals.

So now I’m a racist, me, and arguing that I’m not makes me more racist. So the Sound Waves decided to fuck with me, which was why last week’s videos had a weird sound to them. Aaron bought some godawful cheap Sound labour, non-union types, and look, I’m prepared to deal with less quality, fine, but that was shit awful even by my sensibly lowered standards. So over the past week I’ve been effectively dividing the Sound Wave community over the issue of non-sentient waves echoing about the gaseous nebulae. Not even really sure what the issue is exactly but you never really have to be sure when splitting an activist community. They get their backs up about one thing or another and everyone becomes a potential enemy, loads of fun. Now one side hates the other which is enough to have one side like me enough to work properly again. Makes Aaron’s purchase of all new sound equipment a bit of a waste but he seems to enjoy buying that crap so I just won’t tell him.

The Doctor Who article is slightly delayed because the Government still doesn’t consider this a real job and also the story is 7 parts long. Mostly finished now, just some spit and polish. Recording is back on today too so that means your withdrawal symptoms will start to subside, until then don’t operate heavy machinery or try to do any trigonometry.

Pasta is just wheat in an octopus costume.

Gabriel.

3 Replies to “From the Desk of Gabriel Morton: Fuck you, Sound.”

  1. I read this in the back yard under a yellow Parasol with a Piña colada, what a lovely day this was in winter..

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *