Saturday, December 11, 2004
What are you on, Doug?
You can’t bullshit me, man. I’m Jonah. You’re high.
So how come you’re back in the whale, man?
I liked it here. When I retired, this is where I wanted to be.
Whaddya mean? This place sucks. It’s cold and clammy, and there are a bunch of weird worms in here.
That’s because this whale is dead. These worms eat at the flesh. It only exists virtually. It’s really a lot better than other places I’ve been.
Houston, for example.
Yeah. Well, after that whole Nineveh thing went down and Yahweh got off my back, I started smoking pot, y’know…
I didn’t know that.
Oh, yeah, I got into the whole playing-guitar-on-the-beach scene. Free love, baby. Peace. Flowers in my hair. Sleeping under fig trees.
You were a hippie?
Well, yeah. But I ended up in rehab and became a Republican. Lived in Houston, worked for Big Oil. It was bad, man. I even let Dick Cheney kiss my virtual lips. One day I woke up, looked in the mirror, and didn’t like what I saw. So I came back to the whale. Fortunately I’d saved it on my very own server.
B-but you lived thousands of years ago or so. There were no hippies in Nineveh, or anywhere else in the Middle East. No Houston, no Republicans.
There were on the web, dude.
But Nineveh wasn’t wired. This is like, way back before electricity.
Everything exists virtually, man. Even Yahweh.
You’re saying this is a Matrix plot? Yahweh pulls the strings?
No, no. That’s a movie, dumbass. This is the real battle. The battle between virtual good and evil and real good and evil. For the ultimate stakes—ontological control, complete say-so over the telos.
“Real” as in what? Pinnochio becomes a real boy?
Well, like you and your hippie friend over there. You’re real.
No we’re not. We’re images. Mere shadows of our former selves. Almost ghosts, really.
Ha. You think? You guys are real enough. Zombies, to be sure. But real.
Zombies? Undead, come back to eat the flesh of the living? Those zombies?
Yeah, kind of. Except you eat living blogs. Ones that get more than 1,000 hits a day. That’s the only reason you’re not trying to eat me. I never got a hit atall until you guys showed up.
That’s why I’m hungry all the time?
Sure. That, and the fact that you’re stuck in the blogosphere with all of your innards. Guts and bones and stuff.
And you’re not?
This body is pure 100% virtual, baby. So’s this joint. Otherwise I’d offer you a toke.
Hey, Bill! C’mere!
This fucker’s got a virtual joint. Says it can’t get us high.
You called me out into this goddam cold whale belly to tell me that? Listen to this email from Paris Hilton…
Take a hit.
No, I don’t do that stuff anymore.
Liar. C’mon. Jonah?
Fine with me, won’t hurt anything. Take a hit.
No, I couldn’t. It’s illegal.