Excerpt from my upcoming science fiction novel (Working title: Laserville: Population Me)

I had just gotten off home from the Orthochron factory. Blast Wickins, my supervisor, was all up in my face, about what he considered my sub-par robotic manipulation. Well, I wanted to tell him where I could program that robot arm to go (up his ass!), but I did not. Blast doesn’t think I care about the Orthochron customers, but he doesn’t know my secret, that I, too, am a sufferer of long-term foot pain, due to irregularly shaped-feet. I think he would be horrified if I took off my shoes. Luckily for Blast, the factory laser clock signaled the end of the day, with lasers. I decided to save my foot unveiling for another day.
Took the laser bus home, some loudmouth passenger was eating fried chicken and slurping at his fingers. I considered laser-macing him, but I, Trace Vortex, am a little too handsome for laser jail, what with my thin, attractively quivery chin and my hemophilia.
When I got home to my laser condo, after a little laser bouillon, I sent a video message to Glargagon 7, because as we found out late last year, there were aliens on other planets, jerky aliens, who are sending a massive battle fleet to destroy Earth. Of course, the Glargagons are three galaxies away, so it was going to take those methane-breathing mouth breathers about a thousand years to get here. So, in the mean time, patriots like myself sent them instant messages making derisive comments about their sexual habits and the paltry selection of vegetables available on their planet. I enjoy seeing them get so mad that their tentacle-like appendages swell in outrage. Funding for a massive Earth battle fleet has failed three times in public initiatives, because other people, like me, don’t feel like supporting a massive battle fleet that isn’t going to protect their laser-tanned asses. What did people do before lasers? I’m guessing poop in the woods, and watch bears do the same.


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