Adventures In Evil Zombieland 2038 - Episode 4

In this episode, our anarchist hero confronts a state-appointed obedience counselor.

I’m stumbling out to my kitchen to try and scrounge up some breakfast.  I didn’t sleep well last night.  I never do the night before bantering with an obedience counselor.  That’s right, I said obedience counselor.  Here in Evil Zombieland in 2038, everyone has to see what they call an obedience counselor once a month.    

In reality, an obedience counselor is a mind-controlled psychopath that is supported by a form of extortion called taxation.  The so-called counselor talks to people all day and tries to guilt trip and coerce them into being more obedient to the immoral scientific dictatorship’s diktats.     

Needless to say, since I’m a conscious anarchist, and not an unconscious zombie, there are quite a few fireworks when I bump heads with my state-appointed counselor stooge.    

I see a little milk left and reach out to grab the tiny container.  A robotic arm in the fridge beats me to it and puts the little bottle in a death grip.  My fridge announces, “You have exceeded your milk ration for the next 24 hours.  Perhaps drink some water instead.”

Damn.  My diet foiled by green totalitarians yet again.  Tired and grumpy, I fire back, “By water, you mean that chemical soup that dribbles out of my faucet occasionally?  That poisonous excuse for water that is scientifically designed to neutralize people’s cognition and volition?”

My omnipresent state-mandated drone announces, “Your meeting with your obedience counselor is in one hour.  You must leave in 2 minutes in order to not be late.”

“I don’t care if I’m late.”
“Tardiness will result in a fine of 2 credits.”

I scour my kitchen for something even halfway desirable to eat, give up, devour some reconstituted GMO insect-pulp crackers, and zip out the door.

So now I’m huffing and puffing as I run to my obedience counselor’s office, which is inconveniently located in Freedom Tower 123, a name dripping with so much dark irony that George Orwell would be shocked.  Why inconveniently located? It’s one of the farthest so-called counselors from my place and it was appointed to me by some nebulous bureaucrat based on some formula they use to give every citizen optimal exercise.  Optimal in the sense that they’re not the ones who have to do it.    

As I pass by an Ama-Wal-Cost Mega Warehouse, my attention is grabbed by screams.  I soon see that a bear is running loose and people are scampering in all directions with arms flailing about.  I take a detour to save my skin.  Lots of animals running wild in Evil Zombieland’s cities.  It’s been like that for decades, ever since the rewilding projects were started.  And it’s forbidden to defend yourself with a weapon, so people just run, scream, and cry.  Usually nobody is hurt, but sometimes people get mauled.  Generally it’s some zombie who’s so zoned out on a techie device that they don’t notice and don’t run.    

On the verge of collapse as I approach the gaudy extortion-funded building, a little black box scans my eyes at the front door and I make my way to Mr. Whip’s office.  That’s right.  My obedience counselor is named Mr. Whip! No shortage of dark humor here in Evil Zombieland.    

Mr. Whip greets me with his usual fake sap and cheese grin, “Hey, good to see you.  Wow, why do you look so tired?” 

I manage to huff out, “Because I’m out of transport credits.  I had to run.”

“Well, if you were more obedient and had a higher social credit score, then you’d have more travel credits than you’d know what to do with!”   

I fight off the urge to sucker punch him in his round-faced bald head, “Yeah, and maybe if a bunch of brainwashed, immoral control freaks didn’t have humanity and free will in a death grip, then I’d have bountiful prosperity instead of this austere hell.”

Undeterred, he gives a look of pseudo-sympathy and says, “Oh, there you go again, externalizing your problems.  Remember, you’re in control of your life.  If you’re unhappy, you have to look at yourself first.”

That’s what these parasites posing as beneficent angels do.  They blame the victim and twist the truth and logic upside down in a shameful display of mock care.

My face flushes, “I only have so much control over what I experience in my life.  What the billions of other people do on this planet does affect me! What you’re doing right now affects me!  What those damned drones do affects me!”

He holds up a pudgy hand of conciliation, “Ok, ok, let’s not get testy.  One more outburst like that and we’ll have to medicate you.  Now, let’s get into what’s been happening the past month with you.”

He scans over my file quickly and while doing so unleashes a series of intolerable, “Uh huhs, hmmms, ahhhhs, and ohhhhs.”

“I see you’ve been racking up quite a few fines lately.  In particular, you’ve been using the ‘F’ word an astounding number of times.”

I retort, “Oh, you mean the word freedom.  One of the most important words in the history of words that’s been banned by the psychopathic oligarchy? The word which threatens the very essence of the oligarchy’s control over the human race? A powerful word that inspires people to fight off dark oppressors?”

The sniveling little parasite taps his fingers on his pointy little chin, “Very interesting.  And who are these so-called dark oppressors?”

A voluminous grin envelops my face, “You are one of them.”
He scoffs and giggles, “And how is that?”

“That’s easy.  Because your actions are wrong.  Your actions are immoral.  You are harming me."

His face flattens out with sincerity, “Moving on.  You haven’t done nearly enough hours on your virtual reality device.  Even worse is that you haven’t been to your sexual surrogate at all! Explain yourself!”

“I like to spend my time in actual reality, not the virtual one.  Ya know, I read books, take walks, think, create art, things like that.  Reality interests me, not the psychologically weaponized techno-distraction created and mandated by technocrats called virtual reality.” 

He interrupts, “An entertained mind eases the grind.  You know your slogans, don’t you?”

Ignoring his remark, I smirk and continue,  “As for the surrogates, my girlfriend fulfills all of my sexual needs.  I don’t need those lifeless humanoid sexbots that get rolled off the assembly line.”

His tiny lips pucker, “You do know what will happen if you don’t comply, don’t you?”

“I imagine some robots will throw me in a cage and force me to do some type of ludicrous labor that some evil technocrat deems necessary.”

With unwavering beady eyes, he spews, “As usual, you’re one of my most difficult clients and we’re nearly out of time.  However, I must point out your most serious offense.  You talked with someone in the street about the word ‘anarchy’.  Certainly, you must know what an intolerable crime this is!  In your own best interest, you will be given medication to help you get over your mental ailment.  The good news is, you’ll be better in no time!”

With a tone of panache, “Oh, you mean I was speaking truth to someone in the street, telling them the real meaning of the word anarchy, which is ‘without rulers’.  You mean you’re going to violate my freedom of speech? You mean you’re going to force me to take a harmful chemical cocktail that was designed by authoritarian pseudo-scientists for the purpose of destroying the mind and body of free humans?”

Shaking his bald head and wagging a pudgy finger he snivels, “See, there you go again with your negative language.  I’m afraid we’re out of time.  I’ll make sure your drone delivers your medication to you.  See you next month!”

So now I’m walking into my girlfriend’s tiny so-called eco-friendly apartment.  She gives me a smile that makes me melt, “Hey, how was your day?”

With a bemused and weary smile I answer, “The usual.” 

Thanks for your time and attention

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