Video Journal of a Mad Woman: Entry 6

Entry 5

Private YouTube video titled Journal Entry 6, uploaded by user Michelle1980 on October 15th, 2015.

Michelle is no longer in the barn. Instead, behind her, is another dark room lit only by an electric camping lantern sitting on the table next to the camera.

Michelle sits in front of the camera, filling up most of the screen. Her face is noticeably paler. Her eyes appear black but that may be from her pupils being dilated. She is once again wearing her Guardian’s of the Galaxy t-shirt. Her hair is pulled back.

Once she has the camera the way she wants it, she sits back and gives the camera a little wave.

Okay, so…I did it!

She claps her hands a few times rapidly. Almost too fast for the camera to fully catch. With effort, she manages to calm down and straighten her face.

I’m noticing that I’m having a harder time regulating my emotions. Like, huge moods swings. Makes PMS feel like smooth sailing. But I’m aware of it, and that’s half the battle. I just need to master them.

Michelle giggles.

You may notice I’m in a different location. I was never going to stay in the barn. It didn’t have enough space for me to try stuff out. Plus…well…

I really didn’t plan to kill Priya. She was a vampire and a killer, but I’m a hunter. Better than that. Hunters keep their word, and I told her if she turned me I wouldn’t. But then…then those lies. It took me a few minutes to realize that’s what she was doing. She was really convincing, watch the last video if you don’t believe me. I was new to this. Barely awake. I could barely think. So of course she starts painting this sad picture of a totally normal life ripped away from her. Christ, to think I was buying it for so long. But that was just the transition. That’s all. I would have caught on sooner if my brains wasn’t still mush.

Anyway, eventually I woke up fully and realized she was lying. She had to be. It didn’t make any sense. It doesn’t fit with what we know about vampires. And all that lying…like I said, my emotions have been all over the place. She didn’t see me coming. I didn’t see me coming.

She giggles again before forcing herself to be serious.

I’m sorry, I’m just in a really good mood right now and it’s hard to regulate. Anyway, check out my new digs.

Michelle gestures around, but the room around her is too dark to make anything out. She doesn’t seem to notice.

This is the abandoned Christmas Lodge in…I don’t remember, somewhere in Montana. In the mountains. Montana. Mountains. Huh. I wonder if that’s related.

Anyway. Yellowstone isn’t too far south. There was some rock slide or avalanche or something and it fucked up the way up here and it was too expensive to fix so the place is just sitting, empty. Lots of those geocachers come up here, I think. There’s graffiti on the walls, anyway. But it doesn’t look like anyone has been up here in a while. And if they come, I think I can scare them off. Oh, yeah, watch this.

Michelle bares her teeth in a grin bordering on grotesque. For a few seconds she only sits there, grinning, eyes blank. Then she squints. Then her canines begin to grow, quickly. It takes less than a second for them to be triple the size, almost down to her bottom lip. Her grin becomes an actual smile. Her eyes are still blank.

Takes me a second when there aren’t any…um…yeah, whatever, I’ll get the hang of it. Anyone comes up here they’ll run all the way back down the mountain screaming.

A few more seconds where Michelle retracts her teeth. When she is done, they look completely normal. She runs her tongue over them.

Still feels weird to have them out. Makes me talk funny, too. I’d say I’ll get used to them but since I don’t actually plan on using them I won’t really have to.

I came up here for a place to experiment. I’m going to try to get as many specific answers as I can. How fast can I run? How much can I lift? How far can I see? And of course some less concrete stuff, like how do I feel. I haven’t had any blood, and I think that’s the key. You can’t get addicted if you never start.

Michelle taps her temple.

I brought a bunch of stuff with me, weights and tape measures and notebooks and all, but if I need more there’s a town about ten miles away that has a Walmart. Of course it does. Find me a spot in America that doesn’t have a Walmart, and I’ll…

She trails off, giggling.

Yeah, sorry, I just feel fucking great. I have since I shook off the brain fog. It’s so hard to describe. It’s like…okay, that’s not going to work for a video journal, Michelle, think of something.

Okay, I know. It’s like having a migraine. A really bad one. Throbbing head, light hurts, sound hurts, stomach nauseous, you know, just, like, everything is bad.

And then it’s gone. Not that it gets better. But in a snap it’s gone. And everything feels…wonderful! You can see and hear clearly, you’re not in pain, you can move without wanting to throw up everywhere. It’s like that. Like everything is better. Like I was walking with weights on my ankles this whole time, and now they’re gone. Like I had bad lenses over my eyes and now they’re gone. I feel like, for the first time in my life, I can move the way I’m supposed to.

Yes, that’s it. That’s exactly it. Everything feels like it’s supposed to. I should have felt like this the whole time.

Also my chronic back pain and acid reflux are gone, which is really the cherry on top.

Michelle glances up over the camera and frowns.

Sun’s coming up. I always thought maybe vampires could sense where the sun was at all times but no dice. I think I can see the sunrise sooner than I could before, is all. Anyway, I’m going to sleep. Tonight, we start experimenting in earnest.

Michelle reaches for the side of the phone. Video ends.

Entry 7

Video Journal of a Mad Woman: Entry 5

Entry 4

Private YouTube video titled Journal Entry 5, uploaded by user Michelle1980 on October 13th, 2015. Unlike the previous videos, this one has a description: I DELETED ALMOST 24 HOURS OF PRIYA’S NONSENSE. YOU’RE WELCOME.

The scene is essentially unchanged from the final frame of Journal Entry 4. Priya is still in the cage, although she is now sitting in the back, head and arms over her knees. Michelle is in the exact same position she was in at the end of the last video. This tableau remains unchanged for twenty-seven seconds.

At the twenty-eight second mark, Michelle stands up like nothing happened in a single fluid motion. She is still too far away from the camera to see many physical details, but her arm and face are covered in dried blood. Michelle lifts her arm to inspect it. It is no longer broken and there are no visible scars from either the break or the bite. Despite this, Michelle continues to stare at her arm for eleven seconds further. She looks up from her arm and her eyes noticeably widen. Slowly, Michelle spins in place, staring into the darkness of the barn around her.

As she is doing this, Priya silently stands up and moves to the edge of the cage closest to Michelle.

Priya (in an affected ‘Transylvanian’ accent): Vel-come…to ze land…of eternal night! Mwah-ha-ha-ha!

The two women stare at each other for a few seconds, each with a blank face. Priya shrugs.

Priya: You going to let me out of here or what?

Michelle: Is…is this how I’m supposed to feel?

Priya: I’m not a fucking psychic, ‘kay? I don’t know how you’re feeling.

Michelle: How did you feel…after…

Priya: After some asshole outside Club 86 in New York decided he wanted to make me his eternal fuckbuddy? Yeah, I don’t really remember. That was thirty years ago. Thirty…three? Thirty…five. Shit. Yeah, thirty-five years ago. You know, I thought after I became immortal I’d stop giving a shit about the passage of time but I guess it still sneaks up on you. Fuck.

Michelle: But it was important, wasn’t it? A…a rebirth?

Priya (giving Michelle a withering stare): You’re one of those people who still remembers the name of the guy you lost your virginity to, huh?

Michelle: Ro-

Priya: I don’t fucking care. Look, you wanted this, fine, you’re a freak, whatever. I didn’t. I had a human life I actually liked. I was going to Columbia Law School. Do you have any idea how shit the acceptance rate is to Columbia fucking Law School?

Michelle doesn’t move. At all. Not only does she keep her position next to the cage, none of the usual movements that come with being human – breathing, twitching, balance adjustments – are present. Michelle could be a statue.

Michelle: You weren’t always a…a, uh…

Priya: Oh, my God, did I do some brain damage or something? Was I this addled? I seriously can’t remember. Woman. Use. Your. Words.

Michelle: You weren’t always some cheap ho, chasing and using men for personal gain?

Priya: Fuck no. I mean, I did ho around a little, but I was not cheap. And by the time I got turned I had a steady fucking boyfriend. We’d been going out for two years. He…Riz…Wow, I’d forgotten his name. He was Riz and we’d been going out for two years and he was about to propose to me. I wasn’t supposed to know but he was terrible at hiding things. He hid the ring in the freezer, of all places. Still in its little ring box, stuck behind the ice tray. My grandparents were going to come in from Hyderabad in the next month. I think he wanted to do it then. With all my family there. He knew…

Priya trails off. Her face has become tight, and mournful, her eyes staring off into some nothing a few inches to the left of the camera. Michelle takes a hesitant step forward, still testing her new existence.

Michelle: He was the first you killed?

Priya (looking like Michelle slapped her): What? No, you sociopath! What the actual fuck? Why would I do that?

Michelle: Because…because you were…

Priya: A bad person? Are you still stuck on that? That I was a bad person before I got turned? Fuck you. I was in law school, I had an almost-fiancé, I went back to my parents apartment every Friday for dinner.

Michelle is very lost. Not for the first time, her conversation with Priya has taken a turn away from the direction she thought it would.

Michelle: But…lawyer…

Priya (unamused): Oh, yeah, ha-ha, lawyer-bad. Fucking hell. I was planning on becoming a public defender. I wanted to give back to my community. I wanted kids. I wanted PTA meetings and bake sales. I didn’t want this. No one wants this. Well…except you.

Michelle: I don’t understand then. If you were…all that. If you wanted all that. How can you kill people?

Priya (shrugging her shoulders): Girl’s got to eat.

Michelle: Ah. Right. The addiction. Like any addiction, I guess. It ruined you.

Priya: Addiction? The fuck are you talking about? I don’t do drugs. Drink, smoke. That’s it. Not that I haven’t tried some stuff in the past, but reactions to drugs with vampire physiology can be…unpredictable. I once did mushrooms and didn’t stop tripping for three weeks.

Michelle: No, I mean…

Michelle trails off. Her face has remained unchanged through the conversation. It is impossible to read, but there is something in her eyes that makes it clear she is thinking. Fast.

Michelle: We’re done here.

Priya: Great, so does that mean you’re going to-

Michelle crosses the room toward the camera and cuts Priya off by turning it off. End of video.

Entry 6

Video Journal of a Mad Woman: Entry 4, Cont.

Entries 2, 3, 4

Private YouTube video titled Journal Entry 4, uploaded by user Michelle1980 on October 11th, 2015 continued.

Priya is still leaning forward on the bars of the cage. Michelle comes around from the right side of the camera, staring at the phone to gauge if she’s in frame or not.

Priya: You should be doing this in landscape, why the fuck are you taking portrait videos?

Michelle: Shut the fuck up. No talking unless I say.

Priya: Oh, yeah? The fuck are you going to do about it? Lock me up? Oh, wait.

Michelle: I’ll kill you.

Priya: You obviously need me for something.

Michelle: I need a vampire. Not you. I got you in that stupid thing, you don’t think I can get someone else?

Priya stops talking and puts her hands up, but it’s clear from her expression she is not scared. She is curious.

Michelle addresses the camera.

Michelle: Okay, so, I finally found Priya here in the roadhouse across the highway. Didn’t take much at all to get her outside in the back alley, at which point I managed to subdue her-

Priya: After I kicked the shit out of you. And then you cheated.

Michelle (over her shoulder): Hex bags are not…whatever. Back to camera. Dragging her into my SUV was a bitch and a half, too. I swear people saw me doing it and no one even came over to find out what was going on. There’s a lot of systemic problems in society that I am not qualified to discuss.

Priya: What do the people watching this think is happening? Some sort of shitty performance art?

Michelle: It’s not a live stream. Nobody is watching. This is a video journal.

Priya: Did you get the part where I broke your face in a couple places with one punch?

Michelle: No. Obviously. Look-

Priya: What the fuck are you journaling about anyway?

Michelle (rounding on her): I’m trying to…look, never mind the camera. You don’t need to be a part of that. There’s only one thing I need from you.

Priya: Style tips?

Michelle: You’re going to turn me into a vampire.

Priya stares at Michelle. Her gaze switches to the camera for a brief second before turning back to Michelle.

Priya: Why?

Michelle steps back. This is not the reaction she expected.

Michelle: I figured the first thing you’d do is refuse me. Tell me to go fuck myself.

Priya (crossing her arms and shrugging): I can tell when I’m fucked, thank you oh so very much. You got me locked in this cage, in this barn, which I’m guessing is in the middle of fucking nowhere?

Michelle: Five miles from town and the rest of the farm is abandoned.

Priya: Right. So your little plan here is to reach your arm, let me drink you down until you’re all stupid and woozy, and then I reach my little arm out there and you drink, and then the miracle of un-life happens. And once you’re on Team Nocturnal you let me out. If I don’t agree, you kill me. If I kill you while we’re doing this, I remained locked in a cage in a barn in the middle of the woods where no one can free me until I waste away into nothing more than jerky and bones. Do I have that right?

Michelle: Um…yes. That’s right.

Priya puts her hand out.

Priya: Alright then. Let’s get this over with.

Michelle is obviously thrown for a loop.

Michelle: The other vampires I talked to, they didn’t want to turn me. They didn’t even try to trick me. They just refused.

Priya: Well, right off the bat, you’re fucking annoying. If I wasn’t in here I’d refuse, too. I bet you watched all those Twilight movies, right? Is that why you’re doing this? You want to be Bella Swan?

Michelle: Wait…have you seen all those movies?

Priya shifts uncomfortably.

Priya: Can we please get this over with?

Michelle: In a minute. First, I want to know why the others refused? Are there…I don’t know…rules? Vampire laws? About turning people?

Priya laughs.

Priya: Rules? Laws? Fuck no. You think we have a vampire government or some shit? Maybe in Europe, I don’t know what that trash gets up to. They refused because they didn’t want to. End of story. Now give me your wrist so we can do this or let me the fuck out of here.

Michelle stares at Priya, maybe waiting for her to say something. Then she shifts her footing a bit without getting any closer to Priya. Priya’s eyebrows raise up and she stifles a laugh.

Priya: You’re getting cold feet, aren’t you?

Michelle: No!

Priya: Well, then, what the fuck are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Come on, lady, you want to be in the ranks of the undead so badly there’s only one way to go about it.

Michelle looks at Priya then looks at the camera. She takes a couple of steps toward the camera then stops herself. There are a few seconds where she faces away from Priya, face contorted, fists opening and closing. Michelle takes a single step away from the cage. And then quickly forces herself to the cage, thrusting her arm through the bars.

Michelle: Okay, let’s-

Priya latches onto Michelle’s arm at the wrist and elbow and snaps her forearm cleanly in the middle. Michelle falls to her knees and starts screaming.

Priya: That’s for the hex bag, asshole.

Before Michelle can say anything, or even stop screaming, Priya bites Michelle’s broken arm at the wrist. Michelle clearly tries to jerk her arm back but Priya doesn’t move. Michelle starts scrabbling at the bars with her good hand. She tries to pull away again. She reaches out to the table, to the camera or perhaps where the keys are sitting, but Priya will not let go.

Michelle is getting noticeably less energetic. Her skin tone goes pale. After close to a minute she stops struggling and leans against the bars. It becomes obvious she is struggling to breathe.

Michelle: Don’t…fucking…I’ll leave…you…here…

Priya finally lets go of Michelle’s arm with her hands and her mouth. Her canine teeth have stretched into fangs, covered in blood. She licks her teeth and rolls her eyes.

Priya: Yeah, bitch, I know.

Priya rolls up the sleeve of her hoodie and bites into her own wrist. Blood trails down her arm and begins to stain her hoodie but it’s clear she doesn’t care, if she even notices. She squats down to get to Michelle’s level and reaches her arm out through the bars.

Priya: Drink up, baby bird.

As soon as the bleeding arm is within reach Michelle is on it. She appears to be grabbing Priya’s arm almost as strong as Priya was holding hers. Priya frowns as Michelle’s mouth latches onto the arm, and she looks away.

Priya: Ugh, I hate this so much. It feels so gross.

Priya waits a few more seconds before pulling her arm away from Michelle, through the bars. Michelle tries to follow the arm, swinging her arms through the bars. After a few seconds she appears to lose all energy.

Michelle: What…I don’t…

Michelle’s eyes go wide. Her mouth and cheeks are covered in blood. Her arm is still broken and covered in blood. Using what is apparently the last of her strength she scrambles on all fours away from the bars. Out of Priya’s reach. Michelle collapses. From the camera’s angle it is impossible to tell if she’s breathing or not. Priya watches as her arm heals before pulling the hoodie sleeve back down. She stares at Michelle through the bars. Then remembers the camera. She leans against the bars much the same way she had been doing at the beginning of the video.

Priya: What the fuck are you even-

Video ends.

Entry 5

Video Journal of a Mad Woman: Entries 2, 3, 4

Entry 1

Private YouTube Video titled Journal Entry 2, uploaded by user Michelle1980 on September 25th, 2015.

Video begins with Michelle reaching for the phone, cussing lightly. Phone falls forward, followed by a damn it! Phone is then put back up. Michelle is in a motel room. The curtains are open and sunlight is filling the room. Michelle, besides wearing a Guardians of the Galaxy t-shirt under a flannel long sleeve, looks exactly the same.

She sits back in her chair and after a second waves at the camera.

Hello. As you might have noticed, I am still human. Look, not even bit.

Michelle pulls up her sleeves to show off her wrists, bare of any marks, before leaning forward and doing the same with her neck. There are no marks on her neck, either.

Yeah. You’re probably thinking hey, Michelle? I thought you said you were going to get turned that night, and now it’s five days later, what gives? Well, I’ll tell you what gives: turns out these vampires are a lot less inclined to turn someone than I thought they were.

I went to that bar I mentioned, and I found the two I’d been tracking. Seeing vampires in movies and on television always make me laugh. I guess there’s probably rich vampires with, like, well done hair and perfectly manicured nails somewhere out there, but all the ones I’ve ever seen were nothing more than bar flys in jeans and, like, Old Navy t-shirts. They’re bottom feeders, they’re not driving around in Bentleys.

These two were no different, and after I lured them outside with my feminine wiles–

She bats her eyelids and cups her face with her hands.

I explained to them what I wanted. I figured they’d have no problem. Free meal, no struggle right? If anything, I would be the one with something to worry about, because once they drained me how, exactly would I be able to trust they would go on to step two? I…

Her face clouds over with worry.

Wait. Shit. That’s a real problem. Fuck. Hold on.

She reached back to a bag sitting on the bed and pulls out a notebook and pen.

‘How…to trust…they…just…don’t…kill…me.’ Okay, maybe it’s good neither of them wanted to do it. But that’s what I was surprised at! I explained what I wanted and yeah, okay, I had a stake out for protection, but at first they didn’t believe me, and then when they did believe me they laughed at me! One of asked me why but the other one just said I was out of my mind. They didn’t want to talk much. Once they realized I was serious they booked it. Tried to chase them down, but like I said last video they’re fast. So they were gone. And with them, the best lead I had on vampires in this town.

What I figure is that I’m right. They self-select for the worst of us, and I’m not that. Did they know I was a hunter, somehow? Maybe I need to look more pitiful next time.

Quickly writes more in her notebook.

It’s been four nights since then and I haven’t found any others since. It’s fucking ridiculous. When you’re not looking for a vampire, when you’re doing something else, they pop up and ruin your entire weekend. But when you are looking…

She huffs and runs a hand over her hair. Then closes her eyes and counts to herself. When she opens her eyes again, she is more composed.

Again, this is a good thing. I need a new plan. One that has a lower chance of me ending up dead.

Michelle reaches for the phone and the video ends.

Private YouTube Video titled Journal Entry 3, uploaded by user Michelle1980 on September 27th, 2015.

Video begins with Michelle already seated in front of the camera. She is once again in a motel room, but this one is clearly different. The curtains are drawn and she is lit from a single lamp, barely visible on the right side of the screen.

She waves at the camera.

Okay, I’m back. Still human. And I’ve got a better idea.

I left the city because I wasn’t finding any more of the slippery little bloodsuckers. I’m off the highway. Two actually. The monsters love highways, and they love junctions. People go missing all the time and no one cares out here. I haven’t spotted a vampire yet, but it’s just a matter of time. And I need that time to set up.

Last time I was talking, I realized I was going about it all wrong. I was right about them selecting who they turn, and baby, I wasn’t it.

And, oh yeah, and make sure whoever I find doesn’t just kill me. That’s a big one. And I think I’ve got that solution. I’m going to-

The sound of a phone beginning to vibrate cuts her off. The sound gets louder as she pulls a second phone from her jacket pocket. She sees the caller ID and immediately looks annoyed.

I’ll be right back.

Michelle leans forward to cut the camera off. Despite her promise of coming back, the video ends here.

Private YouTube Video titled Journal Entry 4, uploaded by user Michelle1980 on October 11th, 2015.

Video begins in an indeterminate location. Based on the wooden walls and some hay scattered on the floor it appears to be a barn, but there are no animals present. Light source from immediately overhead. It is clearly night.

Michelle now has a blackened right eye and a split lip. When she moves around, it is clear that she has a limp. Despite all this, there is a look of excitement on her face.

Okay, my nonexistent superfans. It has finally happened. I have finally done it.

Oh. No, that makes it sound like I’m turned already. I am not. Still human. Otherwise all this wouldn’t be a mess.

She gestures to her face.

But I have finally – finally – made that all important first step.

With her good arm, she spins the phone around on the table its sitting on. The panning action reveals more of the barn until it stops on the opposite end.

There, built into the middle of the barn, is a large cage made of metal bars. It appears to be approximately eight feet by eight feet by eight feet. The bars are secured directly into the floor of the barn which, under the cage, is poured concrete instead of wooden planks. It is unclear where the door to the cage is. It is also unclear if this was here, or if its something Michelle built.

The cage is empty except for a single person.

A woman with black hair, lightly tanned skin, and a medium frame is facing the camera and leaning against the bars. She is wearing jeans and a hoodie. Her hair is mussed but she otherwise has no obvious injuries. When she sees the camera facing her, she growls at it and flips it off.

Michelle’s voice comes from off screen.

Everyone, meet Priya. She’ll be the one to turn me into a vampire.

Entry 4, Cont.

Video Journal of a Mad Woman: Entry 1

Private YouTube Video title Journal Entry 1, uploaded by user Michelle1980. User’s profile has no image and no further information. Video uploaded September 20th, 2015.

Video begins with a woman reaching for the camera – presumably a phone –  and shifting it around until she is square in the frame. Fortyish, brown hair, blue eyes, wearing jeans, a black t shirt and a leather jacket. There is a scar on her chin, and when she lifts her hands her knuckles are scuffed and scabbed like she has recently been in a fight. She is in an unidentifiable SUV in the back of a large parking lot. It is morning. She occasionally sips from a Starbucks venti cup. Once she is sure the framing is right, she begins talking:

Okay, so…I have an idea. I’m going to document everything. I thought at first I’d keep a journal but then I was like, it’s 2022, who keeps journals anymore? And anyway, it’s not like I have a good place to hide it. Someone could find it, and try to stop me, and…

She waves a hand.

Most of the others are ten years older than me, at least. And none of them know how to work a computer, let alone get into my locked phone and find private YouTube videos. I mean, half the time when they try to show me something it’s some shitty Facebook video or on one of those awful news pages with all the ads and stuff…this is more secure. I think.

I’m keeping this one close to the vest. So, if you’re watching this then everything went to plan and I’ve published my findings. Or I’m dead. Those are the only two options I can see. I set up one of those dead man’s triggers. If I don’t log in every day, everything will be sent to Toby. So, Toby, if you’re watching this…

Um, anyway. This idea I have…it’s got to be done right. I’m going to make one of these for every step. It’s a good idea. And it will work.

I think.

Okay, no more being cryptic. Here it is, my good idea:

I’m going to get turned. On purpose.

Bitter laugh.

Man, all I can hear is the voices of the other guys. This is why I’m telling you…keeping this journal…and not talking to them, because I know what they’d say. I can hear them laughing, thinking I’m making some sort of sick joke. And then they would see my face. And then they would be like, is this some sort of sick joke and I would have to say no and I would try to explain but they’d talk over me. They’d steamroll me. Just like they always do.

Pause while she drinks from her coffee cup.

They would jump all over each other to tell me why this is such a bad idea but none of them would actually give me a good damned reason why it’s not. Just empty talk like I should already know.

Well, I don’t. I don’t see it. This is the way I see it:

One: They are physically superior in just about every way. Stronger, faster, they can see in the dark. Think about what good can come of that, if held by the right person?

Two: They’re all monsters, sure, but I think we see it wrong. I think they were monsters before they were turned. I think they self-select, see. And if they choose the wrong person, a good person, that person kills themselves quick.

Three: I am a good person but I won’t kill myself and I won’t become a monster. I am going into this with a clear head. I will not be surprised by what happens to me. I’m not some civilian who doesn’t know shit about dick, okay?

Four: I will use what they have for good. For the job. I’ll have something to focus on, and that should keep the addiction pangs at bay. I’ve never really had an addictive personality before, I don’t gamble or drink, so this part should be easy.

Pause while she stares outside her window. She tries to drink from her coffee cup but it’s empty.

The only thing I wish could be different is help. I wish I could have someone with me, to better watch my progress. But I can’t tell anyone. Toby thinks I’m taking a sabbatical, basically. Long vacation. He needs one, too, so he went off to his family. That’s good. He always gets so distracted when he’s with them. He won’t notice how long I’m gone.

Long, shaky breath.

Okay, anyway, this starts tonight. I’ve scouted out this bar on the outskirts of town, got a few of them hanging around, looking for easy marks. Well, tonight, they’re going to get out. Only if they want a meal, they’re going to have to make a deal.

Her eyes widened and then puts a hand over her mouth, looking embarrassed.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to rhyme. Fucking stupid. I think I’m just nervous. I mean, who wouldn’t be? I’m rambling at this point. And there’s still some stuff I have to do before night fall, so I better just…

She sits up straight in the car seat and moves closer to the camera, her eyes locked onto the lens.

My name is Michelle Willett, and I am of sound mind and body. Tonight, I will be turned into a vampire.

After a pause, Michelle leans forward and fumbles with the phone for a few seconds. The image stops and there is six seconds of black before the video ends.

Entries 2, 3, 4

Andor: Taking Fun Seriously

Andor is really fucking good.

Something you probably have heard all over the place by now, but in case you hadn’t:

Andor is really fucking good.

There’s a lot of takes out there about why that is, and they’re all more or less right. Probably. I haven’t read them all. But there’s a single aspect to why I enjoy this show so much that I want to hone in on. Namely:

They’re Taking Star Wars Seriously

First off, let me explain what I don’t mean.

Andor is, perhaps, the most adult-oriented Star Wars show or movie made so far. There’s basically none of the usual add-ins creators use in family friendly media to keep the littlest kids interested. No comic relief characters, no wacky hijinks, hell, there’s barely any of the usual action sequences. In fact, a lot of it seems to be trying to put the kids to sleep on purpose. A huge portion of the show is exploring the deep and tangled intricacies of the Empire’s fascistic bureaucracy involving a lot of scenes of people in white hallways and similar uniforms getting into politely and barely camouflaged verbal slap fights that would fit nicely into a Jane Austen novel, side by side with a lingering thread about Mon Mothma’s terrible marriage that’s so subtle it makes the Empire stuff look like a screaming match in a house fire. Riveting stuff for adults and even some teenagers and tweens, but sit your average eight year old in front of the TV with his Yoda stuffie and the lightsaber he got at Disney World and he’s going to be passed out before the first commercial break.

And I fucking love it. But that’s not what I mean when I say take Star Wars seriously. Star Wars has always been a generally family friendly story, and while I appreciate the odd show or movie that ages itself up I don’t want to take it all away from the kids. I don’t want the next trilogy to be Breaking Bad in space.

Actually, shit, I do sort of want that.

Okay, I don’t want every Star Wars going forward to be Breaking Bad in space. It’s okay to have lighthearted fun, too.

So, that’s not what I mean. Then what do I mean?

What’s Your Favorite Christmas Carol Adaptation and Why Is It The Muppets?

A Muppet Christmas Carol is the best movie adaptation of Charles Dickens’ work and I will fucking fistfight you in the K-Mart parking lot of your choosing if you say otherwise.

The primary reason why it’s so great is because Scrooge’s nephew is portrayed as a low-key turd who absolutely cannot stomach it when Scrooge becomes a good man at the end because a good chunk of his personality was based around the fact that he was a better man than his POS uncle. But a large part of why it is so good is Michael Caine. He goes out there in this ridiculous sleepwear outfit and almost-exclusively acts against puppets on dudes’ hands while the dudes are crouched below pretending they’re not there, and he plays it as serious as a car crash. He even told director Brian Henson as much when they met, apparently saying:

“I will never wink, I will never do anything Muppety. I am going to play Scrooge as if it is an utterly dramatic role and there are no puppets around me.”

And that decision is why the movie works so well. Because if Michael Caine buys that he’s surrounded by sentient humanoid felt animals, you buy it. The most ridiculous, fantastical, over-the-top science fiction and fantasy stories live or die by the actors playing in them. You can have a tight script and expensive sets, but if your cast are all winking at the camera through the character – telling your audience look at all this silly shit I’m doing! – then it’s never going to work.

Acting in Star Wars, Not Playing Star Wars

I feel like a lot of these new movies and Disney+ shows are plagued with this exact problem, except the actors are not peeking out from their characters to look down on the work. Instead they’re all like giddy children. Look at me! I’m playing in a Star Wars! I’m a Storm Trooper! Howdy howdy howdy!

Everything about The Force Awakens or Obi Wan Kenobi feels like it knows its doing a Star War and its fucking stoked about it. Not just the actors, either. The tone, the writing, the plot, the music, the direction everything. All the little callbacks, the way every single actor who has a chance to has slipped into Storm Trooper armor, all the direct looks into the camera and little pauses when something important to a Star Wars viewer happens but in-universe shouldn’t matter at all.

It all adds up to a Star Wars production that is so exited to be a Star Wars production that it can’t help but try to play the scene and grin at you about being a Star Wars at the same time. And that ends up putting more distance between the universe and the viewer. If the actors are constantly high-fiving you because they have a lightsaber it becomes hard to be fully immersed.

This wasn’t even an issue I realized I had with most of the recent Star Wars stuff until Andor. It feels like someone finally understood the assignment. The utter joy at telling a story in the Star Wars universe is shown in the way they utilize and expand on the universe. For a show that’s a prequel to a movie that was The Most Direct Prequel Ever to the first movie, there’s hardly any direct references to any of the other media. The few characters who do show up are smaller characters from smaller works who function within the confines of this new story and not, I don’t know, the same people from the same families we always see even though this galaxy is huge and holy shit, we finally finally didn’t go to Tatoo-fucking-ine hallelujah.

The fact that they got Stellan Skarsgård to be in one of these things is a gift from the gods above in the first place, but the reason Luthen Rael is such a powerful character isn’t solely because he’s played by Skarsgård. It’s because Skarsgård isn’t constantly showing us how excited he is to be playing a key man in the Star Wars rebellion. Instead he’s out here pretending the Muppets surrounding him are other Shakespearean stage actors and this is the most important work he’s ever done in his life. Same goes for the rest of the cast, for the director, for the tone, the music, etc. Everyone focused on making a good show first, a Star Wars show second.

The Future of Long Ago

Like I said, I don’t need every new Star Wars thing to have this sort of political thriller tone. They should absolutely continue doing fun family-friendly adventures. The only thing I ask is that everyone involved calm the fuck down and focus less on the Star Wars aspect and more on the ‘good content’ aspect.

After all, Star Wars is pretty fucking cool, but only in our universe. Actually living in the Star Wars, especially in the time Andor is set, seems to suck ass.

What I Want in Video Games

I’ve always said I’m not afraid of putting a game into easy mode to have a better time playing, but I recently realized it goes deeper than that. Turns out, I generally don’t care about the actual gameplay. At all.

Mostly by that I mean fighting gameplay, which is of course most of it in every game ever. I almost never actually engage with the fighting system. I don’t take time to learn the cool moves. Hell, I barely learn how to block and parry. I rush in like that nine year old girl in elementary school who would fight the boys by balling her fists and swinging her arms in giant windmills, take all of my damage like a man with an endless supply of healing potions, and then once it’s over I’m like, phew, glad that’s done, time to get back to the game.

Because the fighting isn’t actually the game for me. Everything else is. Here’s a stupid little list of everything I actually look for in a game.

Compelling Story

And by ‘compelling’ I mean ‘something I can hyperfixate on for weeks or months.’ I’m talking playing so much I dream about it, dissecting it, posting about it on Tumblr and reblogging everything I can find, and even, I don’t know, becoming so obsessed I crochet an entirely too-large blanket about it.

I need characters that are going to draw me in, plots that thicken and thicken until they turn into an excellent gravy, and maybe just a touch of corniness. Just a little dab.

Give me options. Give me relationships. Give me romance. Sweep me off my feet, Sony! When’s the last time we even went dancing?

And not just for the main storyline! No, I want lots of side plots, too! Side characters with stories so rich and compelling in a lesser game they would be the main character. People I can make friends with, or people I can hate so much that I simply open fire on them every time I see them whether that works in the game or not.

As a complete aside, I don’t like first person shooters so I watched my husband play Fallout 4 instead of playing it myself, and I blame the fact that he found the Institute and didn’t immediately start killing everyone for the ulcer I’m still trying to heal.

Of course, we’ll need a big stage for all these characters, which mean’s well need a:

Big Open World

I’ve noticed in the past year or so there seems to be some sort of mild backlash against open world games fueled by video game reviewers whose entire job is to play video games as fast as possible so they can write something about it, get paid, and move onto the next video game.

I’m not judging this line of work! I’m simply questioning if its conducive to open world games. When they level legitimate criticisms at these games I of course understand, but when they criticize things that are inherent to open world games, like the length of the game and the amount of ‘useless’ side quests I wonder if maybe they simply don’t like open world games (which is fine!) and if maybe part of that dislike stems from the fact that, due to their profession, they don’t actually have the time to do all the fucking around you’re supposed to.

Anyway, I’m not a games critic and I can play games at my own pace, and my own pace is ‘pick an open world game and live in it for anywhere from six months to five years.’ Basically every time I get into a game I become one of those people from a decade back who suffered from depression because Pandora from Avatar wasn’t real. I have spent hundreds of hours in Final Fantasy XV, Horizon Zero Dawn, GTA V, Red Dead Redemption 2, Death Stranding, Horizon Forbidden West, and of course, Breath of the Wild, which I have replayed every summer for four years.

I love huge maps. I love finding new NPCs to talk to. I love exploring the wilderness. And get that stupid horse out of my face because I usually prefer doing it all on foot so I can pick up literally every single mushroom and healing plant I can stuff into my physics-defying satchel. What’s that, Random NPC? You haven’t seen your daughter since she went into the Bad Woods/need a monster that’s been raiding your livestock killed/are demanding several dozens of mushroom? Fucking on it. You can count on me, because I will do every single side quest I can find before moving the plot forward, usually resulting in me being so over-leveled I can kill the mini-boss with nothing more than charm and a low level sword. Which is good, because:

I’m Here For a Good Time, Not a Hard Time

I’m easily frustrated and if I’m playing video games for fun I don’t want be frustrated. I want to, you know, have fun.

And this is entirely a ‘me’ thing. I mean, this whole article is, but this part in particular. My husband loves the Soulsborne type games, to the point where I think his feelings toward Bloodborne might actually count as an emotional affair. I’ve sat there watching him, fighting the same boss over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and then he finally beats him and my husband needs to step outside for a cigarette. He loves that progression of getting slightly better every time, learning the enemy’s moves and how to avoid and parry them, and getting just a little more of that health bar down before he once again dies and he has to trot back to the fight to start again.

I fucking don’t. As is the whole thesis of this article, I’m not here to learn which buttons to mash to pull off a perfect parry, I’m here to comfortably experience basically everything else. Every time GTA V offered to let me skip a mission I’d biffed a bunch I would accept it immediately. If I have to fight any boss more than three times maximum I get so frustrated I go do something else, either in the game or in real life. Which is why I love an easy mode. I fucking loved me some Jedi: Fallen Order but after I got my ass handed to me a few times by that frog thingy in the first level I dropped the difficulty level down so fast Cal Lightsaber got tangled up in his pink poncho.

Which leads me to my next point:

Gonna Dress You Up In My Love

In real life I am strictly jeans and t-shirts. One year, my new year’s resolution was to learn how to dress more fashionably, but that year was 2020 and, well, yeah. That didn’t happen. I prefer to be comfortable. I don’t wear makeup or jewelry and all of my shoes are either sneakers, snow boots, or Toms. And it’s unfortunate but I really do have to say this: I’m not saying any of this to try and prove that I’m somehow better than women who do dress fashionably and wear makeup and do their hair and know how to match their jewelry to the rest of their outfit. I thankfully dropped the instinct to be not like the other girls over ten years ago. I’m only explaining how I am in real life to really highlight the irony that one of my favorite things to do in video games is dress up my character.

I don’t care about stats, or buffs, or perks. I care about aesthetics. While wandering around this giant new world, fighting monsters and making friends, I want my character to look good. And also weather appropriate. Every time it started to rain in Final Fantasy XV I had to change all four of the boys into their rainy day clothes, and you better believe Aloy wears long sleeves when she’s trudging through the snow in both Horizon games.

I cannot even count the amount of times I’ve gotten destroyed in what should have been an easy fight because my favorite looking outfit is one of the basic ones with absolutely no extra protections. I was super excited when Horizon Forbidden West updated to include that process where you can wear one outfit to get the buffs but make it look like any other outfit because then I could actually survive fights while wearing my common outfit.

I did not appreciate the outfit choices in Jedi: Fallen Order. Basically the same outfit in several different color schemes and then approximately three dozen ponchos? Ponchos? First of all, I prefer third person shooters to first person shooters because when I’m playing I am exclusively staring at my character’s ass so please don’t give me a bunch of different options for covering it up. Secondly…ponchos. Do you know the trauma Cal Lightsaber has been through? Any man that lived through Order 66 deserves so much more than a poncho.

I want a lot of stylish options for my characters, because I’m going to be spending a lot of time in:

Photo Mode

Another irony. I’m terrible at taking pictures. I have no training. I’m not even good at applying filters for fuck’s sake. But put me in a game with photo mode and that’s going to be, like, half my playtime.

I have literally hundreds of photos taken in both Horizon games, and dozens in any other game I’ve played that offers a photo mode. I will spend minutes on end constructing the perfect shot, playing with the time of day, the filters, the staging. I have thrust Aloy into dire situations in unwinnable fights because the shot is going to look cool. And then exited photo mode to immediately get punched in the face by a robot Spinosaurus and die. Because I was wearing a good looking but unbuffed outfit and art is sacrifice.

Every video game should have a photo mode. It’s free advertising. It’s the players spending time and effort to make your game look as good as possible and then posting it on social media. I still say Elden Ring should have a dedicated photo mode, but to keep in the spirit of the game it shouldn’t pause while you’re setting up your shot. So the entire time you’re messing with staging and filters you run the risk of some idiot in a weird helmet riding up behind you and stabbing you through the neck. Maybe then I’d actually play it.

Ghost Train

The train that used to run on the tracks behind the Rambling Jackalope Motel and Casino was just like Emmet’s wife: long gone and never coming back. Well, not just like his wife. He doubted that old steam train had left for a realtor in Lake Tahoe.

It had left stuff behind, too, something Sheryl hadn’t done, neither. She’d gone so far as to take the pennies out of his truck’s cupholders and that painting on the wall of the sailboat. Emmet had liked that boat. He’s bought a few to try and replace it but none of them had quite had that same feeling. Calm. Lonely.

But the train had left its tracks and tiny station. Antiques, really. Ain’t run for decades, not since Emmet was a tot and it quit before he was barely walking on his own. The highway had come in, see. For a while there, that was all it took. Four lanes and a few exits and nobody wanted to train travel anymore. They wanted rubber under their feet and the same greasy burger every three exits.

Emmet wasn’t bitter or nothing. Not really. Without the highway he wouldn’t have his motel. What he really wished was that he could get rid of the leavings. They kept telling the wrong sort of story, and the wrong people kept on listening.

The little bell over the front door rang as the door crashed into it, first one way, then the other. Broke Emmet out of staring at the boat on his wall. It was closer than the rest of them but not quite right. There was too much sun. It wasn’t the mood he wanted. Why, the people on that boat were probably have a nice sort of day. Drinking and swimming and carrying on and all that. The boat Emmet wanted only had one person on it, and they was wondering if they’d ever see land again.

Little family had come in. Mom, Dad, two kids, squirts really, somewhere between five and ten. Maybe older. Emmet and Sheryl had never had kids, although he heard Sheryl had already had three with this realtor fellow.

“Good afternoon,” the Dad said, and Emmet winced. Interal-like only, anyway, he didn’t want to make a face and scare away customers.

Or maybe he did.

He was a plain looking man, round face and close cut brown hair and a bit of a gut from working a desk job if Emmet had to guess. His wife was the sort his mama had always called ‘handsome.’ Strong chin and cheeks, as tall as her husband, shoulders and arms that said she never had to ask when she wanted to move furniture. They both wore stern looks only Emmet could tell that was just their faces and they were actually having a fairly good day. The kids had peeled off to the case with all them brochures and was excitedly reading through a couple, babbling in syllables Emmet only sort-of recognized.

This was why Emmet had wanted to wince and didn’t. The man’s good afternoon had come out in an accent. He weren’t American. None of them was. Emmet couldn’t quite tell where – even after all this time he still had trouble telling a German from a Dutch from a Swiss from a whatever else was over there across this continent and then across the Atlantic and then across that other continent but it didn’t really matter.

European.

Fuck.

Emmet put on his best customer service smile anyway. Maybe it would be all right, this time.

“Howdy,” he said, less because he wanted to and more because it was expected. And yes, as predicted, the couple’s faces split into smiles at hearing the yokel colloquialism. “Got a reservation?”

They did, in fact, have a reservation. Mr. and Mrs. Fischer, all the way from…well, Germany, anyway. They said a town name, and then they named a bigger town nearby that Emmet suspected of hearing before but honestly his hearing wasn’t what it had been and he couldn’t quite make out what the syllables were doing and after all of that it didn’t really matter, did it? The Fischers were visiting him, not the other way around.

“Room keys, you’re in 204. That’s out back, facing the pool, second floor. There’s vending machines and ice machines near the stairs. Laundry room is out this door and to the left. Pool closes an hour after dark, opens again at dawn. Here’s a parking tag for your car. You need maps? Here’s one for town, got all the good places to eat ‘n’ shop and some tourist attraction stuff. And here’s a bigger one with all the good hiking places. This dot right here? That’s the motel.”

It was his usual speech. Nothing fancy, and he’d been saying it to new guests for longer than he cared to remember. He could say it without thinking. Which is what he was doing. While his mouth was moving around one set of words, his brain was chanting a whole nother.

Don’t ask about the train. Please don’t ask about that train. Please don’t. Just don’t. Ain’t nothing about that train you’ll like so please just don’t ask.

Once the Fischers were sorted Mrs. Fischer gestured out the window.

“And how often does the train run?”

Every time. American tourists, Canadian, Mexican, anyone from around here knew better than to ask. Ain’t no running trains, not anymore. Europeans, though…

“It don’t,” Emmet said. “Sorry. Ain’t run for decades.”

He almost let them go with that. That was the truth, wasn’t it? And wasn’t that his only duty? To tell the truth?

It was a cop-out and he knew it. Maybe it wouldn’t change nothing. Maybe it wouldn’t.

“Ma’am? Sir?”

The family stopped at the doorway, the kids already running around out front.

“Look, I mean it when I say that train don’t run, okay? You got your rental, you take that everywhere. Even if you see a train in the station, you don’t get on it. Understand?”

The husband and wife conversed a bit in German, so quiet Emmet wouldn’t have gotten much if they were speaking in English anyway. He could tell they were confused. This conversation wasn’t over. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, after all. Maybe it wouldn’t have come for them.

It comes for everybody. These Europeans don’t know well enough to stay off it.

“I am sorry,” Mr. Fischer said, slowly. “We do not understand. Does a train come to the station or not?”

Emmet sighed. He’d gone this far. They’d just think he was eccentric, anyway.

“No train comes to the station. But something that looks like a train does. Sometimes. And this fellow on it, he’ll tell you he’s taking you where you need to go. But he ain’t, okay? That ain’t no train and that ain’t no conductor.”

“This is…I’m sorry…a joke of some sort?” Mr. Fischer asked. Clearly confused but keeping a smile on his face, as though to say I could laugh, too, if you’d only explain. Trying to be polite.

“Ain’t no joke. Sorry. It’s hard to explain. Just…please, drive everywhere, okay? Ignore the trains. We don’t do trains in America, not anymore, so why don’t you blend in and drive?”

They looked at him. Talked to each other again in those low tones. Looked again, and gave him a bland sort of smile. He’d heard that Germans don’t smile as much as Americans – or were that Russians? Or both? Turned out that maybe you’re crazy smile wasn’t cultural. It was just human. They gave him brief goodbyes and left.

Maybe they’ll listen, he thought as he watched them go.

Bright and early the next morning, while Emmet was in the back office watching the coffee drip from the basket into the scratched up pot, he heard it. It was a rather unmistakable sound even before all this started. Probably everyone on earth knew it. Anyone that had ever watched TV, anyhow.

Dread made his neck and shoulders stiffen and he abandoned the trickle of coffee. Rushed through the door from the back office to the little lobby, past the boat painting and around the desk, and through the door into the mounting early morning heat.

There was a train parked in front of the little station, shimmering in the sun. Never mind the track was completely broken up a quarter mile up, and broke up again a couple miles down. There it sat, white steam pouring out the top like a chimney.

And there was that family, the Fischers, Mom and Dad and the kids, climbing aboard while that thing that looked like a man ushered them on.

“Very good!” the father was saying. “Everyone back home told us there were no trains in America.”

“I assure you my good man, there are!” that thing said. He glanced over his shoulder, directly at Emmet, and winked. “You just have to know where to look.”

Emmet thought about yelling. Running after them. Trying to pull them off. But to be completely honest, Emmet was scared down to the bone. He’d never gone nearer to that train than he had to, and he didn’t intend to, neither. How close did he have to get for it to take him, too? He’d tried his best to warn that family, he really did. Americans would have understood. Europeans…

The door shut and the train whistle blew, and then that train was chugging along right past where Emmet stood.

He stood in front of his little lobby and watched it go. Through one of the windows in the middle car he could see the Fischers. The Mrs. gave him a little wave, maybe looked a little smug. Like he’d been lying and now she could show him the truth.

The Mr. though. His face showed it all. He hadn’t remembered their curious conversation from the day before. Not until he saw Emmet standing there. The German glanced around the train car, looking for the moment it would all melt away.

And it would. Just not in front of Emmet.

He watched until he couldn’t see that shimmer on the horizon anymore. He’d take their rental out into the desert. Easier than talking to the police again.

Next time, he’d just be straight and use the words ghost train. Then, maybe, even those tourists used to trains would listen to him when he’d tell him to stay the hell off.

Stupid Rich Asshole Went Shopping

Chance Rapids didn’t understand.

He was in the middle of the giant ball pit on the north side of his office and he’d been there all day. He had his phone, of course, to call his assistant if he needed anything. And to endlessly scroll the internet.

By his own logic he should be the most beloved human on the face of the planet. He was super rich – the richest on the planet depending on the time of day – and super classy. No! Super cool. Look up the definition of ‘cool’ in the dictionary and you would find his perfect face with its chiseled jaw and totally-not-receding-and-never-had-been-receding hairline. He’d gotten the dictionary made special. It sat on a pedestal on the other side of his office, between his desk and the Slip ‘n’ Slide, open in the middle so visitors would see how smart he was. Of course, the page it was open to had the ‘cool’ entry on it. He always made sure to casually steer his guests over to the dictionary so they would see it.

He’d had the thing reprinted five times, each with his face a little bigger, until finally people started noticing.

It was a cool thing to do! Because he was! Cool! People only needed to notice. That was the real problem. People never seemed to notice.

He thought they’d notice after he went on that super cool podcast and openly smoked a joint. He barely coughed! And sure, some people thought he was cool. But those people always thought he was cool, and it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t be enough until everyone on the planet recognized how cool he was and it should have fucking happened by now.

Chance picked up one of the little plastic balls and tried to whip it at the target he’d placed on the wall for this exact occasion. It instead hit the popcorn machine several feet away.

If the podcast didn’t work, he was sure the moon thing was going to work. His entire face on the moon! How could it not? The moon is cool! Everyone loves the moon. So putting his face across the side that faces the earth should have shown everyone how cool he was. It was like he was looking down on the planet like a protective guardian. He’d even said as much in the press release. Everyone on the board of both of his companies had assured him that this would be the move that would make the world realize that Chance Rapids was their friend.

Instead he’d been hounded by hate mail, memes on the internet, and an entire congressional hearing to see if it was even legal. They had fined him. The hate on the internet hadn’t stopped. And then, if that hadn’t been bad enough, they had forced his company to pay for the NASA trip to go back to the moon and clean it up. Now he could only see his face if he squinted.

There was a silver lining to it all, anyway. The world had finally shown its hand. The real reason the people didn’t like him. He had always suspected but never let himself fully believe. His fans had whispered it to him, on forums and Reddit, but he had shied away. Surely, it couldn’t be that big.

But it was. It really was. There was an actual conspiracy to get people to not like him. From the government. Those turds on the left who simply didn’t like a man who had earned every penny of the money his dad had given him when he turned eighteen. They were warping the public’s mind, feverishly proceeding with a decades-long smear campaign to make people think he was some evil billionaire who didn’t pay his employees well enough and fostered a company atmosphere where saying the n-word was okay, and worse – that he was a dork.

“I’m not a dork!” he shouted, whipping another ball across the room. This one hit a lamp.

It had taken him roughly fifteen minutes to see what he had to do, and he set about doing it: he bought PingPong. That was where those hateful lefties hidden in the shadows were doing their worst work. It was so obvious, so simple! Buy it out using shares from one of his other companies, and…

Well, if he was right, that would be all it took! Once the leash was off PingPong and the lies stopped, the people could show their real feelings. Those bad-faith actors, afraid of his new power over the site, would stop making those awful memes and jokes, and then the people would stop sharing them. Their true feelings would come out, and, finally free of those puppet strings, the people would be able to tell Chance how much they really loved him. Maybe he’d even get his face back on the moon.

He scrolled through PingPong and tried his very big-boy best not to cry. The memes hadn’t stopped. The jokes hadn’t stopped. The articles hadn’t stopped. In fact, they had all gotten worse. Everyone was mocking him now, all the time. No matter what he did, it seemed to backfire.

First he fired all the people at PingPong he suspected was working on the smear campaign. More than half the company, but he had to be sure. But the jokes didn’t stop and the firings were all the articles were talking about, even though he had, on the same day as the layoffs, gone surfing at the beach without a shirt around and flexed a lot for the paparazzi. None of the articles were about his abs.

So he went after the journalists. Chance had always hated them anyway – always reporting on the normal, everyday stuff he did like pretending he was going to create some futuristic high speed rail to keep an actual train from being built in his state, and not the super cool stuff he did, like pretending he was going to build a rocket bobsled to rescue that soccer team that had crashed in the Andes. They were the real villains, the ones ruining his reputation. But he couldn’t go after them directly, oh no, he had to be sneaky.

They saw through him immediately. Taking away their identity protection was supposed to be sly, but these asshole journalists had him pegged within the hour. It was clear to him now – there was a mole in the company. He’d laid off half of the people left.

And now the website was falling apart and this was somehow his fault, too! The jokes kept coming. They kept making memes. They kept impersonating him and when he kicked them off they yelled about free speech! It was so frustrating! Chance couldn’t figure it out!

“When will people know how cool I am!” he wailed into his three thousand square foot office.