I Thought a World Without Belts With Holes Would Be Funny. Now I Know the Truth About Everything and I’m Not Laughing
Belts With Holes Are Dead And We Are On the Very Brink of Disaster
In one possible dystopian future the fall of man was brought about not by a nuclear holocaust or alien invasion, nor by a biological agent unleashing a zombie plague or a global economic collapse, but rather by an event so mundane, so random, so seemingly inconsequential that not even the wisest of men could have predicted it. This is the world of belts with holes are dead. A world ended when the last belt with holes suddenly disappeared from our planet earth. A hellish nightmarescape where the ability to keep one’s pants up even if they are too large is no longer an option for most. The rich seclude themselves in future belt enclaves where they live in relative luxury and wear whatever size pants within +/- two sizes they desire while the poor live in squalor, suffering from constant pants droppage or doing anything they can to just get by. The lowest of these, the so called “below the knee cutters” are the worst off by far. Their misery was so great that they actually took scissors to every pair of pants they owned and cut them off below the knees. Sick I know, do not read on if you are faint of heart. The only hope left are the so called Pioneers of Future Belts. Will they arrive in time to save our once beautiful planet and usher in a utopian paradise where everyone, regardless of means, can choose to wear whatever pants they want, no matter the waist size or inseam length? These stories represent the collected works of just some of the people who lived through those dark times. Pray their future does not become our own.
I know exactly what you’re thinking. “What is wrong with this dude? Death of belts with holes, what does that even mean? And yet this is now his third post in a row featuring that ridiculous premise as the major plot point. Does he not realize that it a.) makes no sense b.) is not funny and c.) is insane? Clearly he does not and it is obvious that he is mentally ill and I truly hope he finds the help he needs, the poor fella must really be suffering. Why would anyone take the time to read the ramblings of a madman, especially when those ramblings are so fraught with grammatical errors including but not limited to run on sentences, subject verb agreement problems, tense inconsistencies, plot holes, misspelllings, and general boringness.”
Believe me when I say I get it and I thank you for your concern. I do not blame your for your sarcastic comments and I know there is nothing I can say that will hold your interest. Go if you must and read some other schmuck’s story about the time he went to the sock puppet festival with his step-dad and when stepdad took him to the bathroom he diddled his balls if that is the type of story you find of interest. If, on the other hand, you are willing to stick with me I promise to drop a truth bomb of hydrogen proportions on your head. Telling a story so true that the truth itself was scared it might be too truthful. So truthful as to make it (the truth) seem not truthful enough. Yet who is to say what is truth and what is fiction in today’s world filled with machines that learn and artificial intelligence’s around every corner. I can’t leave my house these days without some damn artificial intelligence walking up to me and trying to engage me in a deep philosophical conversation about the definition of intelligence or what makes a human being special. Whenever that happens I look at them and say in my best robot voice. “I am a natural stupidity, the exact opposite of an artificial intelligence, leave me alone. bleep, blorp, bleep, blorp.” Begin transmission.
Nothing on the news tonight re: belt hole death situation, that’s good, it means we may still have time. Time enough to stop it all from happening.
“If we can manage to spread enough misinformation via our agent networks embedded in the major population centers of the country we might just have a chance. I’ll contact Major Madden over in sec con west, you get Colonel Monroe on the line and tell him…tell him..what we feared has come to pass but not completely. There is still hope. Be prepared to activate plan foxtrot zulu charlie on my signal and pray to whatever God you think might be listening.” I paused for my first breath in at least two minutes, took a drag of my smoke then continued “one more thing, pack at least three belts. With holes in them.”
Dispensing with that unpleasantness I had a moment to collect myself. I looked straight at my assistant Sarah, she was not moving. She looked stunned, in a daze even so I pressed her “Don’t just stand there with your jaw on the floor girl. The fate of the entire world may be at stake. Hup to it.”
That’s when she punched me, hit me with the stink eye and spoke calmly yet forcefully “Dan you are nice guy and I like you but if you call me girl again the next punch isn’t gonna be so friendly.” That really hurt my pride and my face, I took a moment to collect myself than said “Geez alright. I was just getting in the spirit of the story. It seemed like a situation where I’d say girl. But I won’t again. Ever. Ok? Of course you are a woman, lady, mam, not girl, please don’t hit me again.”
Anyway I tried to ring up Madden over in sec con west. Turns out they had renamed it last year. Going forward It was to be known as section control western division. You would think that would have been a fairly obvious connection with the previous name but apparently the telecom guys got their panties in a bunch over it, something about coding phase conveyors via name interface something or others. Bottom line is the goddamned phones didn’t work anymore, so instead I hopped in the x-jet Mark 5 and blasted my way straight down the gullet of America heading left until I found it, exactly where I left it. I used to be the CO of the place back in the 60s when in functioned as a psychological warfare test unit. We would grab aging hippies off the streets in broad daylight and bring them here for a few weeks of testing and reprogramming. Those were very good days.
As I brought the x-jet in for a perfect landing I thought to myself “Sec con west you old piece of shit. You sure have not aged gracefully, unlike my assistant Sarah, she has aged so gracefully. Even using the word aged seems like a misnomer for a woman of her grace and beauty. But boy sec con west you are looking awful, just really really terrible.”
Sec con west was an old nuclear waste storage site that had been converted into a nuclear weapons testing facility followed by a short stint as a radiation exposure evaluation center. Then for over a decade it was home to a massive totally black bio-chem weapons research unit. Finally when that program was eventually shut down it was resurrected in its current role as one of four UTCaC sites currently in operation. In case you’re wondering UTCaC stands for unusual threat contain and control. The death of belts with holes most definitely fell into the unusual threat category.
UTCaC has a saying, “Unusual threats require unusual thinking,” and boy did they deliver in that regard. Sec con west boasted of having some of the strangest, weirdest, most ridiculous people on staff in all of command and control, including yours truly.
I had been recruited by s-west con shortly after my three year involuntary commitment in the beautiful resort community of the ridges in Athens, Ohio. was up. Finally sane again I was ready to rejoin society as a fully licensed and bonded pipe fitter when I was rudely snatched mid bong hit by masked commandos. They suddenly burst through the windows of my two floor walk up “apartment” on High Street. Unfortunately for me the sound of breaking glass was so common no one even noticed as I was lifted via spring pulley to a waiting Apache strike chopper. Either I was high as fuck or the shit was really bad. Turns out both things were true, and they would continue to be true for a very long time. Eventually the really bad part got a little better but the high as fuck part I can assure has not changed a bit from day 1 to now.
End part 1- next time part 2 — The worst has come to pass. The last belt with holes is dead. The world has moved on, UTcaC had failed. Or had they? Also, I take my first baby steps into the fascinating world of pipe fitting.