pill.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Like, they are way ahead of us with this stuff in Japan but it’s going to hit the American markets soon.” As Rich talks, rap blares, something heavily dependent on
barking. Rich almost sounds like he’s doing a sales pitch: “You take it, you know,
ingest
it, and the quantum computer, which is inside the pill, travels through your bloodstream
and up into you brain. Then it sits in your brain and assists you.”
“How?”
“It’s preprogrammed. Once it gets up there, it tells you how to be cool all the time. It interacts with your brain as if it were a voice talking to you.”
“Are you for real?”
“See, if you were squipped, you wouldn’t say that,” Rich smirks. “You wouldn’t use outdated terminology and clunky phrasing like that.”
“Ah…”
“And I gotta say, I’m personally sorry for treating you like a piece of garbage all the time.” Rich looks humble and reverent. “I only do it because my squip tells me to.
It advised me that I’d have to be a dick to you for social reasons, but recently it started saying that you were a decent guy actually who might want a squip of your own.”
“Uh…apology accepted,” I gurgle. The DJ has put on a slow song and Christine and Jake are kissing (hooking up) on the dance floor, but I don’t care. I’m rapt.
“So this is like, a real thing. You aren’t BS-ing me.”
“Once again, you wouldn’t say ‘BS-ing’ if you had one,” Rich says. “And yeah, it’s real. This one I have here was going to be bought by Ryu tonight, but
he never showed.”
“How long does it last?”
“I think it’s permanent. I’ve had mine four months. Now, do you even remember me four months ago?”
“It was summer.”
“Right, but what about last year?”
“Last year I didn’t see you much.”
“Nobody saw me, because I was busy jerking off on the Internet, I was such a loser,” Rich explains. “My squip fixed that, okay?”
“Huh.”
“Squips are awesome. Mine is actually off right now, because I’m talking to you and not some hottie, but when it’s on, it’s great.…First thing it did was instruct
me how to get consistent ass. It was very specific. Then it told me to start doing sports to cut my muscles a little and make me appeal to girls more. Then it told me who to piss off and who to be
friends with, of which you were a minor part. Then it got me with all three of the Hot Girls to solidify my social standing. It hasn’t let up.”
“Damn. You’ve been with all
three
of them?” It might be the scotch or a contact high from Eric’s eyebrow, but I don’t think Rich is lying. I think there
might have been a reason for me to be here tonight, besides Christine, who’s the real reason for everything. Somebody has made a pill for idiots like me and now all I need is—
“Where do I get one?” I ask about ten times more eagerly than I would have liked. (Will my squip fix that?)
“Why do you think I’m telling you all this?” Rich asks. “You get one through
me
. I got a supplier who exports leather down at the bowling alley in New
Brunswick—”
“The big bowling alley?”
“Yeah. Now this guy’s from Ghana, so he’s not around all the time, but I can reserve a pill for you. I would need two hundred now, four hundred when it comes in.”
“Um…” My brain struggles with 200 + 400 = ? “I don’t have six hundred bucks.”
“You’re screwed, then!” Rich says gleefully. Then he puts a hand on my shoulder. “No, seriously, not really; maybe we could work something out. Talk to me or Keith back
at school.”
“Keith the football player? With the tattoos?”
“God, you really need one, Jeremy. Yes, with the tattoos. He knows.”
“Okay. Cool,” I say.
“Most definitely. I mean we could all use a little thing in our brains getting us laid by high school girls all the time, right?”
“I could.”
“Yeah. So keep in touch. And in the meantime, you want me to
“Really?”
“Yeah. Like, they are way ahead of us with this stuff in Japan but it’s going to hit the American markets soon.” As Rich talks, rap blares, something heavily dependent on
barking. Rich almost sounds like he’s doing a sales pitch: “You take it, you know,
ingest
it, and the quantum computer, which is inside the pill, travels through your bloodstream
and up into you brain. Then it sits in your brain and assists you.”
“How?”
“It’s preprogrammed. Once it gets up there, it tells you how to be cool all the time. It interacts with your brain as if it were a voice talking to you.”
“Are you for real?”
“See, if you were squipped, you wouldn’t say that,” Rich smirks. “You wouldn’t use outdated terminology and clunky phrasing like that.”
“Ah…”
“And I gotta say, I’m personally sorry for treating you like a piece of garbage all the time.” Rich looks humble and reverent. “I only do it because my squip tells me to.
It advised me that I’d have to be a dick to you for social reasons, but recently it started saying that you were a decent guy actually who might want a squip of your own.”
“Uh…apology accepted,” I gurgle. The DJ has put on a slow song and Christine and Jake are kissing (hooking up) on the dance floor, but I don’t care. I’m rapt.
“So this is like, a real thing. You aren’t BS-ing me.”
“Once again, you wouldn’t say ‘BS-ing’ if you had one,” Rich says. “And yeah, it’s real. This one I have here was going to be bought by Ryu tonight, but
he never showed.”
“How long does it last?”
“I think it’s permanent. I’ve had mine four months. Now, do you even remember me four months ago?”
“It was summer.”
“Right, but what about last year?”
“Last year I didn’t see you much.”
“Nobody saw me, because I was busy jerking off on the Internet, I was such a loser,” Rich explains. “My squip fixed that, okay?”
“Huh.”
“Squips are awesome. Mine is actually off right now, because I’m talking to you and not some hottie, but when it’s on, it’s great.…First thing it did was instruct
me how to get consistent ass. It was very specific. Then it told me to start doing sports to cut my muscles a little and make me appeal to girls more. Then it told me who to piss off and who to be
friends with, of which you were a minor part. Then it got me with all three of the Hot Girls to solidify my social standing. It hasn’t let up.”
“Damn. You’ve been with all
three
of them?” It might be the scotch or a contact high from Eric’s eyebrow, but I don’t think Rich is lying. I think there
might have been a reason for me to be here tonight, besides Christine, who’s the real reason for everything. Somebody has made a pill for idiots like me and now all I need is—
“Where do I get one?” I ask about ten times more eagerly than I would have liked. (Will my squip fix that?)
“Why do you think I’m telling you all this?” Rich asks. “You get one through
me
. I got a supplier who exports leather down at the bowling alley in New
Brunswick—”
“The big bowling alley?”
“Yeah. Now this guy’s from Ghana, so he’s not around all the time, but I can reserve a pill for you. I would need two hundred now, four hundred when it comes in.”
“Um…” My brain struggles with 200 + 400 = ? “I don’t have six hundred bucks.”
“You’re screwed, then!” Rich says gleefully. Then he puts a hand on my shoulder. “No, seriously, not really; maybe we could work something out. Talk to me or Keith back
at school.”
“Keith the football player? With the tattoos?”
“God, you really need one, Jeremy. Yes, with the tattoos. He knows.”
“Okay. Cool,” I say.
“Most definitely. I mean we could all use a little thing in our brains getting us laid by high school girls all the time, right?”
“I could.”
“Yeah. So keep in touch. And in the meantime, you want me to
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