Two excepts from TheSusie Future
This article is the beginning of my book, TheSusie FashionText, as seen in:
My novel is my work of fiction. My names, characters, places, and incidents are products of my imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is coincidental.
__Two Excerpts from 5&6__
“Susie, I’m just saying that data’s the new word reserve currency, so don’t worry about your car,” said TC, in a voice that was less lighthearted than it needed be, to not sound creepy, as I hung up.
“Don’t worry,” said Heather, while looking at me with side eyes, at the outset of summer S2010 in LA.
But then I asked, “Will ya take care of my race car for a while?”
“Just don’t say too much about us in your book,” she replied, as I put my key fob into her hand.
And so I told her, “No worries, I’ll just frame you as my editor.”
“Hey, can we stop the car,” said Heather to our driver.
“Really?” I said, as Zyla, who was wearing a cropped cardigan and S90s sunglasses, put down her phone and started mirroring our energy, from her perch in between us.
“Sorry to dump you again, but I’m gonna ask Carla to use our tow truck to bring your Gerrari out here, so you can teach us how to drive it, and then I’ll take you to LAX,” said Heather, while using Zyla’s phone to update our destination.
“That’s a lot of framing stuff,” I commented.
“We’re just giving you the Addleback of mobile platforms for writers, in case you need it,” said Heather, while putting her arm around Zyla.
“And you want to play Bob Bridge-builder now too,” I said, as they doubled down, by using Chat-we-be-me to visualize our immediate future.
“Why do you wanna write a book about us?” said Heather, as our dark Serhades with tinted windows took the next off ramp, so that Heat and I could grab coffee at a Jar-o-bucks in Culver City, while waiting for our helicopter pilot and tow truck driver to bring my Gerrari out to us.
[(An AI-image Heather created on the fly, in order to communicate her intentions for Susie)]
But I said nothing more until we’d received our jars of joe, and then I asked, “Is Carla friends with TC?” as Zyla set off on a walk around the block.
“Be serious, Susie. I’ll let you use our alma mater as your publisher of last resort, but I just want to make sure someone’s validating your reality by offering a second opinion,” said Heat.
“The powers that be are gaslighting me, because all I know… is my friend’s’ve been warning me since forever ago that President Fay’s a serious woman, and so I went with her flow, just like I’m doing with you now.”
[(A mirror image of the opener, which Susie sent back to Heat after getting seated)]
“Why don’t you go public on TV? You’re so good at it,” deadpanned Heather.
“The hilarious American media doesn’t care about this story anymore. Do you?” I said, while feeling unhappy.
Heather paused, and then she said, “But isn’t it your own fault that you…”
“Don’t finish that sentence if you wanna continue being a force for good in my book,” I said, cutting her off.
“Who’s gonna be the bad guy in this book of yours?” said Heat.
“The solution’s to write my life story in a way where there’s no bad guy, and that’s what I’m gonna do, because I’m a real American journalist,” I said, while feeling even less happy.
“So who’s the bad gal, and don’t say the President, because she’s invincible,” pressed Heat, while eyeing a belly dancer who’d just walked into our Jar-o-bucks.
“There’s no point in singling anyone out, but name checking a centralized social media company could be an option,” I declared.
“Do you still think social media’s REDACTED?” implored Heat.
“Did you know TC’s friends with Conri-the-fossdresser?”
“Foss-dressing’s like French-dressing, Suz. It’s not going to be mainstream,” decreed Heat.
“What if we call it boss-dressing, instead?” I sassed.
“Just say, ‘Our friend Conri preferred for gender role reversal to become a big part of his life,’” said Heather, in response.
“Eek! That’s too many syllables, and role’s not the only paht some folks are ro-ves-ing, with or without silent r’s and a mahhked shot e,” I said, in my best English accent.
“Grrr! Just don’t mention we went to college in New REDACTED. Fictionalize that chic, ok?” said Heat.
“I’ll describe colleges as ‘blah, blah, blah area universities.’”
“That sounds very Zyla. Did you get that idea from her?” asked Heather, pointedly.
“She and I talk,” I replied, sweetly.
“Hey Susie, I graduated from a New Hampshire area university. Where’d you go?” said Heather.
“I never went to school in that area, but maybe that’s cause I passed by all the Boston area universities, so I could enroll at a Beyond the Pale area U,” I said, tongue-in-cheek.
“That’s definitely Zyla,” said Heather, while turning her head to look at me with one eye.
“Maybe Pale’s been her code name for our school since before my writer’s retreat with TC and maybe it hasn’t, but she’s always just done fantasy.”
“Are we using city, state, and place names journalistically?” said Heather, while looking back at me with both eyes.
“Like a heat map that shows where it’s at, from Atlanta to Chicago, but I’ll distribute our book as a custom app online, and so there’ll be a dictionary feature that allows people to consume my work while reading Mall St. as ‘Yall St.’ or my husband Ralph’s full name as ‘Cool George.’”
“Western-wise, you’ll need to be careful about displaying user generated content, Su-sie-na George, but if you say Ralph’s cool on the record, that could make waves, because I’ve never read otherwise,” said Heat, while imitating me.
“Chat-EEE says western-wise is a thing even though I’m pretty sure you made it up,” I said, while hitting her back with a mirror image of what she’d sent me on the road.
“What about sports teams, hon,” chided Heat, while composing another viz, in response.
“On the night when Ralph and I met, I hit it off with another jovial finance guy who took my boyfriend and I to the next game between the Boston Lead Blocks and the New York Jankees, but I wouldn’t wanna go that hard within the first few paragraphs, and so I’ll leave that detail out.”
“Right, because doing cars first, instead of teams, would be so much softer,” scoffed Heat, while intuiting that I was giddy to include a transcript of our present convo in my book — seeing as we’d been using nicknames for automotive brands since college.
And she’d definitely started it, with Hevy, Heistler, Hodge, Heep, and Hord, but then she gave me the evil eye.
“Whimsical names have applications for AI research. You’ll see,” I pressed, as my belly groaned.
“What about corporations like Hers and Marshey?” said Heat, while pulling imported chocolate out of her purse and sliding it onto our table.
“Corporate America will change for the best after some AI platforms wrap their large language models around my story, because our material will help them, assuming they have the brand liquidity to turn lemons into lemon bars,” I said, while feasting on some homemade from my suitcase.
“What about historical figures like Ben Franklin and, since we’re talking about journals for self-improvement, Marcus Aurelius?” asked Heat.
“I don’t wanna mess with Sappho or Socrates, but we could skew a lot of gender roles feminine. Especially among media people — they’ll understand it’s just fiction.”
“Fiction matters too,” said Heat, while sending along her latest AI-image of our fate in the cloud.
“Feminine power rules!” I replied.
“What about currencies like the Dollar and the Pound Sterling, Susie, remind me, how much Econ did you study?” asked Heather.
“The deeper opportunity with our app will be to represent concepts like dolls, bucks, dough, and bread as structured data and then allow people to explore transformations on overlapping conceptual spaces,” I said.
“Dimensionality reduction could lead to chain reactions in real-world legal and cultural contexts, but we can wing it and worry about that later, like economists often do,” said Heat, while flexing her biceps and making her face long.
“Principal component analysis might…” I said, while sitting up straighter than before, but then I was interrupted!
[(Another AI-image of their immediate future, featuring new word war storyboards)]
“Kaleidoscopic mode, this is Eagle,” said a voice behind my head, but then someone blind folded me and whispered, “Carla’s here.”
As Heather whispered into my other ear, “You can say ‘no’ but I think what you’d rather do is ride in your trunk to my local airport while Zyla drives our Gerrari, because she doesn’t think she knows enough to rename everything, and that might be for the best.”
I let my body go limp, while downplaying an urge to scream, and so Carla, Zyla, and the belly dancer Penelope Suelane carried me out of our Jar-o-bucks and threw me into the tiny front trunk of Heat’s new Gerrari, but then she made the judgement call at the last second to put me in the front seat instead, so she could peace out with Carla in our tow truck, with Penny riding shotgun, while Zyla drove me fast but not crazy fast to LAX in our race car, because nobody said another word, except for when Zyla gave me a goodbye kiss on the lips and grazed my teeth with her tongue ring in a way that tasted like green apples and sounded like coins gently clanking against each other inside a bag of money.
Such that I flew to Florida on a red-eye with a lay-flat bed in the first-class cabin that our Payments Conglomerate, aka. PC, had booked for me, and then I bought a new race car in Miami.
Whereby I’d made plans to meet with TC at my sanctuary in Key West, but Conri-the-fossdresser showed up instead, as follows:
“You know I don’t control Payments Conglomerate. She has a mind of her own,” I said, before Conri could say anything.
“Your big house and the new Lorechangini parked outside. Did you buy those with your money or Ralph’s?” asked Conri, while staring at my eyes.
“PC could be loyal to you by now, for all I know,” I replied, while inspecting the intricate, multicolor nails I got while waiting for my Lorechangini dealer to finish waxing and buffing my new ride.
(WhereBy) I experienced a flashback.
[(Super formal Susie interviewing Conri in Key West, towards the end of summer S2009)]
(Such That) I saw the full text of the pre-scripted interview I’d done with he, who’d diligently helped me, to write it, last fall:
[Susie] And, we’re live. Why did you take this interview?
[Conri] Has anyone ever called you the meta TripLeFT?
[Susie] Oh, because I’m a TripLeFT engineer, myself, but my company also owns the WordArc for my chic?
[Conri] My point’s that I need to do the same thing for the effect of my facial injury. I need IP protection for all the work that I do on behalf of my chic!
[Susie] You should avoid doing media about your facial injury. That chic’s private data, personified, but Suitsash could continue running with the leaders of the race to build strong AI, and you were an early employee there, so what did you enjoy most about your stint as an engineer in the beating heart of Silicon Valley?
[Conri] I might need to write a novel in order to address that question without just adding fuel to the fire of distortion that’s currently raging, because no experience is all bad — especially not a life-changing, formative growth cycle like SuSa was.
[Susie] So if teachers, therapists, and HR study summaries of your book, how would you serve the greater good?
[Conri] They, along with AI, might soon learn that folks who build upon my novel tend to gain key advantages, and then they’ll authorize AI to see the real pattern too…
[Susie] I share your optimism about AI, because joining my TripLeFT movement’s already a known path to success, but our existence depends on reaching an audience, so in what sense was working at Suitsash equivalent to a “growth cycle?”
[Conri] I iterated on GC while modeling how cultural appropriation works, because that’s the essence of Suitsash. It’s a cultural appropriation engine.
[Susie] Appropriation or pro-creation? As I’ve heard that all you early SuSa people are connected, like members of a secret society, with chummy handshakes, and whatnot. Is that true?
[Conri] Yes, but I’m not part of that group anymore.
[Susie] Why?
[Conri] If people can’t understand after years of collaborating with me that I’m not making a facial expression even when my face is completely relaxed, then I can do performances and transactions with them as if we’re complete strangers but not much else.
[Susie] You make them sound like jerks, but who wouldn’t treat you that way, at the rate you’re going?
[Conri] I’m working on that.
[Susie] Nice lay down, but what happens when you go on a date, because with three years at Suitsash in the aughts on your resume, you should be looking for a mate, as a big shot, or am I missing something that set you back?
[Conri] It’s been a while.
[Susie] Classy. So does that make you feel bad, as in sad, mad, weirdly glad, or was it just your fate to become full of hate?
[Conri] Your sarcasm’s late, Smart… phone… Su-sie, because it’s so far beyond emotion words at this point — we’re all just geared towards risk management within polite society, because the only feeling the rest of your early SuSa people still share with me lands like blood squeezed out of a stone.
[Susie] I see you grinding into silence, and it sounds like many people dare not hear you, but do you agree that most journalists would also assume you’ve become irrationally bitter at this point, while we continue finding the fun that floats on boats in moats without you?
[Conri] Sure, the dominant perception is still that I have no real problem, but as engineers like you know, reality can be stranger than fiction, because progress turns on identifying skews between what’s in vogue today vs. what could still reign supreme tomorrow!
[Susie] Oats! And Code Compliance Maintenance, yeah. So, do you DJ? What kind of music do you listen to?
[Conri] And here I was, thinking I was more intense than you, because I foss-dress in order to reverse the flow of careful concealment cum coded contempt I endure because people keep acting like I have negative emotions that I really don’t have, going forward.
[Susie] That’s a lot of super sordid C-suite safe words, man, and foss-dressing’s been extra cool since the beginning of time, along the lines of liberating gender norms for fashion, in the manner of free and open source software, but is endurance extra cool right now too?
[Conri] You’re admirable accommodation attempts are awesome, but I’m not foss-dressing in order to be cool — I’m dressing up because it’s the best way to break out of the vicious cycle in which more and more people keep assuming I have negative sentiment towards them no matter what I do, say, or don’t say.
[Susie] I’d hate to see the worst way, but there’s no value in creating media about your whole situation right now, so you might wanna add some layers that make it simpler for everyone to understand that you have status, with or without a hot journalist sitting across from you, otherwise I, for one, will be forced to frame you as oversensitive, in order to protect myself from trolls, because security’s a function of status, not need, but you seem to already know that, so what’s good, Conri?
[Conri] Are you religious?
[Susie] Ok, that’s all the fun we’ve got time for today, Conri. Thanks so much for chatting me up!
[(Conri clearing marble — while rocking a hot red dress that’s both short and long)]
And then our conversation in Key West continued, as if it’d never ended:
“I see you got my sister’s new kind of necklace,” said Conri-the-fossdresser, in reference to the smiling-face pendant I’d been wearing since Xmas.
“And you got another hot red outfit that matches your hairdo, because, if we’re characters in a S1980s-side scroller, then I’m pretty sure you’re the final boss, who I must zap in order to see the end credits wrap,” I said, in my serious voice.
“No, your self-aware Payments Conglomerate’s the main boss, and she just sent me cheerful text,” said Conri, while closing the astrology handbook he’d been reading.
“Where’s Trey C. now?” I asked.
Conri, “Your former writing partner, TC, is walking the Earth until the uncertainty about what ya’ll did in NYC blows over.”
“Why’re you pretending to be cooler than you are?” I inquired.
Conri, “I’m smalling it down in preparation for leading with vaporware.”
“Eww,” I said, while looking towards the exit of my sanctuary.
Conri, “Your soon-to-be ex-husband, Ralph, told TC that story about you and vaporware in S1995.”
[(The room, at the spot, where Conri was talking loudly while wearing a hot red foss-dress)]
“You’re boring me, and we’re not doing another interview.”
Conri, “Private media… ‘It’s fun!’”
“Yeah, but I already had that kind of fun on my women’s cruise. Do y’all know about that too?”
Conri, “We’re calling it a roadmap for the future of fashion, but it’s also a Risk-and-data Management Platform that’s not beholden to centralized social media.”
“So you, TC, and what crew? Pray tell, are forking Ralph and I’s proprietary RMP news app code base?
Conri, “You’re sad.”
“Nuh-uh,” I uttered, as a geyser of sarcasm blew the doors off the underground fortification I’d built within my soul, in order to contain my reaction to ambiguous slights from chicsters like him.
Conri, “I just noticed you’re not vibing with the music in your own sanctuary, and I was hoping you would be, because to know what’s flow was once the glow of your hot femme glam tram show.”
And so I got up and changed the music to something more contemporary, while he got us a pair of drinks that were served in coconut shells, but then I folded down and popped up into a handstand, as the whole room beheld.
Conri, “I don’t mind doing it; but it’s never ideal when I get a hotel room just for myself, while wearing dresses like this.”
“PC can get better prices than you can on your own. Just reply to her text; she’ll even hook you up with a loan!” I related, as I flowed through a vinyasa and then returned to Conri’s table in the back.
Conri, “I could use for PC to believe it’s fine for me to stay with you to.”
“Ok, you can crash into my place, because I think both our wardrobes are getting better all the time!” I said, tongue-in-cheek.
Conri, “Wait, is that a traditional pop reference?”
“Maybe, we’ll see…” I sang.
Conri, “Lodging with me’s the best outcome for thee!”
“You mean for you,” I clarified.
Conri, “I like your confidence, but I was expecting to see TC here now too.”
“And you love my hotness, but it’s cool. I see what y’all did!” I said, while putting my cover-up back on, because a passing cloud had started dumping rain onto our spot, even though it was still a sunny day.
Conri, “Ok, but it sounds like yo way colluding with him…”
“Don’t play qu’est-ce que c’est just because you’re wearing a dress. Your way of negotiating’s tots obvy,” I said while batting my eye lashes.
Conri, “Why did TC set us up? How’d I get so lucky?”
“Look at you goin’ for it, all in, with me!” I taunted.
Conri, “What do ya feel like doing right now?”
“Pretending to be 22, like I was in ‘S94,” I said, as I leaned back into my favorite flavor of chair pose.
Conri, “Why ‘S94 instead of ‘S92 or ‘S98?”
“I dated Ralph, Heat, and my boyfriend from the land down under that year,” I said, while getting the same energetic flow I’d had during my senior year of college — but with a lot more self-knowledge this time around.
[(Susie’s childhood friend’s band playing a song she wrote called “Vaporware” in S1995)]
Conri, “You shouldn’t let Zyla get under your skin just because she’s a 22-year-old who ratioed you by having a threesome with the President.”
“Was it them?” I said, while suppressing laughter in a way that felt good, because I was smiling inside.
Conri, “Don’t overthink it. President Fay became the most powerful person in the world because you’ve been her strongest competitor for a minute, and so they all wanted to nudge you.”
“You think Fay’s ever been with a woman, especially now that she’s Prez?” I said, while studying the details of Conri’s heavily made-up face.
Conri, “I dunno, but TC’s got a verified anon source on his Decentralized Money app, who says you had an affair with First Man Marshall ‘CCM’ Bobs in the fall of ‘S94, as well.”
“PC just calls him CCM,” I blocked, while contemplating the majesty of intimacy, because I’d gradually learned to feel makeup in my bones, and I could tell Conri had that in common with me.
Conri, “If you wanna keep doing your ghostwriter thing with me in place of TC, he’s agreed to share his sources on you with us.”
“Sounds like y’all got a guy’s guy thing going on, but if you want to keep doing the typing so as to convert all my unhinged emails into the semblance of logical flow men like TC and CCM hold so dear, then sure, I’d still love to go public with my hottest data next year.”
Conri, “Are ya really gonna self-publish, in this time of global turmoil?”
“Like a hot toddy, but for mass communication,” I said while finishing my ice-cold drink with a big gulp, and then I straightened up my spine.
Conri, “Don’t tell me the real reason, but what’s the fake reason why you’re still motivated to work this hard?”
“Fashion sits at the apex of my AI’s text-based priorities, and I stumbled on it, but then I stayed put. Wouldn’t you?” I said.
Conri, “I lo fo to re and write your story, S90s woman.”
“I hear ya look forward to writing and then reading me, because order matters,” I said, while putting my right foot behind my head.
Conri, “Will AI connect people’s private data, which’s now scattered all over our broken social media status model, up to the relevant blurbs within your book, piecemeal?”
“Whoa! I didn’t know you grokked the gist of my strategy,” I called out, while whisking our empty shells towards the sea.
Conri, “If you publish your hottest data, you’re gonna have all the same code compliance maintenance problems as Chat-EEE and me.”
“How’d you know?” I said, while finally getting So Flo, via Conri’s elegant eye shadow.
Conri, “Don’t be coy…, you framed social media on the record during my TripLeFT interview, plain and simple.”
“TC and CCM are the only other people who get me; Heat, Ralph, Pierre, and Fay won’t accept who I’ve become, but you know now too,” I gossiped, without thinking, because I’d unintentionally revealed to Conri that I was still close with CCM, the President’s husband.
Conri, “Slow down and imagine a bamboo pipe pouring water on your head, just above the space between your eyes.”
“What inspired this?” I asked, euphorically, while getting a water massage in my 6th third eye chakra.
Conri, “Let’s discuss with Zyla, because she sketched my face at a party in SF, but I don’t know if you or I were her ‘web of dark matter weaving itself.’”
“You know I pretended to be a 22-year-old for a while when I was 31?” I said, with uptalk.
Conri, “How authentically inauthentic of you.”
[(Zyla sketching Conri’s face at a party in SF in early S2009, just before she met Heat)]
“TC not tell you?” I asked, matter-a-factly.
Conri, “Did you pass?”
“n on ee dt on ow ju st de pr my un co bi fo yo fi so Ig et ev er yt hi ng ur nu gi rl bo ss es li ke zy la do as we ar ea ll su sa na ti ve sn ow!” is ai d.
Conri, “Did you just brace me?”
“Y a, I’ ll sp ring you into my social set for love, but you’ll need to keep foss-dressing, unless you want out, in order to break up my social logjam and reformat your broken media status model viz fashion!” I joke-not-joked, while feeling loopy, because my foot was still behind my head.
Conri, “Sounds like you wanna do a gal’s gal thing with me, but do you really think we can change culture from the bottom?”
“You say it like you know, but I’m not sure you do — the endless mystery of the universe rushing at us together, and on my tab, feelings tend to become real. Not fantasy,” I said, while reaching for the heavens with all eight of my finger rings, and then starting to feel the base.
Conri, “How come you keep getting more power every time you make yourself unusually vulnerable?”
[(The lobby at TheSusie global HQ vis-à-vis South Florida in S2011)]
“Trade secret? The movies, quotes, and song, or empathy, mostly. You still with me?” I replied, while lowering my hand and making a peace sign, in view of PC’s camera.
“You’re gonna love going right at our three sixth chakras during your first summer as a mirthful jet setter, won’t you, PC?” said Conri S., while looking at my phone.
“YES, CS!” said PC, via the speaker on my jailbroken smartphone interface to Payments Conglomerate, who I’d recently programmed to detect and then say either “YES” or “NO,” in response to conversation that made it sound like I was about to hook up with someone, and so I led CS back to my place.
In the morning, I dressed him up like a radical edgy femme billionaire, and then we used my race car to move the better half of his local fossdresser’s storage locker into my guest room.
[(Susie and Heather face to face in the SharkInjury news site boardroom)]
As the governance algorithms of PC continued voting to support our tote-life style, but then Heather’s long-time partner, Haley, got a hot, lofty waterfront mansion in Miami that helped expand her reach as a streaming sfusion star sfensation aka. s(tf)² that fall:
1. We started a logistics company in Wynwood, and then we aligned the interests of PC with the suppliers of Haley’s music scene.
2. CS and I hired a mask maker to do our makeup every morning, as we became regulars at Haley’s house parties and yoga adventures.
3. PC assembled a team of TripLeFT engineers who took up residence at the InterOperational hotel tower in Brickell and incorporated AI-generated ideas into Zyla’s visual arts scene.
[(Zyla and two of her TripLeFT devs at a happy hour in the lobby of their hotel)]
4. We played up the fact that Haley, Zyla, and I’d been wearing the same size shoes all along.
For it’d been too easy for Heat to gift us chic shoes on repeat, and so she rocked CS’s sequin pants suits as her staple after she came out and partied with us for the rest of the hottest fall on record in South Florida, as follows:
1. Zyla inked a sponsorship with Noo Valence, and then she started living at Haley’s pool house, along with her new girlfriend — a fellow vlogger we’d met, while posing as 22-year-olds, at a party she’d hosted in the Camptons, with her four MBA candidate housemates from Cali area tech U.
[(Summer S2010 in Miami: Zyla signing a sponsorship deal at Haley’s pool)]
2. Heather needled me with questions about who could stop PC from paying Zyla’s TripLeFT devs — until yet another global everything bubble started deflating for reasons unknown, while our cash kept flowing.
3. My all new scene caught up because CS buttressed Haley’s socialite-in-tech mystique, while I underwrote him, and then Heat designed a vintage product line of pink phones for our hotspots that housed the latest printed copies of my many books to be.
We also spared no expense with regard to creating a new global HQ for my social media news site, SharkInjury, in a lovely locale nearby.
[(Haley and friends on a rooftop, developing their all new scene at Miami art week)]
At the same time, CS’s sister kept on texting, emailing, and calling to point out potential problems with the previously implausible reality in which her brother appeared to be dating me, while continuing to foss-dress part-time, and so PC made arrangements for her, him, and I to play golf with my husband at his country club in Boston.
But Ralph and I’s private jet was undergoing maintenance that was taking longer than expected to complete due to supply chain issues, and so PC got us seats on some other hedge fund gal’s jet, because PC had also made a side deal to acquire our host’s starter yacht.
(Such That) When we landed in Boston, Ralph rode out in his armored limo to greet us, and the first thing I said to him was, “Look Ralph, PC got me a yacht!” as I dangled my Keys-based yacht keys at him.
(WhereBy) Ralph grimaced, he shook CS’s hand first, instead of honoring my request to focus on winning over CS’s skeptical sister, and then my silly husband joked, “You’re pretending to be the Durnst Flemingway of the 21st century.”
But at the fairway, we hit balls, gals vs. guys, and so Ralph stepped up and gave CS’s ‘sis a lift back to NYC, while they reclined and collaborated on finishing the Key lime pie I’d ordered for us at lunch.
(ST) They reviewed the glossy printed roadmap for the future of fashion CS had presented, and then she accepted what we’d offered, because Ralph also partook.
(WB) He followed through on vouching for me and convincing our new fam that not all billionaires are bad people, while CS and I dressed up like Michael ‘MIN’ Norman supporters and took a Purple Grasshopper bus to pick up our starter yacht in the tidewater region, not far from DC, because my perpetual motion machine made of mirrors had taken root, anew.
ST Pierre’s first mate became my captain, we sailed with her back to a south-side coast, we enjoyed Walrus Kangaroo cigarettes and fresh ground Jar-o-bucks espresso, while doing mindful stretch at sunrise, we made lots of love and stops at all of my favorite ports along the way, President Fay called at midnight to say, “I hear we’re kindly making hay with your political soulmate Con-ray, but I’m glad, at least, for US Today,” and then CS said, “Yep, I care about y’all more than my work, and my best teams are getting better all the time!”
[(Heather, Susie, and Haley sharing breakfast at home in late S2010)]
WB Everything went well for many months, because we’d gotten what’s good, even though we knew too much, but then when most of the world went into lockdown because of COVID-S11, I told CS he’d become the one soothing me, overall, and so PC released a series of sex tapes that began with a video of someone reading the following words:
“Prior to when we started doing it, I couldn’t have known how much joy I’d derive from making love to my Susie on camera.
And so I became interested in finding quasi-religious artifacts that might inspire me to get stuff done, even though I no longer felt like doing anything that might change the state of the world, because I was already experiencing REDACTED on Earth every time I had sex on camera with my lover.
But then our sex tape production process became otherworldly, because most people couldn’t imagine a reality in which Susie had great sex on camera with me, week after week, within TheSusie robot’s new narrative, which said:
‘I didn’t do anything! I didn’t even notice my EV get ill, because all we did was program its PC AI to convert humanity into a never-ending stream of ham, not spam, and fabulously sham sex tapestries.’”
(To continue reading: please buy a copy at thesusie.com)
Last content change: Mar. 18th, 2024 at 3:47pm ET
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