Direct From the CPAC Twitter Fiction Panel–This Week’s “Golden Parachute” Tweets!

Here are Week 9 @Twitstery tweets of “The Golden Parachute” the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance

Among the gruesome exhibits of human abnormalities was a complete naked “reference copy” of Granger as he was before their genetic meddling.

“You made a museum replica. What stops you from putting one on the street?” “There’s a difference between a study tool and a human being.”

Was that true? If a Granger facsimile in a museum receptacle is equivalent to the original Granger, what is special about any individual?

“Still there Arkaby?” “Just thinking about being a tool.” “Introspection is always useful.” “Not me. Your study clone shaped like Granger.”

“So?” “You know Marshall McLuhan said ‘We shape our tools and afterwards our tools shape us.’ What if our tools already are shaped like us?”

“What we hold we become.” “Everyone becomes a clone?” “Just medical students. Anyway that was John Culkin.” “The clone?” “No the quote.”

“McLuhan Culkin. Whatever. You admit you made a Granger copy for research purposes. How do I know your clone isn’t running loose right now?”

“After his daughter made a fuss we took the clone of Granger out of our museum. If you come out I can show him to you.” “I’ll pass for now.”

I’m not keen on a repeat visit to the Body Parts R Us facility. Last time I was there they were a bit too eager to get me into surgery.

At BP R U it’s operate or perish. Often operate AND perish. Admitted with multiple bee stings, I was scheduled for an unnecessary facectomy.

I avoided going under their knives…barely. I got my clothes on and escaped with my dignity intact and a $40,000 bill I’m still paying off.

“Any chance of renegotiating my hospital debt?” “Sure. Slim to little. You should be glad we didn’t actually perform any procedures on you.”

“How about I just default?” “Then we’d have to repossess our work.” “BUT YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” “Exactly. Be careful what you wish for.”

Dot hangs up. I hear a strange hum. “Did you get all that?” The humming suddenly stops. “Well, did you?” “Press 1 for yes.” replies the IVR.

I’m not falling for that again. “Stop the presses and get me Dash.” If Dot won’t admit to a free-ranging Granger replica, maybe Dash will.

I look to my interrogation of Dr. Dash with foreboding. Either he will refuse to cooperate, or he will mock me by rhyming everything I say.

Dash has a history of antagonistic vocal noncooperation. Rather than compete with Dot on directorial competence, he opted for a poetry slam.

Before I go on another wild goose chase, I have to be sure I’m not chasing a ghost… or a clone. I have little choice but to speak to Dash.

If permitted he will sabotage my inquiry with his lyrical propensities. It will take a superior interrogative aptitude to keep him on topic.

The IVR system comes back. “I’ll connect you to Dr. Dash now.” “Hello? Is that you there Arkaby?” “Of course it is. Who else would it be?”

“Without doubt it’s been some time.” “I’ve been busy fighting crime.” “What cause are you calling for?” “A ghost just knocked upon my door.”

(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)

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