Sudo Bang Bang: 06 - The Dirty Limerick

Fabrina Glitchlace's Sudo Bang Bang Serialized Edition

This is the 6th episode of the serialized version of my novel, Sudo Bang Bang (2024).

https://www.amazon.ca/Sudo-Bang-Fabrina-Glitchlace/dp/1775092976/

Previous Episodes
01: An Unknown Game
02: MiscFit
03: Bottleneck
04: Ennie
05: Entanglement

Enjoy:

Sudo Bang Bang - Episode 06: The Dirty Limerick

[Link: Audio]

###

Alyss Fatt’s

Trolling: A Total Perspective Vortex

Tutorial Layer Review
by OmegaPhi
2029.02.12

[:More?:]

Ω, the uppercase Omega symbol, is commonly used to represent electrical resistance in science and engineering notation.

Φ, the lowercase phi symbol, is a mathematical constant, also known as The Golden Ratio or Divine Proportion.

Henry David Thoreau once said, “The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.” Strictly speaking, he was wrong. But, he was onto something.

Mankind has struggled with efficiency throughout our rise from the muck to the post-scarcity heights we now all-too-comfortably inhabit. We equated profit with growth, and for a few generations that was working great. Profit is, however, driven not just by growth of resources, but also by more efficiently utilizing labor-saving technologies.

Marx knew this fact, though many modern Marxists seem to have unlearned it.

While humanity has transcended growth in the biomass sense of the word, there are still potentially limitless profits of efficiency to be had. The trick to finding those profits is knowing where not to look.

During my extended adolescence, my perception of myself would vary from day to day. I was conscious of the fact that I was in flux. So I decided to keep my wits about me instead of partaking in some of the wilder indulgences or misbehaving activities of my peers.

I paid attention to the right things. Though, I will admit, not always.

At some points I lost my way, allowing myself to be parasitized by addictions to sugar, little pieces of cardboard, or likes, etc. Once becoming conscious of these things, I realized my affinity for sugar was simply a preference and I didn't actually need to collect anything or be paid attention—not directly at least.

Fast forward to modern day: The Platform has blossomed into a kaleidoscope of possibilities hurling us toward a totally immersive future of frivolity and distraction. While some of us are content to be unmoored from direction, adrift in a sea of options, others seek to navigate using the brightest lights of human ingenuity.

Before the 5th anniversary of The Platform, the release of Trolling: A Total Perspective Vortex signals that we as a species have charted a course into a new age of enlightenment.

We are all living in our own unique seas of information.

We navigate these realities; limited by our temperamental predispositions, acquired appetites, and most importantly, the amount of attention that we can afford to spend. Alyss Fatt's T:ATPV attempts to revolutionize this human ability/technology. While not the first emergent meta-modern episteme; unlike the rest, T:ATPV functions as an anti-ideology ideology. The Layer does not merely posit an abstract theory, it proposes a way of experiencing life.

Its content is both inspirational and aspirational; descriptive and prescriptive. It both suggests an ideal and illuminates the path toward it. It loads for its audience a program for most effectively transforming what is into what ought to be.

The Layer’s subtitle, “A Total Perspective Vortex”, refers to the ‘Infinite Improbability Engine’ of Douglas Adams’ “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, is an intergalactic odyssey. Douglas Adams crafts a mesmerizing mosaic of cosmic wonder and witty levity that leaves readers pondering existence from beginning to end and back again.

Join the ordinary Earthling Arthur Dent as he hurtles through an extraordinary galaxy, armed with the enigmatic Hitchhiker's Guide—a whimsical compendium brimming with hilarious entries and dubious advice. Alongside a menagerie of peculiar beings and mind-bending phenomena, Arthur navigates a universe fueled by capriciousness.

Adams deftly seeded his universe with satire, razor-sharp wit, and introspective musings, provoking contemplation of life's mysteries amid riotous absurdity.

'Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' is an interstellar gem, an existential expedition into consciousness and cosmos that will leave you grinning with pure galactic delight.

Season 39.6 starts soon!

Book porting now!

Trolling: A Total Perspective Vortex appropriates the idea of a total perspective vortex at the conceptual level of a perspectival infinity; the viewing of something from an all-encompassing vortex. Inside and out.

Whether that process has an end that can be said to be total, this humble reviewer cannot say, for I have not yet(and may never) reach that end. The model presented by T:ATPV is incomplete, but nonetheless incredibly useful. I’m less concerned with the accuracy or applicability of the totality suggested by the content’s subtitle than I am captivated by the promise of its thesis.

But I’m getting ahead of myself; metaphorically placing the TOE[Theory of Everything] ahead of the GUT[Grand Unified Theory]. And so I shall cease this particular digression, lest I end up putting my FOOT in my MOUTH.

We will later attend to the Total—but for now, let us circle back and gain agreement on some key terms of art. Before delving into the intricacies of T:ATPV, it is crucial we understand the fundamental nature of Attention.

You may be familiar with the word Attention and its approximate function in language. But what is it really? What does the word describe?

T:ATPV conceptualizes attention as a limited resource. It doesn’t go into the mathematics of it, but to simplify the concept for the purpose of this review, a rough equation could be expressed as [F=A/T], where our ability to [F]ocus is the application of our [A]ttention over [T]ime. (More accurately, Space-Time, but don't let me distract you with that distinction)

Distractions divide attention and multiply focal points such that the equation might be modified, [D=A/FT].

Considering this new formulation, the zeroth step to freeing our minds is to disable notifications. Both inadvertent distractions as well as intentional diversions direct focus to undesired focal points. Attention is all you need, and Trolls want it.

There are many different types of Trolls. The earliest human myths describe all sorts of monsters enslaving or making man their prey. This is the archetypal phase-space Trolls inhabit.

Variations have arisen independently in the folklore of different cultures throughout history: Some live under bridges and present riddles. Some are afflicted by boomeritis. Others turn to stone in the light. A Troll can manifest in many ways. The word Troll is a mere placeholder for a higher-resolution concept; a label, not as important as is the behavioral entity it encodes.

Through a behavioral lens, a Troll is anything that wastes our attention. A Troll can be conceptualized as an agent; an entity not necessarily conscious, but nevertheless with intent, to capture attention. Perhaps though, 'capture', is too weak a word. 'Attention Vampire' would also fit, but etymological evolution is unpredictable, and so here we are with Troll.

Like vampires, Trolls are entities we definitely do not want to feed.

Trolls can be NPCs or PCs trying to create and/or corral NPCs. A Troll absorbs our attention to instrumentalize us toward its desired ends, attempting to reduce our degrees of freedom, removing our facility for free will; our ability to imagine the future, and use the response to those imaginings as impetus or inhibition toward action.

Free Will is capable of overriding most human impulses, but like attention, it too is a limited resource.

Right about now is where you might be thinking, "But just how doooo they do it!?"

On its surface, the following succinct definition may appear facile(as is most verbing of nouns), and it’s almost certainly a truism, but it is not without conveying meaning. It’s here we find the titular terminology and the focus of the content’s thesis; simply stated: A Troll trolls through trolling.

T:ATPV gives several analogies to increase the resolution of the term, trolling.

As a method of fishing; enticing prey by dangling hard-to-resist lures. In this metaphor the bait are the individual units of content or communication compelling engagement. The rod and reel are the social technologies enabling the interaction. The angler is the Troll—and we are the fish, that is to say we risk being caught by taking the bait; by giving the troll’s trolling our attention.

When a troll captures our attention, it anchors an emotional hook in us, and then we feed it.

T:ATPV teaches how Trolls troll by instructing on the techniques of trolls. The content focuses heavily on methods of trolling and counter-trolling. This is attention well-spent.

Trolling - How To:
-Absurdity
-Insults
-Prebunking
-Trickery

Getting Trolled - How To Avoid:
-Filters: Mute, Block, and Report
-Prebunking
-Socially Distance
-Detach from Identity

Transcendence

Trolls, adversarial entities in every level of existence, trick us into wasting our attention on irrelevant things. They increase the chances we make relevant errors in their favor. They constantly probe us for exploits drawing from a tacklebox of trolling techniques, [false concern, sea-lioning, just-asking-questions, actually…, breaking news, clickbait, etc].

T:ATPV’s content teaches how to protect ourselves from these attention thieves; these psychic vampires; these dastardly, DASTARDLY Trolls.

Even those who are aware of this fact are vulnerable. IQ, as imprecise and antiquated a metric as it is; is still representative of a general ability to use tools. As a group, from generation to generation, people's IQs may seem to be increasing, but really, individuals advanced in age simply stop being able to use the newest tools.

The ones who have the highest IQs are simply the humans able to learn to wield the latest tools to shape the environment they inhabit. But again, even a high IQ does not grant immunity from AI or motivated individuals nudging one’s worldview, nor does it prevent one from trolling oneself.

And so, we must spend no time arguing with the wrong; we must ignore those who are deluded unless or until such time said delusions themselves detrimentally distract, encroach or intrude upon our mentations; and even then, we must take steps to avoid those distractions rather than further entangle with them. We must learn not to give in to the impulse to engage with unnecessary and unproductive entanglements.

We must train a part of ourselves to pay attention to when we are paying attention, so we can consciously decide if we want to be paying attention to that which we are paying attention. Learning to consciously mediate that which had previously been unconscious—this is in essence the transcendent path to ultimate power laid out by T:ATPV.

Some will derogatorily dismiss this as a form of willful ignorance. And that observation is not without merit—avoidance and detachment are insulators to all influences, good and bad. That is indeed a possible extreme. But be wary of the other extreme: Too much engagement is clearly a bad thing, and paying too much attention to things outside one’s sphere of influence… that's a great way to lose one’s mind.

In a psychic war, the only impenetrable defense is impenetrable ignorance. Social distancing and detachment function as a privative substrata; a negative space; a buffer zone.

Future generations would do well to codify T:ATPV’s golden principles into a shared foundation; a compatibility layer; and not a meaningless abstraction like a social contract—a misnomer deeply in err since what it describes is unwritten rules, which are the opposite of a contract.

But I digress, and for this sin I ask your forgiveness.

There is no better operating system for a civilization than mutual respect for the attention of other sovereign entities.

To accurately summarize the wisdom of T:ATPV’s content is not possible. This review’s thousand-word-picture is indeed very low-resolution. The content, however, develops the ideas to an astonishing degree. It must be enacted and reinforced through praxis to gain true understanding. Its knowledge must be embodied. It must be experienced.

If one is open to its lessons and integrates them, benefits will multiply and radiate outward, transforming not just the individual, but also the world the individual inhabits. The amplification of quality of life that T:ATPV can provide is immeasurable; the compound effects of productivity gained are incalculable.

Many already intuit the utility of media curation and reviews as filters for the multitudes of things on which one might spend(or in fact, waste) their limited attention. Such prioritization is of the greatest priority. It is in this way T:ATPV is of ultimate utility.

Final Thoughts

A stunning work of practical philosophy, T:ATPV’s content is singular in its importance. I see no more productive a use for my attention than to make and reinforce this point as strongly as possible, to evangelize its message, and spread its influence. And so, this update will be the final I contribute.

This week’s 1253rd episode of The ΩmegaPhi Podcast will have already been the last.

The persistence of my audience in tolerating my digressions astounds me. For almost twenty years, faithfully suffering my meandering elucidations of what I find to be of value in a given thing. Going forward, I will direct myself toward following the abstracted-ascetic path of which T:ATPV has given me a glimpse.

I intend to seek out the totality of its title’s promise.

Trolling: A Total Perspective Vortex, is a masterclass on how to most efficiently manage humankind’s greatest resource. It teaches how to treat social contagions. It outlines the pitfalls and threats of myriad trolls and manifold trolling techniques. It does not simply inform of data—the ideas it contains are embodied and experienced, providing an integral understanding of concepts personally particularized.

This is a seminal philosophy destined to impregnate human societies so that we might individually de-cohere.

Please forgive my use of the imperative voice, but of the many, many things in your life you should totally ignore, be assured this is not one of them.

Yes, YOU

Alyss Fatt’s insight into the nature of social consciousness, and particularly the value of our attention, is one of the most transformative social technologies ever to be introduced into the zeitgeist. Alyss, The Digital Milennial Nomads, and the Neo-Rationalist communities, have my total gratitude for this greatest of gifts.

ASAP, Create a contract with yourself to experience:

First In, Last Out.
—ΩmegaPhi
m.ycell.macgyver.euaoued+TATPV@gmail.com

This has been an OmegaPhi production.
Don’t forget to like and share!
You Might Also Enjoy Our Top Rated Episodes:

[Scrub]
[Bomb]
[Jank]

###

PCCGEN [“BioCide - 01”,[“ccc 01b- B: 01.50”,[“Beginnings”]]] //{

A macho Character, hardened by the trials of survival in the wastelands, emerges as a beacon of strength. Describe Character's journey through the desolate landscape, showcasing their resilience, physical prowess, and unwavering determination. Dive into their encounters with dangerous creatures and rival factions, highlighting their strategic thinking and expert combat skills. Despite the bleakness, this macho individual finds solace in reminiscing about their once happy life. Explore their nostalgic recollections, painting vivid scenes of laughter, love, and cherished moments. The macho character expresses unabashed joy and a fiery lust for their lover, a source of passion amidst the chaos. Describe their passionate encounters, blending desire, tenderness, and a raw intensity that fuels their survival instincts. However, amidst their personal triumphs, the macho character reflects on the devastating truth: "The whole world is fucked." Share their jaded perspective on the crumbling remains of civilization, the loss of humanity's potential, and the ever-present danger lurking in their own mind.

[]Inst_ to InterpolateUntilCohegent

//}

###

Phalyx scopes out the venue.

The Dirty Limerick is a Five-Pillar-Certified Safe Space, fortified by the Journalists Union. It's the shittiest retro recreational establishment Layer hosted by Media Pillar, and yet it maintains a certain level of fame; a shared secret among the secretive.

Platform users, seeking to finance peak experiences, port their Alts to The Dirty Limerick to barter illicit data. An ecosystem evolved based on these exchanges. Supply catering to demand, the layer grew more dark corners in its gaussian-splatted hyperbolic-geometric space to facilitate the communication needs of its patrons.

The vast majority being superficial, but hiding among these low value exchanges are more shadowy conversations, in which journalists listen to leakers, financiers incentivise whistle-blowers, and fortifiers sell AI services to find loopholes in Smart Contracts or hawk affordable AI protection from the potentially costly exploitation of said loopholes. Various info-crumbers consume the meta-data of all these meta-interactions.

Many plots have been hatched, plans subverted, and stories broken via this virtual dingy dive.

The space twists and turns in impossible ways, with corners and angles that seem to lead nowhere. Despite this, the pub is surprisingly expansive, with plenty of room for the eclectic mix of patrons who fill the place.

Above the bar, a large neon sign reading, 'The Dirty Limerick' flickers intermittently, casting shadows across the room’s various irregular nooks and crannies. Every surface spreads shadows cast from superficial greeblies greeblying.

The air is thick with lazily drifting stylized technehexiplexic clouds. All that can be seen is shrouded within a hazy yellow-green hue. The two-dimensional clouds can be turned off if preferred; most users do not, as that option ruins the retro aesthetic that many find key to immersing in The Dirty Limerick. With the clouds enabled, their ambient occlusion dulls the sensory bombardment.

But still, distractions abound.

Phalyx passes through the middle of a dance floor, by some 4D billiards tables. In attempting to not initiate eye-contact with anyone, he accidentally pays too much attention to a bulletin board.

Has frequent use of your Platform Interface induced Magneto Neurasthenia?

The Research Squad would like to hear from you!
[:More?:]

Phalyx declines to know 'more', and blocks the notification.

Further immersing in the space, he bee-lines past the bots, pointless debaters, and those broadcasting irrelevant dictation to downstream audiences. He heads toward the booths in one of the multitude of corners. The loudness of the environment assaults him. Zipping through the crowd, Phalyx passively absorbs several snippets from the denizens of the pub before they too can be blocked.

“-point of engaging ideologues like Mehndi Xibhram is to speak to their audience-” … “-human imagination and thus all art is pornographic-” … “TAKE’ A PART Right pointing backhand indexRight pointing backhand backhand index }~//.[5] AIRDROP[NET].ILL”

|✧ALYSS✧|
Bang, I need a little help finding Bottleneck

|✤BANG BANG✤|
Okidoke!

Bang Bang’s round puffer fish-body pops out from under Phalyx’s askew hat, then zooms around the bar, examining various corners. She bounces from Alt to Alt like a tiny pink pinball. As she scans the space, more information streams into Alyss’s console, allowing her to suppress distracting details.

Some things grab Phalyx's focus involuntarily evoking automatic reactions, diminishing Alyss's attention reserves.

Like the name, TonySmehrik, floating above the head of a weird shirtless Alt. A nearly photo-realistic human male, but rendered with jacked contrast—presumably to channel attention toward Alt-replicas of his real-life bad tattoos.

|✤BANG BANG✤|
The name itself distracts. Likely a reference to a meme that nobody else remembers. Each terrible illustration probably serving as a memento to some insignificant real world achievements.

Somewhere adjacent to this garish sight, an aging hipster minimalist taps his toes, demoing a mixtape for a group of legless floating Orko scenesters.

Phalyx has trouble immersing. It’s as though the copious distractions warp the topology, preventing gaining any bearing within the space. Even with the clouds dampening distractions, they prove too numerous to block manually.

As Bang Bang carries out her search request, contextless snippets of snooped conversations bombard Phalyx.

“-doesn’t matter how likely it was, it 100% had to happen, because it did happen.” … “How do I find and join this secret channel of radical centrist extremists?” … “You just need an invite.”

In a corner adjacent to a corner, two corners left, a big-tittied-goth-girl gives a presentation on early 20th Century folklore depictions of witchcraft as an overly enthusiastic audience member asks what sounds like a thinly veiled promotion of their own tangentially linked theory.

|✤BANG BANG✤|
Predictably, your attention has been grabbed.
You might be interested to know that the goth girl is a bot under the control of the user of the Alt currently asking a question.
This appears to be an instance of gastroturfing.

Gastroturfing became very common once bots were allowed on Five-Pillar-hosted Platform layers. It's a cheap and easy way to boost one's social reach and drive engagement. A method people use in an effort to fake it till they make it.

Users began controlling bots to do things like ask themselves questions they wanted to answer, which they then would proceed to answer perfectly. Then, they'd compliment themselves for their fantastic questions. And thank themselves for their excellent answers.

The practice captures more attention. The exploit is in a legal gray area due to its educational usage.

Bottleneck’s content is also, for the most part, educational. His attention-saving distillations of third-party content are prized for their tendency to cut out all the useless shit. His tutorials consume far less attention, providing a much higher utility-value. Unfortunately, unlike the gastroturfer’s edutainment, distribution of Bottleneck’s non-commercially acquired remixes aren’t in a legal gray area.

Where is Bottleneck?

Despite being mostly siloed in their own media universes, platform users still crave a schedule; a way to coordinate with others, a common tempo for maintaining synchronization. And so, due to the attention continually paid to it as signaling the arrival of each week’s end, Friday continues to serve as the metronome's tick for the music of living a life on The Platform. Regardless of mimetic tribe membership or subcultural affiliations, everyone still TGIF.

On this Friday, hundreds congregate at The Dirty Limerick for Trivia Night.

The gathering has a nostalgic taint, focusing mostly on antiquated pop cultures. Lonely people hang out, exchanging retrograde opinions and viewpoints, quoting ad-nauseum from long-canceled pre-platform media. The point of a shared canon was after all, to enable discussion of shared experiences.

But, as everyone sorted themselves into mutually exclusive media bubbles, the mainstream, dried up, and 'normal', went extinct. The fluid fungibility of frivolous factoids was functionally zeroed. However, for those who had already acquired the useless knowledge, it feels good letting it flow on Trivia Night.

“Flash-Loan: Bubble-Bet, no risk to lender or borrower. Borrower pays gas.”

“I’m a content creator whose content is apologizing for not creating content and I’m super sorry about that.”

“Shake-speare? More like jerk-stick. Is that anything?”

“No, I don’t think that’s anything.”

“…what if I sweeten the deal with a Gen-Zero CryptoKitty and a rare HatDog?”

“That ain’t within my hierarchy of values.”

Phalyx finds himself among his people: Fellow Degens and MiscFits. Nevertheless, his purpose comes into focus as he blocks the inane chatter of his peers.

Phalyx stumbles around, making his way through the recreational scrum, blocking nearly everyone and everything. The irritating cacophony of the pub becomes a tolerable attenuated hum.

All that remains are vaporous beats of Occultamy - Whargezleorve[:More?:]

[Whargezleorve] sounds sorta like Haddaway's "What is Love", if it was slowed and pitch shifted down 800%.

Whargezleorve plays on a jukebox in a faraway corner.

|✤BANG BANG✤|
Found him!

Bang Bang spots Bottleneck, planting a bright pink bubble marker on his location within Phalyx's veiwport.

Phalyx sighs in relief. With his attention less divided he's finally able to immerse in the space. He examines his friend.

Bottleneck appears as his[1970s-Blacksploitation-Style] [Humanoid-Duck] Alt. Low level of detail. Not enough rez to depict his feathers, he's just a duck-shape, smooth, and black. Bright orange webbed-feet. Grey bill. Eyes hidden behind wrap-around glasses that make him look like he's traveling at 3000 miles per hour. Draped in black: Black trench coat, black turtleneck, black boots, and black gloves; his typical loadout. Technehexiplexic black on black—[BlackityBlack], as he'd labeled that config.

He’s seated across from a [Grey-Alien]—an Alt crafted with a comparatively high level of detail. Six spindly fingers on each hand. Large oval glassy obsidian eyes.

|✤BANG BANG✤|
This guy's eyes are wild! They suggest he'll soon demand, ‘take me to your dealer.’ Iconic.

Perched in the middle of the table between Bottleneck and the Grey Alien, is a [Gnome] wearing thick spectacles. He's scarcely larger than the beer stein he guzzles from.

Bottleneck and the Alien watch the bespectacled Gnome bat at a green lamp hanging just above his head, as he enthusiastically tells a tale.

Bang Bang pops back under Phalyx’s hat as he approaches the table.

The Gnome winks beneath his thick glasses.

The Grey Alien salutes.

Bottleneck waves his technehexiplexic blackity-black-gloved-duck-hand, initiating a macro, opening a DM request.

|✤BANG BANG✤|
Incoming DM request from Bottleneck.

Phalyx accepts the connection.

|✧PHALYX✧|
Sorry I’m late.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
No worries. Rollback ~3m, replay at 1.5x until you’re synced up.

|✧PHALYX✧|
K.

Piggybacking on Bottleneck’s connection, Phalyx waves his hands in a rolling motion, triggering a somatic macro, to rewind and replay the last 3 minutes.

The Gnome regales his audience with a story, leaning from one side to the other switching between roles in his recounting of a conversation. He centers himself as he sets the scene.

“So, it’s closing time at Enchanted Forest Tavern. The bards have been barred. The rogues have all staggered home. No longer being stoked, the fire, she dwindles. Paj the Unicorn clicks her hooves and brays, she tells me, think that’s whack? My crazy ex is a Wizard.”

“Wazzard,” says Bottleneck, emitting a hexagonal sprite plume, glitching slightly as a cloud of particles envelops his duck-shape.

The Gnome ignores the interruption to his story. “So I takes a big swig from my tankard, and I sez, Daaaang. How’d that go? The beautiful creature chuffs a noisy exhale, shakes her horsey head, flips her pink hair up out of her eye, over to the other side of her horn. She takes a deep breath—like you know I’m about to hear some shit—then she sez, He was fun at parties, but there was no magic in the bedroom.”

The Gnome suddenly stops. No longer playfully batting at the light hanging over the table, he holds onto it, offloading some of the work of maintaining balance.

“Speaks to the human condition,” says Bottleneck.

The Gnome regains stability then wiggles his nose; likely a somatic macro linked to his alcohol drip.

Even at an accelerated playback rate, the tiny Alt has a larger-than-life presence. Completely un-self-conscious. Totally immersed in the moment. Every micro-expression exudes gnome-ness. The effortless flow is admirable.

His user, must be a natural-born role player.

The Gnome continues, “Anyways, the wizard did not take it well when Paj The Unicorn dumped his weird robe-wearing ass.

It seemed like there was more to the story, so I asked, What’d that whack-magic-weirdo do? An’ she gives me the details. Sez, He cursed me. The magic bastard turned me into a unicorn!”

“-hold up,” Bottleneck spasms, his MiscFit brain-lag disrupting the platform's predictive optical flow algorithm, causing his glove to clip beneath the surface of the table, then pop back out again. “I’m confused. Didn’t you say she was born a unicorn?”

The Gnome’s eyes widen, each appearing more than half the size of his head. A devilishly alert grin creeps across his face. The effect of the comical expression is exaggerated by Phalyx’s perceived 1.5x time compression.

The Gnome holds up his pudgy index finger, bobbing his head affirmatively, directing the hanging light back toward himself to illuminate his squanch-faced grin. “So Paj flares her pink horsey nostrils, and sez, Indeed, I was born a unicorn. But my wizard boyfriend’s magical parting gift was to make me a metaphorical unicorn in addition to being a literal unicorn.”

The Grey Alien asks, “Surely you don’t mean—“

“—yep. A Unicorn—The, some would say mythical, perfect third party in a menage-a-trois,” The Gnome preens; proudly stroking his chin-beard while again wiggling his nose, beaming a sweetly mischievous eye-glint.

“Unicor~orns,-” Bottleneck spastically jerks his head back, continuing, “Rare, even among the m-mythical.”

The Gnome continues, “So, I asks her, she for real? She solemnly nods, flicking her pretty pink-pony-tail. And so naturally I ask, How exactly does the curse work? She lays it out, simple: Every couple I meet, are compelled to convince me to share a sensual encounter with them.”

“That’s definitely not your run-of-the-mill curse,” says the Grey Alien.

“I know, right? I sez, As far as curses go, could be worse.”

Bottleneck’s head flickers discontinuously. “Tha-t’s cer-tainly t-rue.”

“She explains to me, sez, It was fun at the start. But after the first hundred, the constant invites got to be super annoying.

Thinkin’ quick, I lean in and whisper, My wife happens to be a powerful witch. I can’t make any promises, but she might be able to lift your curse. Wanna go back to my place?”

The Grey Alien chuckles, saying, “You cheeky cunt. If I pulled that, my wife would murder me.”

The Gnome nods affirmatively. “And she sez, That would be flippin’ awesome—” his eyes cartoonishly bulging behind his magnifying spectacles, “-and if it doesn’t work out, I’m always horny.”

The Gnome giggles infectiously, quickly spreading to The Grey Alien and Bottleneck.

The Gnome asks for feedback, “Any good? I should do the poem now?”

“Hahaha, yep, that’s the rule,” answers The Grey Alien.

The Gnome clears his throat. His big eyes roll back up into his head a bit, as though he’s searching the inside of the top of his tiny skull for some information. He straightens up and begins his recital.

“There once was a Unicorn named Paj
Her magic was all the rage
Until she dumped Zoltard the Wizar’
With a sex spell he did curse ‘er
Now she’s a unicorn who can’t say neigh.”

Bottleneck completes a thorough applause including some spasmodic knee-slapping. “The rhyme doesn’t work without your accent, but it's pretty good.” Looking at Phalyx, now synced in real-time, he says, “W-welcome to the party.”

Phalyx replies, “Again, sorry for being late, very unprofessional of me.”

“No worries, Baby Duck. Sit down. Let's get this intro over with. Trivia Night starts in an hour.”

Phalyx whips his mirrored cape aside, then slides into the booth beside Bottleneck. He takes off his aviators and stetson, then he flicks the shaft of one of his suspenders initiating a macro cued to plipping his accessories into his fanny pack's inventory.

The sequence looks super cool, but nobody is impressed.

This crew has seen it all.

“Phalyx, this is our expert role player, Queblo,” Bottleneck glitchily gestures toward the Gnome, then toward the Alien, saying, “-and our expert prompt engineer, GreyGary.”

The Gray Alien nods.

Bottleneck flickers as he continues his introduction, stuttering, “G-G-Gentlemen, this is Phalyx. Used to be a contender on BattleViRse as his Alt, WizardBreath.”

“Pleasure,” says Phalyx, waving the BattleViRsian fist-pump salute, his hand swooping outward from his brows, compacting into a fist and subsequently miming an explosion.

Queblo waves a tiny hello, then hops off the table. He sits beside GreyGary in a booster seat.

GreyGary’s inanimate face speaks, “WizardBreath! Wow! That insta-plip open FFA a few years back was epic. You took down DarkJed Spunkmajor! His ass was grass and you were the lawnmower!”

“I got lucky. He shoulda conserved ammo,” replies Phalyx.

“I expected to see you topping leaderboards the following season, but you never signed on again… what’s up with that?”

“It’s a long story,” says Phalyx, nodding toward Bottleneck. “Maybe another time.”

“Right-o.”

“We’ve got a job to do,” quacks Bottleneck officiously. He lights the privacy candle in the center of the table triggering a shroud to descend around them. All sound, light, and vape-particle ambiance from the rest of the bar is eliminated. It's as though their booth floats alone in an endless black velvet void.

GreyGary materializes a small multi-sig encryption puck between two of his twelve spindly fingers on his right hand. He places it beside the privacy candle, then taps it. The puck emits a hiss like a pit of lispy snakes.

Along with the others, Phalyx places a finger and his focus on the puck. The white-noise drops away as the four join their shared side channel.

|✧GREYGARY✧|
Encryption active. We’re good.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
Alright, this gig is a classic caper. We’re here to shake out the details.

Bottleneck skitches left then flickers right—The Platform attempting and failing to compensate for his out-of-sync neural activity. Blending back in a T-pose, afflicted by squiggly hexagonal compression artifacts, Bottleneck regains composure, and re-establishes his connection to the encryption puck.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
MiscFit Syndicate signed the contract with me yesterday. Obfuscated credentials have been authenticated. If we pull this caper off, none of you will have to crumb data ever again.

|✧GREYGARY✧|
What you said just now was turbo-cliche. Everything I could ever want is cheap. Almost not worth stealing anything.

|✧QUEBLO✧|
I steal for fun.

|✧GREYGARY✧|
Fair point.

|✧PHALYX✧|
I’d rather steal than beg.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
You, me, and every other degen.

|✧PHALYX✧|
So what are the deets on this caper?

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
Strombodrome is a hot new S-Tier Layer which I have learned uses ERC-6731, with a custom work algo for ages, 55-plus. And, it doesn't use anything from the standard library.

|✧GREYGARY✧|
That’s ancient! The encryption, not the age limit. I've nothing against olds. Age, is a good proxy for maturity, bank balance, various sensibilities, dialects, trivia strengths and weaknesses, etc.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
Gary’s ageism aside, Strombodrome is on track to be replicated to a billion-plus ducks like us.

|✧GREYGARY✧|
It’ll be flush with fresh external connectivity.

|✧PHALYX✧|
And that’s where my Media Pillar creds come in?

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
Queblo, you’ll go deep cover on the Thursday, recon. GreyGary and I will remote-assist and sift data. Friday, two weeks from today, Phalyx, our undercover Media Pillar Journalist, joins Queblo. If setup goes off without a hitch, Saturday, I arrive and the mission is go.

|✧GREYGARY✧|
S-Tier Layer, so higher level authentication?

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
We’ll work out exact details over the next two weeks.

|✧GREYGARY✧|
Entire thing was coded by Dr. DJ Larry Strombo.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
That’s the guy whose keys we need. Strombo’s Saturday night set is streaming on MP1. For that night only, they’ll be vulnerable.

|✧PHALYX✧|
Dr. DJ? The Hyper-Productivity Party influencer?

|✧GREYGARY✧|
One in the same. Hedonistic nut-case.

Bottleneck sighs, glitches, then sighs again. Or maybe it was just a repeat of the first. It's hard to tell. He tilts his head, but holds his finger up, indicating he needs a moment. Presumably working on something on his end, he completely freezes; AFK.

|✧PHALYX✧|
Boss?

Waiting for Bottleneck to re-sync, Alyss begins reviewing her impressions of her new associates.

While Bottleneck is a MiscFit due to some kind of physiological impairment, GreyGary is harder to get a read on. Based on what little he gives away about himself, he seems highly capable. His MiscFit Platform incompatibility, likely just an atypical psychology. Probably more thing-oriented than people-oriented. Someone who enjoys tasks. Perhaps the RTS-gamer type. Likely a loner.

Queblo is more intriguing. On the surface level, he’s aloof and horny. Entirely in his element. Having fun. Fully immersed. He doesn’t at all seem like someone trying to play a character.

Alyss wonders what someone like that is doing hanging out with a crew of MiscFits.

Bottleneck flickers, then resumes.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
Our job gets much easier if we can crack his encryption.

|✧GREYGARY✧|
Experts say that is impossible.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
Which experts? If you had the ability to know what experts are correct, you’d be right more often than experts. Not even other experts have the ability to know which experts are correct. That’s why it’s best to ignore the so-called experts. Form opinions on doing the logical opposite of whatever the absolutely dumbest motherfuckers do.

|✧GREYGARY✧|
Cracking post-quantum crypto is near impossible, yes. But if as you say he's using nothing standard, our job gets much easier. Especially if his encryption is non-random. Do-it-ur-selfers are almost never secure. But we’re gonna need lots of data to refine our brute-force space.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
Might just be these duck ears, but that sounds possible to me. While Gary goes over Strombo’s outputs, Phalyx will look into his inputs: Inspiration, psychiatric disorders, ex-wives, etfuckincetera. Anything leading up to his publishing Strombodrome.

|✧PHALYX✧|
Got it.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
Queblo and I will continue probing the Layer’s specs. We got a lot of work ahead of us.

GreyGary sloppily salutes, limp fingers flopping.

|✧BOTTLENECK✧|
…But for now, Trivia Night is starting. I registered us as [TeamBigSword]

TeamBigSword ceases contact with the puck, closing their encryption session. Phalyx blows out the privacy candle. Their table immediately rejoins the hazy ambiance of The Dirty Limerick.

|✧ALYSS✧|
Bang, up my alcohol drip.

Phalyx’s blue-eyed gaze bounces from Bottleneck to Queblo to GreyGary. Cocking an eyebrow he says, “Which one of you fellas is coming in second?”

###

February 15:
Sudo Bang Bang - Episode 07: Complications