FROM I.M. STONED’S MONTHLY
I have managed to make my way into the ensemble of exiled ‘toons, much to my own surprise. My outfit, as such, consisted of a rather second rate clown suit, with a prominent bulbous red nose, along with a considerable dabbling of whiteface and pancake makeup on my face for coloring. Discovering the lineup, I was simply able to take my place with everyone else, and, in short order, I have managed to make myself part of the gang. Cartoon characters are extremely clannish but can also be quick to make friends. However, should you become their enemy…but, of course, I have no intention of becoming that.
When my turn in the lineup came, I feared exposure, but this did not happen. I was simply asked to state whence I came, since the officer on duty could find no record of me in the files. I simply stated that I had been what had been a vague background character- that is, an extra in ‘toon terms, of which the vast majority of them are- on a (non-existent) Saturday morning program from the 1960s. Rather than check my erroneous assertion, however, the officer simply took me at my word, and assigned me a badge with that and additional information I supplied, before hurrying me along.
This troubles me. If the people conducting the operation are so dispassionate about their job that they are willing to accept falsehoods so easily at face value, what does that say about the stability and logistics of the enterprise as a whole?
FROM I.M. STONED’S MONTHLY
What time has done here on Orthicon! What was a bustling community a few months ago has now become a decrepit, near ghost town.
What is the reason for this? Why, with all the comforts and amenities available to us, should we decide to decamp and leave for parts unknown beyond the central compound?
The reasons for this are many and varied. First of all, the discipline/regulation system has gotten completely out of hand. The EDC, wearing their garish badges of office, roam the streets early and often, catching and attacking in all conceivable ways anyone who remotely violates their sense of decency and decorum.
Then, there is the general lack of satisfaction with the living conditions here, and Snead’s hostile and fatuous response to them. He does not recognize them as his fellow humans and other beings, preferring to see them simply as obstacles and detritus on the path towards achieving the kind of ridiculous goals he and the EDC repeatedly cook up for themselves. Krinkelbein, thanks to his fellow Orthiconians’ copious thirst for liquor, is about the only one really profiting in any form or fashion from what is left of the American government’s investment.
Most of the beings with intelligence, gumption and resourcefulness have now left us to wander around the desert areas that surround the terraformed main compound, so that, perhaps, they may soon return refreshed in mind and body to confront Snead again, if he is willing to budge at all. The manner in which they have departed indicates to what degree the camps have divided. The human boys and girls have decided, rather arbitrarily, to separate on gender lines. Evidently, they have tired of sharing one dormitory with each other, but I do not yet know this for sure. The dogs, meanwhile, have organized their own plans apart from the remainder of the funny animals, due to, again, some imagined but likely possible schism. As I myself am disguised as a funny animal, I will be, forthwith, joining this camp on its exodus into the desert. Hopefully, I will stand the strain of the unknown climate out there.
The camps did not depart without fanfare, though. Each of their dorm rooms had all of its furnishings fully destroyed, its wallpaper torn off, and its bare walls decorated with a wide variety of substances, from water to urine. It was an epic act of vandalism that would have impressed The Who were they still alive to see it. Let’s see if Snead and the EDC can clean that up!
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