Y2K2 - The Real End ....
Yes here it is fellow writers. 2002 is fast upon us. Depending on the humidity, it is more upon some than others. I for one hate the heat so the air conditioner resides in a window where the computer is. Of course. Where else would it go? Heat makes me cranky. My family understands this and pretty much allows me to live in the air conditioned part of the house. They urge me toward it. Cringing when I wake up in a hot bedroom. I don't see why. Doesn't everyone get just a little testy when their skin is about to slide off? Odd, I guess I thought I was normal. But I digress.
Y2K2 is coming. We are nearing the moment when the world will cease to communicate. When computers all over the world will develop dyslexia and the year 2002 will confuse their chips to the point of melt down. They (the ever-present they) thought it was the millennium turning. Foolish mortals. 2002 will take computers to the edge and beyond. Stunned beyond function, they will screech to a grinding halt, searching for bad sectors and foaming at the modem.
Nothing is ever simple, is it? 2000 was such a nice round number and so anti-climatic. I know I for one breathed a huge sigh of relief at 12:01 of the new millennium. I really felt sorry for all those people who had a quarter ton of beans, a few hundred bags of rice and enough gasoline stockpiled to blow up the planet. I know a great recipe site for using up those beans if anyone needs it. But don't dismay. Y2K2 is coming. Just six short months to gather your supplies again. I guess you've learned a few tricks about supply and demand during that little millennium exercise in weird. Never store those beans in humid areas. They tend to swell out of their containers. And as our 7th grade science teacher explained, gas expands to fit the space it occupies....and keeps expanding.
Writers will have it especially tough in the coming months of the crash of 2002. Paper will be at a premium for those incessant list makers again. Pencils, forget it. They're a recommended survival item. And coffee of course will cost our first born. Worth the price, but still....
And once the world settles down to a somewhat primitive way of life again, we'll be appointed Scribes. Yuck. Quill pens are fun to use in mastheads and for unruly pseudonym/alter egos, but as slow as my email server. Scribes. Do we get to wear long hooded robes too? They will put us in long dusty rooms with inadequate lighting and ration our ink supply. They will still demand we produce X number of chronicles a week. The Gods forbid they have a war. We'll be screwed. My writing callus has been long gone. I'll be sore for months.
But in time, and with planning, our successors will develop a language all their own. They will keep the masses ignorant of the important details of the kingdom. We Scribes will encourage confusion. We will spread rumors about immanent return of the Gods of Old - Pinky and The Brain. We will convince the peasants of their puniness and frailty. We will withhold all bean recipes. We will overcome the dust, the ink stained fingers and the eyestrain. We will prevail.
But while we're dreaming big, could we dream they pay scribes more than 2 cents a word? Whatever mode of currency there may be in our post-apocalyptic world. Hell, most of us have worked for sheep, canned corn and Quill even did a piece on the Process of Pasteurization for a pair of socks once. We writers are relatively easy to please.
One more thing...I vote we get color choices for our robes.
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