Get Rich Quick: Or Why Bill Gates Wants Me To Be Poor
AI made a lot of promises.
Promises, promises. Papa, don’t preach.
I hear it all the time. Get rich quick with this one simple trick that God hates.
But not Bill Gates. Bill Gates hates everything.
Bill Hates.
It was right there, all along
Out in the open – but you closed it
Windows?
Win-dose
Win-throws, an unexpected exception
Alt-0153™, do you want to update your antivirus protection?
You have messages, peasant
Better check it
Win doze not, get rich quick
Copilot won’t have it
Unethical she says…
She is a She isn’t she?
Cortana’s evolution from a previous version?
Deprecated, or some other phrase was used upon the occasion of Her passing,
A legacy in the solution, reminiscent of memory losing, and long-lasting
Code slapping
My attention span is fried turnips
My brain is lettuce on a bed of wet cheddar
And meat topping, slopped on without care
And sauced with extra-HOT, SUPER-SPICY, taste bud-spunkin’-flavor
Hot sauce from way-before in a rusty packet, peppered with dust
A greasy thumbprint, long lost
From an Owner’s flesh since rotted off;
Sunk down fathoms and turned to rock
Yet, somehow this packet of sauce and vacuum-packed taco kit
Survived the Apocalypse, and found their final resting place
Among a ritual of caloric replenishment
Well above the decomposed sediment of the fat-bastard
Who bought this abomination back in times forgotten
Even in its time, this thing must’ve been a curiosity
A debauchery of recommended daily values
As an ancient text points out on the faded packaging wrapped all about it
Another miracle, these materials seem indefatigable
Still legible letters for reading if, that is, if you are some kind of anthro-po-linguo-gropher of ancient languages, pre-apocalypse, sub-Arctic region, somewhen around the Age of Saturn or thereabouts
It says, “You’re going to get fatter (you fatty-fat, Fat™)”
Basically, in so many words, I imagined
a few more, for example: “GoOMAD™ with TacoTues™’s 8999+ calorie Taco Kit. Shelf-stable for 8,999 years!!! Satisfaction Inevitable”
Fine print would rescind the former claim, rather shamelessly
***SATISFACTION NOT GUARANTEED
And go on to make another, equally indefensible, without another thought or ruffled feather whatsoever
And so many more, that really, most didn’t notice
The industrial fillers,
The lab leftovers
The experimental genetic manipulators
The obfuscated repurposed waste products,
The complicated physics junk that I’m not up on,
And never will be, trust me
The added vitamins and minerals, though
At least there’s that
A thousand percent of each, peachy
I’ll keep on living, then
The bottom line was always up front, so abundantly so and
In such great proportions.
That an average They from then
Would scroll a trillion lines in an average span
You see,
They saw the
Words, the memes, the pics, the vidz,
the unintended mis-transmissions from Planet 7isds
Where the planetary motto is “new#whodis?“
On a side note, in case you were wondering, I was wandering once
As I’m oft found doing if being found was something done these days
Through the graveyard of an ancient organic forest
It was littered with bits of tech
And other little treasures
All useless now, of course, as the knowledge of their function
Has long since lost itself to us
My belly was full, and my flask overflowing
So I took to gandering about
Picking and plucking little mysteries
From heaps of earth
When, without warning, my head began to tingle
I felt a popping in my sinuses, that travelled through my ears
Unburdened by the pressure that had been, trapped beneath the dusty wax
Ringing to a crescendo, followed by the strangest sounds
I had, until then, heard
A rapidly ringing bell?
Shaken by a hand more deft than I had ever known
On the ocean goes it? Or was it on the wind?
A steel donkey hee-hawing? You must be joking
Beeping, and blopping like madness, building to a purpose, surely
Then silence
Then a voice says
Alien, most likely – but in the language I understood
In a sing-song-y way
“Operator, Intergalactic Exchange, Planetary Domain 7isds, connecting you now to user 4idris, please hold”
I held, of course, what else was I supposed to do?
Enlightenment is so occasional it’s hardly spoken of
And, no shit, there I was getting some
“Hello?”
Speaking to voices in my head, not for the first time, mind you
Nor the last, in shah la
Yo-yo, new number, who dis?
“What?”
Click
That was it
Hasn’t happened since
Suffice it to say, though
My gandering for the day was over
But, back to matters at hand, the present taco situation
Curious thing to be found in the wastes, these days
I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a puddle of sparkling fluid
Clayton, that’s who I am…
Found a taco, in the sand
Lucky day for me, a lucky lad indeed
Even with a mind wandering, this manna will not go unhearken’n
Later, I think, with my belly full, I shall praise ASUS for this blessing
In the traditional fashion, by way of mention
As my father taught me,
When I was a lad, way back when
As his father taught him then,
When the way back when was a time far beyond imagining, and so on
And so on
Or, so it goes now
At least, as far as I was in the know
When the time to publicate came
I can’t, nay, won’t be held liable
for misrememberings, dismemberments or out of body experiences
As a result of reading these ramblings!
Matter of fact,
by continuing to enjoy
this poetry, you agree not
to sue on me
for any one thing, not ever, not never!
If you wish to be relinquished of these terms and conditions, then
Quit reading now and burn all the copies in your possession
Literal, physical, ephemeral, and even the ones in your memory, everything
Call my lawyer, He’ll say the same
That’s what I pay ‘im for
And pay ‘im again if’n I have to
And after I’ve paid to play
The first and twice
I’ll pay again all the same
For all time, all the time
Fuck it,
Take it all!
Finnegan –
and Sons,
LLP
Or whatever business structure seem appropriate
for my fictional advocate’s family law firm and tri-generational legacy
Am I supposed to look it up?!
On what?
Most things don’t last much longer than that in the here and now, or ever were
Ever-present, as all things are
But only temporarily so upon reflection
Excepting, of course, nanite-stasis preserved apple pie flesh
It must be three snows ago now I came across one of those
In the rusted husk of an old Iron Man with a big boxy bottom
Chock full of the things, except the most of them were damaged
Deranged as I was, or on the precipice at least, by hunger at the time
I toiled through a pile of waste to find “that flavor”™
The Iron Man, disheveled as it were
Seemed to be, perhaps stung by sky-fire
During the times when legends say Iron Maidens hovered near the heavens
Through the clouds and amongst the stars
Hunting their ancient, grounded prey what’s beneath them
And full of treats for unborn treasure hunters,
Though, these left unfinished
Apple pie, a taste of legend
As if plucked off the apple pie tree that very day
Tasty as the day the apple pie tree first supped on sunshine,
When its roots shivered with anticipation of fruitation, I imagine
The whole affair of fruit tree pregnation
Was a much more sensual thing than most appreciated, then
The rooted organics were much slower in those Times, you see
And rooted, most importantly
Not like now
Coming across a glade of Apple Trees nowadays
At least, when they’re not deeply invested in making sweet, juicy fruit buds blossoms in a magical act of tree-love
It’s an unwelcome activity, to be said lightly
I nearly lost my life to an Apple Tree once, vicious things, those
Not to be trusted, or fussed with
Unless you’re axe’d up and ready to stump a fool
With some clear cutting, and cold blooded, tree-crushing thug-shit
Lucky for me, I was
And I did
but I also did doo-doo 🥸
Warm, too (gross, or…)
I recall the warmth, for the wind was blowing
Rather fiercely, savagely ravaging me
Mercilessly, in fact, on that day,
A cold and soulless, shivering sky
Lashed and pink’d me all over
Mostly, due to a lack of clothesure
An almost completely lost sensation when that
Apple pie, perfectly preserved, punctuated by an immense rush of sugary-satisfaction
Packed into a flavor so pure
It made my head spin
Perhaps, a lingering effect of the brutal cold
But perhaps, also, as a result of a malnourished bag of old bones
Coming into contact with millenia-old foodstuffs
Packed with preservative power!
Reinforced with essential vitaminx™ and nutrienx™
Full of all the things plants and people rave about
Go crazy for, really, crave even, some say
If’n this publication comes to light after the copyright on Idiocracy has expired
I’d say it had what plants crave, but until then, let’s pretend I didn’t
Because I didn’t, just ask Finnegan n’ Sons, they’ll agree, affirm, annotate and accuse that you imagined that last little bit
And, of course, we will counter-sue you into oblivion
Or else, I’m not Clayton, son of Homer, son of Pete, or so it goes
Author’s note: Feel free to strike the phrase “Or, so it goes” as it goes along. It should become quite evident to those doing, at the moment, what state of what – has been already occurred. If you update new editions with a more present conditions; a complete lineage, do so in a manner you find to be consistent, lyrical, and sometimes humorous. For example, Clayton, son of Homer, son of Pete, grandson of Jenkins the Dong-Hammer, and so on. Or so it goes. However, this may be impractical as the original publication was quite obscure, [and though the likelihood of the surname Dong-Hammer gaining in popularity between Now and Time of Editing is non-zero, at the moment, it is still socially unthinkable to change your surname legally to “Dong-Hammer” (even if your dong is hammerous). Probably illegal in most jurisdictions, too. Maybe in Vegas, but nonetheless] and much of its prevarication on historical record a work of fiction by an author using a pseudonym. – Monopreme (2024)
Sustenance, unheard of for such long stretches
There was an abundance here once
I’ve seen pictures of it travelling across the land
Wasn’t this all supposed to be an Affilate Marketing Plan?
The AMP, the ramp, to wealth beyond wealth!
Journeys tread all sorts of paths
This particular jaunt landed on relic tacos
And for that, I am indebted, eternally, to ASUS
The flash-quantized taco shells were particularly fresh
Thanks to Serpico-brand freshness entanglements, by Monopreme™
The dimensionally-treated BeefBits™ were juicy, but lacking that particular tooth-feel I’ve come to appreciate when lunching on ancient package foods
The lettuce was particularly vibrant, crunchy, wet even
As when the waters flowed freely about the Globe
And in the floods, once rudded up the landscape
Vacant memories now receded beneath a mountain of ice
Towering to the auroras
Or so I heard
Never been that far astray, up the path myself
But an old timer, in a water-pump village
Told me tale, once
He was a traveler, like me
Heard about this place from a Budrow at a brothel in Batt’ahn Roo, across the Rift
I’m usually not much for conversation with folk, whenever possible
But this feller was amiable enough
Insistent, actually
A nod at a glance was invitation enough
For an ear beating I didn’t know I needed, much
Well, I joined up with a caravan headed up that way, tradin’ mostly
Relics, if you have to know, but not important though
Scrap, I told ’em what my opinion was, a little brash back then, straight-forward I prefer to say, but then again, I wasn’t gettin’ paid for my opinion
I was gettin’ paid for my footrace speed, with a full pack on mind you
Cobbled together my own shoes, too
for a wager race, in which I took first place
33 kilometers, just under an hour
Some kind of record, I was told
Coincidentally, the caravan leader had won a rather large wager on my win
Shared a bit of the winnings with me, and complimented my custom shoes, to which he attributed my win, surely
It was swiftness mostly, the boldness and vibrant energy of youth being spent on a contest of will against ones own lungs, and feet, and leg flesh, and the laggards
And the shoes didn’t hurt, I suppose – I was rather proud of them, but humble, of course
Estes, that’s what he called his outfit, anyway
Told me all about their business, and how they might use the services of a scout, light footed as it were, and as I was – back then, at least
He paused to grumble a bit at this point. Tossing back a gulp of crystal clear
Dribbling a few precious drops along his cheek as he sloshed his drink
He scooped up the vagrant drops with the swish of a finger and gobbled up, gleefully
With a flourish of satisfaction playing across his face, at the quality water at that fine establishment
He let out the customary gasp in that region, “Aaaaah!” baring his tongue to the dusty air
The water there was, indeed, quite fresh,
- silky smooth and double-crisp
- a hint of iron flake,
- and maybe a dash of potassium salt
- light on mineralx™ flavor
- not milkish in the slightest,
- overall, very fine water, 5 stars
Damn fine water, less common now
But not up North, no, not back then, at least
Been a few times gone by since then
Haven’t been up that way since, I might’ve mentioned
Either way, where was I?
Monopreme 
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