Have You Been This Far? (748 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by youarsoghey (View user info) at 2005-07-26 10:01:38 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
"Please escort prisoner number 57590 to hold number 2304 on floor number 110. Thank you." The female voice came from a rather boxy and unfashionable speaker hanging from the ceiling.
"I tell you," said a shaggy man wearing dirty, torn rags, "I've been all over the Universe and no other galactic borough has ever gotten in such a huff about this sort of thing before."
"Well," started the large man whose massive right hand was clutching the shaggy man's relatively scrawny neck, "if you steal enough bumpers off buggies, you're bound to run out of luck sooner or later. And when you run out of luck, you run into me, Bob Crusher, son of the great Prisoner Escort, Skull Crusher." Prisoner Escort Bob Crusher tightened his grip on the rapidly reddening neck of the shaggy man. They stood side-by-side in a long corridor filled with prisoner-Prisoner Escort pairs.
"Your father named you Bob?" asked the shaggy man. "Couldn't he have been a bit more creative given your last name?"
"My mum wanted me to go into finance."
"I see."
"Please escort prisoner number 57591 to hold number 2305 on floor number 110. Thank you."
"You're next, '592," said Bob Crusher as the prisoner-Prisoner Escort pair in front of them walked into the elevator that took them up to the holds. Bob Crusher forced the shaggy man forward and they waited for the call for prisoner '592.
"Look," choked the shaggy man as he failed in his attempt to peel Bob Crusher's enormous hand from his comparatively pencil-like neck, "the name's Alex Ambler. I'm just trying to get to know the guy who's going to throw me in the hole for the rest of my life for the pretty mild offense of stealing bumpers off space buggies."
"Mild offense!" exclaimed Bob Crusher. "My great grandmother, Gertrude 'Ball' Crusher, was killed by a bumper thief a few years ago! The bloody fool swiped her bumper mere hours before she got in a 'mild' fender-bender, or so they called it. The missing bumper caused the buggy to collapse with her inside. They said it was some flaw in the design or something."
In fact, there was a major flaw in the design of the space buggies that did indeed cause entire frames to collapse on their occupants if they were struck at a very specific point behind the bumper. The company that used to make them accidentally leaked this information to the public and they eventually became so infamous that they simply ceased to exist because the public willed it to be so. The physical phenomenon, known as Cessation by the Wills, is a complete mystery to everyone except to those in politics where this has happened so many times that people have started to become very annoyed with it. The public outcry has started to make people wonder if the people will exercise Cessation by the Wills on Cessation by the Wills, if some coincidences can save its existence, or if any of this is even possible in the first place.
Alex Ambler winced from the pain of the vice-like grip Bob Crusher's right hand had on his neck. He had spent years in star systems across many galaxies swiping parts off things like space buggies, Galacto Super Scooters, and the immensely popular, though slightly outdated, best-selling product of the successful Galacticorp Company, the Space-o-Mobile.
The wonderful thing Alex had discovered about the Universe was that it was so unimaginably huge that there was always some backward civilization to which one could sell "advanced" technology like the bumper from a space buggy for priceless artifacts. If all else failed, the great advantage the buggy bumper provided Alex was the ability whack the potential buyer about the head a few times until he was convinced he indeed needed the thing.
After all these profitable years, he had come across a momentous obstacle that he would have to overcome quickly if he was to overcome it at all.
"Suppose," said Alex struggling to forget his pain for a moment, "I were to tell you that I was the one who stole your grandmother's bumper."
"What?!" shouted Bob Crusher. In his fit of surprise, he momentarily let go of Alex Ambler's neck long enough for Alex to rush forward into the elevator just as a female voice came from the rather boxy and unfashionable speaker hanging from the ceiling saying, "Please escort prisoner number 453657592 to hold number 872306 on floor number 110. Thank you."
Alex Ambler spun around and slammed the red "Close" button as hard as he could. The doors instantly closed just as Bob Crusher's brain was able to catch up with the ruse. Alex hit 15 on the number pad randomly and the elevator shot upward to an unknown floor. Bob Crusher decided that his best course of action would be to forget everything that had happened and say, "It's not my job to remember everything around here," if anyone ever developed the audacious desire to ask him about such an embarrassing thing.
For thousands of years, the areas of the planet Earth that were not covered with water had been divided up into countries by various governments. After thousands of different governments and religions, and thousands of wars fought over precisely which government or religion was the absolute best, the citizens of Earth sifted through the mountains of ruins and simply decided one day that a mindless bureaucracy was, in fact, the best way to control those who felt particularly strongly about a certain government or religion. If an Earth man wanted to start a war or a revolution, he had to fill out no less than 2,600 forms including those titled "Proof of Adherence of Your Weapons Metal According to Endangered Metal Resolution 243" and "Complete Personal Information of Those Who Might Die or be Affected in Any Way." Needless to say, nobody had bothered to start a war or a revolution for centuries, and though everyone spent 65% of their lives filling out paperwork to do various activities, they did it peacefully.
Alex had journeyed to Earth on the way to the most mind-bogglingly technologically underdeveloped planet he had ever heard of, Stonius IV, where, it was rumored, someone had just invented the wheel. On Earth, he was apprehended in the act of stealing a buggy bumper and he had, for the first time in his life, not been able to bribe a police officer for his release, due to the extreme efficiency of the Earth police as dictated by Policing Efficiency Resolution 34. Alex originated from a somewhat medium-sized planet called Perius, whose people had a flare for corruption. Because of this, he was not used to anything resembling police efficiency.
As Alex ascended the elevator shaft of the enormous complex, he saw little numbers tick away on a display above the door. He had started on 8, and on 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, and 14, the elevator made a loud "ding!" sound and kept lifting itself up the shaft. However, when he got to floor 15, Alex pressed the "Stop" button and the elevator made the same loud "ding!" noise and stopped.
As it did so, a calm, male voice spoke from the speaker next to the number pad. "You are on floor 15 of the UE worldwide headquarters. In any of your previous visits to the facility, have you been this far?"
"No," said Alex.
"Well," said the voice, "I would be glad to tell you everything you need to know about the facility and this floor before you get off the elevator."
"That," said Alex, "would be a relief."
"If you could just fill out these forms," said the voice as about twenty papers flew out of a small slit in the wall, "we can get started."
"Actually I think I'll just be getting off, thanks."
The doors slid open and he stood facing a large office with cubicles stretching off into the distance. He stepped into the office and saw people rushing around with papers in their hands and urgent looks on their faces. After several failed attempts to stop someone, Alex succeeded with a slick-looking man.
"Hello," said the office-worker. He looked at Alex's ragged clothes and said, "What do you want?" Then he saw Alex's slightly more respectable shoes and assumed it was simply casual day in upper-middle-management and there was some new style he had not yet discovered, as most regular middle-managers were always a few months behind on such things. The office-worker amended his statement by saying, "Welcome to the Paper Transference Department. My name is Martin Vinterland. How can I help you today?"
"I'm trying to find a way out of here," said Alex. "Could you point me there? I'm not all that acquainted with this planet, so if you could direct me to the nearest buggy, preferably unlocked, it would be greatly appreciated."
"I'm not quite sure what you mean," said Martin Vinterland. "Have you been this far into the complex before? The only way into this area is the elevator and you clearly just arrived from there. Perhaps if you would like to fill out some forms—"
"No," interrupted Alex. "Just tell me which floor I have to go to in order to get outside."
"Sir," started Martin Vinterland rather impatiently, "I could show you a diagram of the complex to help you get your bearings."
"Yes, that would be fine."
The United Earth's worldwide headquarters was a massive structure. It was 200 stories tall and was the size of a city. In fact, it was specifically the size of what used to be Amsterdam. The UE had decided to build the headquarters there since the city was already in ruins after the Netherlands warlords had invaded France in 2243 AD sparking a massive World War. These warlords had planned on using the entirety of France as a huge marijuana farm. They obviously did not succeed, and, at the end of the war, the rest of the world's air forces carpet-bombed Amsterdam just for good measure.
"You'll have to go here for processing," said Martin Vinterland pointing at a place on the 58th floor, "and you'll have to fill out sixteen forms here on the 110th floor after which you will have clearance to dock 567 on the 130th floor. There you can ask someone to give you a lift back to the ground, but that will most likely involve the filling out of a few forms as well. So just do that and you'll be on your way."
"Now see here," said Alex. "I don't want to fill out any forms. I just want to get to a space buggy and get off this rock." Alex walked over to a nearby desk and found a sharp letter-opener which he quickly and deftly brought to Martin Vinterland's throat. "Get me out of here and I won't hurt you."
"Sir, you can't possibly be serious."
"Why not?" asked Alex. "I've been around the Universe and I've had to kill a few disagreeable middle-managers in my day."
"You misunderstood me, sir," said Martin Vinterland as sweat began to appear on his brow. "You cannot physically maim someone without filling out the proper forms. Any five year-old who has read Physical Injury Resolution 6,543 knows that."
"Do five year-olds typically read Physical Injury Resolution 6,543?"
"Yes," said Martin Vinterland defiantly. "It's required reading."
Alex sighed and decided to let this man live out the remainder of his pointless little life. He made his way back to the elevator and decided to do what was obvious: he pressed the number 1 on the number pad.
Many "dings!" later, Alex arrived at the bottom floor of the massive UE headquarters. Once again, a calm, male voice spoke from the speaker next to the number pad. "You are on floor 1 of the UE worldwide headquarters. In any of your previous visits to the facility, have you been this far?"
"Er...No," said Alex.
"Well," said the voice, "I would be glad to tell you everything you need to know about the facility and this floor before you get off the elevator."
"How do I get out of here?" Alex shouted impatiently at the voice.
"If you could just fill out these forms," said the voice as about twenty papers flew out of a small slit in the wall and joined the others already there, "we can get started."
"Let me off!"
The doors slid open and Alex stepped out. He stood in a small room with small metal walls. On the far side of the room, and the term "far side" is used loosely since no part of the small room was very far from any other part of the small room, was a small booth with a small man wearing small glasses and...Well, most everything was rather small. Alex walked up to the booth and knocked on the glass separating it from the small room.
"Excuse me," said Alex. "How do I leave this complex?"
"Who are you," said the small man and he quickly added, "sir?"
"I'm a guy who's trying to leave this complex. I...uh...was visiting," lied Alex, "and now I'm lost. I need to get out."
"Sir, you said you're just visiting this complex. In your previous visits have you been this far downstairs?"
"Is that some sort of standard question everyone asks everyone around here?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"So have you been this far?"
"No."
"Then please fill out these fifty four forms and I can get them processed. You'll be out of here in no time. After that you can go to floor sixty eight where you can start filling out the forms regarding the state of your clothing, how many siblings your great grandparents had, and what aspirations you want your great grandchildren to have. Then you can get over to floor ninety eight and—"
"Enough!" shouted Alex. He ran back to the elevator and got inside. He looked at the massive number pad and sighed.
The elevator rushed back upward and stopped only a few "dings!" away. Once again, a calm, male voice spoke from the speaker next to the number pad. "You are on floor 8 of the UE worldwide headquarters. In any of your previous visits to the facility, have you been this far?"
"Yes," said Alex. The doors opened and he was back in the long hallway with the prisoner-Prisoner Escort pairs. He saw a straggling Prisoner Escort who was trying to look as if he knew nothing and wished nobody would ask him anything about any particular prisoner who may have escaped. It was Bob Crusher, Alex noticed. He walked up to him and coughed politely to get Bob Crusher's attention.
"Shall we continue?" asked Alex. "I just went on a bit of a stroll about your establishment here, but now I'm back."
"Er, alright then." Bob Crusher grabbed Alex's neck and steered him to the back of the long hallway. "To the back of the line we go again!"
After a long waiting period, Alex was dumped in his small cell where he had access to a television and many unhealthy snacks. He never quite escaped, but he also didn't fill out any boring forms. He watched television and ate poorly for the rest of his life and he never heard "Please fill out this form" or "Have you been this far?" ever again.
User Reviews
Submitted by FunnyAsCancer (user info) at 2005-10-30 05:26:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment