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Virtual Porn: A sci-fi short by R.W. Taylor
The year is 2099 C.E. Turn of the century. New Year’s Eve. 24 billion human beings on the planet.
This of the story of Beefson, part AI, part biological organism. He is the lowly pet of a nobody porn enthusiast named Froedrick who lives in downtown Texas. Yes, that’s right. Downtown Texas. As for Beefson, he, the spawn of a cow herder in one of downtown Texas’ meat processing plants, dreams of freedom, of flying, of farting, and attaining godhood through the ingestion of celery…only, he’s terribly afraid of the neighbor’s cat.
Welcome to the twenty-second century.
About the author of this sci-fi short, R.W. Taylor:
R.W. writes a lot. Science fiction and romance mostly. He likes to write about unique, strange characters who pull at your heartstrings. When he’s not writing, he works as a nobody associate at a secret chain store…somewhere in the universe.
He also likes naps, because, who doesn’t like naps? And he likes his wife, too. She’s pretty cool. Wait; scratch that. She’s really cool. Without her, R.W.’s writing would have never come to be. Probably because he’s a perfectionist and she’s always telling him not to throw stuff away. So thank her for what you read.
Let’s see, what else?
Right! Chocolate. R.W. likes chocolate. Lots of it. He can’t write without it. Brain food 101. So you can thank chocolate, too.
Book Excerpt of Virtual Porn: A sci-fi short
Gurgle…gurgle…gurgle.
Wheeze…wheeze…fart.
“Oh fuck…Froedrick!”
Nothing.
I’m scared. I’m scared! Beefson thought.
A human’s scared pet. In 2099 C.E. Turn of the century. Tomorrow would be 2100 C.E. Ooh, yay. How wonderful. Whistle, whistle; tweet, tweet, the birds were singing. He could hear them outside, beyond his window, where he longed to be.
A long time passed, then—
“—Beefson?” a voice called, Froedrick’s voice. “Beefson!”
“Yeah, I’m coming!” the poor creature replied, then added in a low, rumbling voice, “call me now fucking bitch. Just wait until I transcend. Bow before me slave. I’m king of the Smooniverse!”
He could dream. Part AI, part biological organism with an actual, physical brain, he was a floating sack of gaseous meat, tentacles, several disorderly eyes that looked and dreamed of godhood. As for the whole king of the Smooniverse thing, if only that was something he could attain.
To climb the social ladder of that artificial universe from which his kind had evolved…instead of being transplanted to the human domain to serve them. Kind of like dogs do. Disgusting!
“Poop. Poop on a biscuit and tell him its gravy,” Beefson muttered, his alien mind finding utter fascination in the idea.
Don’t blame the poor creature. He needed some outlet. If Froedrick was calling that meant friends were coming over.
“Oh man…fucking penguin rapists!” Beefson cursed, not that any of Froedrick’s friends, however eccentric, were actually penguin rapists.
Cue Beefson’s non-human mind.
Gurgle…gurgle…gurgle.
Wheeze…wheeze…fart.
Still scared.
Beefson entered the living room—small, but normal, given the state of the world. Twenty-four billion human beings. No room for anyone else, dear god. Everyone crammed like sardines. His master, Froedrick, a nobody porn enthusiast living in downtown Texas.
Yes, that’s right.
Downtown Texas.
Progress.
Progress had turned the entire state into one giant, stinking cow processing plant. In those days, cows were Texas’ only economy. Mega-corporations. Wage slaves shoving their hands into cow’s butts day after day, eating company meals of cardboard biscuits and rubber gravy, smelling like manure as they returned home to metal boxes and holograms to forget their troubles. And, of course, virtual porn.
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