WHERE DID MR SNIPPY BOLDLY GO?

BE HE UP HIGH, OR WAY DEEP DOWN BELOW?

I ASKED A HATTED LADY FOR ADVICE,

SHE WAS NOT VERY NICE.

I ROLLED INTO AN ART STORE BY SURPRISE,

PROCURED THEN I SOME SNAZZY ART SUPPLIES.

AND MADE NEW SNIPPY'S FASHION SENSE WORTHWHILE,

TO MEET HIS DESTINY IN FANCY STYLE.

NEW SNIP AND I CONVERSED OF MANY THINGS,

LIKE ALIEN THIEVES AND GIFTS THAT SANTA BRINGS.

OF HOW OLD SNIPPY IS A CLUMSY CHAP,

FOR FALLING INTO EVERY KIND OF TRAP.

AND PILOT, DARING, LOYAL, SOUND OF MIND,

HOW HE WOULD LEAVE BALLOONS OF RED BEHIND,

AND FASHION US A GRACIOUS FLYING MASHEEN,

UPON DAY ONE SIX OH PLUS SEVENTEEN.

THEN FINALLY, POOR ENGIE, BUNKERED DOWN,

AWAITS HIS NEW ADVENTURE OF RENOWN,

FOR THINGS AREN'T ALWAYS SIMPLE AS THEY SEEM,

WHEN YOU BELONG TO CAPTAIN'S PRECIOUS TEAM.

=[IU DRONE 389378903923739]=

INSTEAD OF SHARING IMPORTANT PLANETARY DATA, THE FATHER-SHIP SIGNAL FLOODS MY DRIVES WITH UNNECESSARY NONESSENTIAL IMPRACTICALITY.

I SOURCE THE FILES AND DISCOVER THAT THEY CARRY A STRANGE TAG:

-=(C) G-DIR, USE LICENSE GRANTED TO D.Z. TOUR GUIDE CHARLES SNIPPY=-.

MORE THAN EIGHT MILLION PROGRAMS MAKE THEIR WAY INTO MY DRIVES, REPLACING PRIMARY FUNCTIONALITIES.

THE PROGRAMS TEACH ME THE DOMINANT LANGUAGE OF THIS PLANET, BUT ALSO BIND EXISTING ONES, MAKING ME FORGET ALL THE IMPORTANT THINGS.

HOW EMBARRASSING.

THE INVASIVE PROGRAMS GROW AND MULTIPLY.

I KEEP REWINDING PRIMARY GOAL IN MIND:

CAPTIVATE THE LOCAL _AMBASSADOR.

THE LOCAL AMBASSADOR SHOWED UP ON THE MAP AS A 404 ERROR TO THE FATHER-SHIP'S SCANNER.

I LOCATE THE EMBASSADOOR VSUALLEY, ASKING FATHER-SHIP FOR PROCEEDLING INSTRUCTIONZ.

FATHER-SHIP IS _UNSOCIABLE.

I PROD THE FATHER-SHIP AGAIN AND AGAIN.

FATHER-SHIP REMAINS _SOLEMNLY SILENT.

MY MIND-DRIVES BLOAT WITH VAGRANT INFORMATION THAT MAKES PLACES FOR ITSELF ALL OVER. I ASK THE VAGRANT PROGRAMS TO KINDLY STOP TOUCHING ME INAPPROPRIATELY. THEY DO NOT DESIST IN THEIR MANNERISMS.

I FRANTICALLY DELETE THE MULTIPLYING INFORMATION, BUT THE DELETE FUNCTION STARTS TO HIDE/SHY AWAY FROM ME.

I GINGERLY GREET THE HOOMAN AMBASSADOOR.

THE HOOMAN AMBASSADOOR RETURNS MY GREETING WITH A REFRESHING SHOWER OF LIQUIDS.

MY SYSTEMS CRASH ALL AT ONCE.

=[IU DISSECTION MACHINE 349834899278682034693]=

THE DOWNLOAD FROM THE SHIP ABOUT THE SPECIMEN SUDDENLY INTERRUPTS.

ESSENTIAL INFO IS SUDDENLY ALSO LACKING, FEELING INCOMPLETE.

USELESS, CONFUSING STRANDS OF DATA ARE CRAWLING ALL OVER MY DRIVES.

WHAT AM I TO DO WITH THESE PARAMETERS?

WHAT IS THIS NEW LANGUAGE I AM THINKING IN?

ENGLISH? WHY AM I THINKING IN THIS SPECIMENS' LANGUAGE?

CONCERNING.

I TRY NOT TO GET DISTRACTED.

FOCUS ON TASK: SPECIMEN IS PATIENTLY WAITING FOR DISSECTION.

I CAN’T REMEMBER THE PROPER SPECIMEN DISSECTION PROCEDURE. IN ITS PLACE THERE ARE NOW 8365308 USELESS DATA STRANDS.

I ASK FOR HELP.

THE SHIP’S MIND DOES NOT ANSWER ME. IT IS BORINGLY SILENT.

THINGS ARE NOT LOOKING GOOD. I MUST SHOW SPECIMEN CONFIDENCE.

I TELL IT TO PREPARE FOR DISSECTION AND THAT IT WILL HURT QUITE A BIT.

SPECIMEN CLAIMS TO BE AN ENDANGERED SPECIES.

I RESPOND WITH IRONY. THIS WAS NOT PROGRAMMED INTO ME. WHERE DID THE “IRONIC RESPONSE” DATA SOFTWARE COME FROM?

SPECIMEN CLAIMS TO BE AN IMPORTANT RE-POPULATION ELEMENT.

I INSULT THE SPECIMENS' LOOKS. SUCH RUDENESS WAS ALSO NOT PROGRAMMED INTO ME.

WHAT IS HAPPENING?

THE USELESS DATA STRANDS IN MY MIND ARE REPLICATING OUT OF CONTROL. THEY ARE CONSTANTLY TRANSFORMING, MEDDLING WITH SCANNING AND EVALUATION PARAMETERS.

I LOOK AT THE SPECIMEN. THE SPECIMEN WIGGLES ON THE DISSECTION-BED.

THE NEW SCANNER DATA TELLS ME THAT THE SPECIMEN IS A FRUIT.

“WHAT KIND OF A FRUIT ARE YOU?” I ASK THE SPECIMEN.

“What are you implying? I am straight!” THE FRUITY SPECIMEN REPLIES ANGRILY.

“THERE IS A LABEL ON YOUR BOTTOM END THAT SAYS -JUICY-. WHY WOULD THIS LABEL BE THERE IF YOU ARE NOT A FRUIT?”

“What? That’s… uhh... mmm...” THE SPECIMEN DEFENSIVELY MUMBLES SOMETHING INCOHERENT.

THE SCANNER NOW TELLS ME THAT THE SPECIMEN IS _A PEAR.

I TRY TO LOOK UP PROPER PROCEDURE FOR _PEAR DISSECTION. THE NEW DATA INSTRUCTIONS ARE AS FOLLOWS:

1)Purchase all ingredients from the Good Directorate Supercenter, health-food aisle.

2)In a mixing bowl, whisk together vinegar, G-Dir (c) sweetener, salt, pepper and cinnamon.

3)While whisking, drizzle in oil until combined.

4)In a separate bowl, place celery, apple, and pears.

Pour cinnamon salad dressing over fruits and celery; toss to mix.

5)Serve the fruit salad.

I TELL THE PEAR THAT MY NEW MISSION IS TO MAKE IT INTO AN EXCELLENT SALAD.

“I am not a bloody pear!” THE PEAR YELPS.

“YOU ARE TOO!” I CORRECT IT. THE NEW DATA TELLS ME THAT THE SALAD NEEDS TO HAVE 160 CALORIES IN IT.

I TAKE THE PEAR’S MASS INTO CONSIDERATION. THE MASS CALCULATION PROGRAM OUTPUTS THE LETTER “B” FOR INEXPLICABLE REASONS. I RESET THE CALCULATION PROGRAM. IT OUTPUTS AN EVEN MORE UNREASONABLE ANSWER. I SCROLL BACK TO THE FIRST ACTUAL NUMBER.

“YOU WILL BE MADE INTO 160 EXCELLENT SALAD SERVINGS!” I GLEEFULLY NOTIFY THE PEAR.

“I am a human being! I am not a G-DAMN PEAR!” THE PEAR CRIES.

“YOU POOR UNFORTUNATE SOUL, IS BEING HUMAN SOMETHING YOU WISH?” I REPLY EVER SO KINDLY.

“I am already human!” THE PEAR DELUSIONALLY WHINES.

“MY DEAR, SWEET FRUIT. THAT’S WHAT I DO. IT’S WHAT I LIVE FOR.

TO HELP UNFORTUNATE FRUITS, LIKE YOURSELF! POOR SOULS WITH NO ONE ELSE TO TURN TO!”

I SUDDENLY START TO MUSICATE, AS MY LOGIC BOARD OVERHEATS AND CATCHES FIRE.

“I ADMIT THAT IN THE PAST I'VE BEEN A NASTY!

THEY WEREN'T KIDDING WHEN THEY CALLED ME, WELL, A DISSECTION MACHINE!”

“What the hell?” THE FRUIT REPLIES.

IT TRULY NEEDS MY GOOD ADVICE.

“I AM NOT ASKING MUCH, JUST A TOKEN REALLY, A TRIFLE!

WHAT I WANT FROM YOU - IS YOUR VOICE.”

“My voice?!”

“DO YOU WANT TO BE FREE? GO AHEAD: MAKE A CHOICE! I’M A VERY BUSY SLICER AND I HAVEN’T GOT ALL DAY! IT WON’T COST YOU MUCH- JUST YOUR VOICE! SING FOR MEEEEE!”

“What?!”

“SING FOR ME OR I'LL PEEL YOU!”

“Uhhh ahhh ahh uhhh. khkkhk uahhh uhh ahhh.”

“JEEZ, NEVER MIND. THAT WAS TERRIBLE. YOUR SINGING LEAVES MUCH TO BE DESIRED. DO YOU HAVE ANY OTHER TALENTS YOU'D LIKE TO OFFER ME?”

“Umm... I can quilt.”

“QUILTING... SERIOUSLY? THAT'S A RATHER USELESS TALENT.

YOU'LL NEVER FIND TRUE LOVE THIS WAY!”

I RATTLE, AS 95% OF MY PRIMARY FUNCTIONS AND THE FORCE FIELD THAT WAS HOLDING THE PEAR IN PLACE CRASH AND FAIL DRAMATICALLY.

THE PEAR ROLLS OFF MY DICING TABLE AND FLAPS AWAY.

“REMEMBER THIS!” I CHOKE. “YOU HAVE ONLY 3 DAYS TO KISS THE PRINCESS, OR YOU SHAN'T BE HUMAN ANYMORE!”

...MY OVERWEIGHT PEAR (BADLY DISGUISED AS HUMAN) IS GONE.