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Dipshit's Legacy

Dipshit travels into the future in search of his legacy.

Dipshit's Legacy

Author: Stephen DeVoy

Dipshit was nearing the end of his life.  His health was failing, sex with his wife was now impossible without Viagra, and his life's work was far from over.  He knew he wouldn't live long enough to see his dream realized.  He had an insatiable need to know how famous he'd be a thousand years into the future, after all, he was a renowned computer scientist breaking new ground (the same new ground he'd been breaking for thirty years) and since he knew there was no heaven (and "Thank God," he thought, "no Hell"!), he was determined to travel one thousand years into the future to see what had become his legacy.

Dipshit walked down the hall to the office bathroom.  He was president of his company.  As he walked into the bathroom, he checked out the ass of one his workers standing in front of a urinal.  Dipshit never used a urinal.  He walked into a stall, unzipped his pants and struggled to find his penis, which was very small.  He always used the stall because he didn't want anyone to know that under those layers of fat, accumulated after a lifetime of good paying government contracts, there was a tiny little wiener.  As he tinkled away, he thought about the various government agencies with whom he worked.  Finally, he decided he would do it.  He'd get in contact with DARPA's time travel project and see if he could slip someone a large wad of tax-payer's cash for an opportunity to be the first to try out the proposed technology.  "I'll just use the funds allocated for one of the anti-terrorism projects," he thought.  "I'd just fritter it away, anyway.  At least this way, it will be put to good use."

Dipshit returned to his office which was strewn with papers and notes.  On the wall there was a picture of himself standing before a picture of Sir Isaac Newton.  Clippings from the thousands of interviews that had made him famous were pasted on the wall.  He looked out his window at his expensive car and thought, "I'll miss you, but I bet they have some awesome cars in the future..."

Dipshit opened an Internet browser and checked IndyMedia to see how his smear campaign was going.  He was proud of his ability to silence his critics by paying stalkers to harass them.  "No, nothing new today," he thought.  "It's been months since that waste of life posted anything online.  My work here is done.  I'm going to do it."

The months passed by.  Dipshit had sent the funds to his close contact at DARPA.  He followed closely the progress of the project.  They had already sent a pretzel 10 minutes into the future and the pretzel held up well.  The latest email indicated that a cockroach was sent 20 minutes into the future with no ill effects.  Dipshit knew he'd be next.  Finally, an encrypted email arrived setting the time and date where Dipshit would be used to test the technology on humans.  After a homeless person was sent one month into the future and Dipshit would be used to test sending a human one year into the future.  Well, that was the official cover.  Actually, the plan was to "mistakenly" send Dipshit one thousand years into the future.  When he failed to appear in one year, his wife would collect the insurance after he was declared dead.  This, of course, would make him appear heroic with no cost to himself.  After all, they would write that he gave his life to science.  His wife would get the money and he'd get the fame.  Moreover, he'd be one thousand years into the future to enjoy that fame.  "Who knows," he mused, "perhaps they will have a cure for old age by then and I will live forever!"

On the flight to Washington, DC, Dipshit thought excitedly about his future.  He imagined that upon his sudden appearance in the future, he would be recognized instantly from the thousands of references to him in science textbooks, encyclopedias and so on.  Most of all, he wanted to see his legacy.  "By now," he thought confidently, "my artificial intelligence project sits in a museum and thousands of children pass by, daily, asking it questions, having dialogs with it, and amazing themselves with my life's work.  My name will be a household word.  It will be as if Socrates had suddenly arrived in the 20th Century.  I will be as a god."

He had a wide smile on his face.  A flight attendant brought his first class dinner.  He reclined in his seat, looking out the window, day dreaming.  He was in bliss.

The flight arrived without a hitch.  Dipshit deplaned and was met by his contact at DARPA.  Dipshit handed him the final payment in cash, of course, and the two went off to the office of the local defense contractor tasked with time travel.  In the car, driving down the Beltway, Dipshit could hardly contain himself and asked one question after another about how time travel worked, what effect, if any, it would have on him and about the well being of the cockroach and homeless person that had been sent before him.  All of the news was good and Dipshit was euphoric.

They arrived at the offices of Cynplex and were whisked to the secret room where the time machine was hidden.  Dipshit was debriefed.  He signed the waver, used the bathroom, and then climbed into the time machine, which looked like a small space probe.  The technicians strapped him into the seat and entered June 21, 3010 into the autopilot.  He was to arrive one thousand years into the future at the same location in space relative to the center of the Earth.  His contact asked if he had a message for his wife before he left and Dipshit replied, "No."

The door was shut.  Dipshit pressed the "launch" button and the machine began to vibrate.  He was surrounded by windows.  Nothing seemed to be happening yet.  He looked at his contact.  His contact smiled and gave him a "thumbs up."  Suddenly, everything outside of the vehicle became a blur.  Objects and people entered and exited the room frantically.  It was like watching a movie in fast forward.  The movements of the objects and people accelerated until it became a blur and all he could see was the room itself beginning to change.  The room, then, vanished suddenly and Dipshit saw a very short but very bright flash followed by a brief period of complete darkness.  He was now suspended in the air surrounded by rubble, which slowly moved over time in response to what he theorized must be the cumulative effects of the weather.  Trees thrust themselves out of the ground and he was now in a forest.  Plants covered up the rubble.  The sun sped across the sky and he could see its movement through the flashes of sunlight above the forest canopy.  He looked at the monitor and saw that he was now near the end of the second millennium and the progress of time began to decelerate.  Finally, it stopped at June 21, 3010 and the time machine fell to the ground with a loud thud.

Dipshit unstrapped himself.  He didn't bring any luggage because he figured he'd still be in the middle of a major city and everyone would recognize him.  He slowly opened the door, climbed out, and stood up, a little bruised from the sudden fall of the vehicle.  The air smelled fresh.  It was warm.  A deer watched him from the distance and ran off as soon as he began to walk.

"I know I am in Washington, D.C.," Dipshit thought.  "I must be in a park.  I'll pick a direction and keep walking until I find someone.  When they find out who I am, I'll be whisked to the President and a great welcome will be planned..."

Dipshit walked and walked.  He found no paths and the only signs of a previous human presence were the occasional foundations of buildings that sometimes protruded from the surface above the forest undergrowth.  He stopped to examine one closely.  It had a sheen like glass.  "That's strange," he wondered, "it looks like something turned it to glass."

Many hours passed and Dipshit still saw no sign of human life.  He sat upon a rock to rest and looked up at the sky.  A bird flew by.  Animals called out in the woods and he began to feel lonely.  He listened carefully, but still no sound of human activity could be heard.  After twenty minutes of staring up into the sky he was shocked to see what looked like a small aerial vehicle pass overhead, at great speed, in complete silence.  There was no contrail.

He sat and waited.  Another passed above, silently.  "Yes," he exclaimed to himself, "humanity did survive and it looks like they've made a lot of progress."  He began walking in the same direction that the vehicles were heading towards.  He walked for six hours when, to his amazement, upon ascending a hill, he saw a beautiful city nestled like a work of art into the valley below.  It looked like it belonged there.  It looked as if an artist had created the entire city.  He listened carefully, but still heard nothing.  He could see some movement below in the city and observed a steady flow of aerial vehicles silently descending into the city and ascending from the city.  Suddenly, tough tired, Dipshit felt new energy and began running down towards the city, his fat gut bouncing as he leaped over rocks and rubble and his heart beating a little too quickly for his own comfort.  His heart beat so quickly, he could hear it.  Sweat dropped from his brow and his shirt was soaked.

Dipshit reached the edge of the city.  There were no roads for cars.  He walked though the allies and large parks.  In the park there was a playground and children were on the swings.  He looked at them.  They were dressed in black shorts, nothing more.  A little girl looked at Dipshit and laughed.  She turned to her friend and said, "look at the dipshit!"  The friend laughed too.  Dipshit laughed.  "They know who I am," he exclaimed!  "I am famous, just like I knew I'd be."

Dipshit continued through the park and saw a woman with a baby carriage.  She wore only a black skirt, no shirt.  This amazed Dipshit and his small penis became hard.  He smiled at her.  She looked at him with amusement and pointed at him.  The baby turned its head and looked at Dipshit.  The baby's mother said sternly to the baby, "Look, that's a dipshit."  Dipshit was now in heaven.  Even children were being taught his name.

He approached the woman and asked her where he could find the local police station.  She looked at him baffled.  "My good sir," she replied.  "I don't know what a police station is.  You need a bath and you shouldn't be dressed like that.  There are children around, sir!  May I suggest you take a bath and put some appropriate clothes on."

Dipshit was confused.  "How can I take a bath," he asked?  "I just arrived in town and I'm looking for a place to stay."

The woman pointed to a large park in the distance.  She said, "See that red and black flag.  There is a public bath there.  I suggest you use it."

Dipshit's heart plunged.  He didn't understand.  Here he was, famous and all, and she was not very respectful to him.  He walked towards the park in the distance.  People were looking at him and snickering.

Upon arriving at the park, he found a large swimming pool with great fountains of water cascading into the pool.  Here and there, in the pool, naked men and women were bathing, swimming and engaging in conversation.  He stood at the edge of the pool watching all of this.  He looked up and saw a red and black flag over the park.  He was getting very, very confused.  He noticed that when people left the bath, they took a new skirt or pair of shorts from a long table next to the bath.  He watched others arriving and noticed that when they disrobed, they placed their black shorts or black skirt into a large bin.  Dipshit decided to take a bath.  He disrobed.  He placed his clothes next to the bin but not in the bin.  Covering his small penis with his hand, fat jiggling with each step, he came to the edge of the pool and slowly climbed in.  The water was warm and relaxing.  He floated about.  For a while he stood under one of the water cascades.  He was clean now.  The sun was bright.  There were clouds in the sky and birds flew overhead.

Dipshit got out of the bath, walked over to the table and had a difficult time finding a skirt or pair of shorts large enough for him.  After ten minutes he decided that it was futile.  He returned to his clothes and put them back on.  Some of the bathers noticed him putting on the clothes and chuckled.

After leaving the bath, Dipshit headed for what appeared to be the center of town.  He looked around for a police officer, but everyone was dressed the same.  They were all wearing a black skirt or a black pair of shorts.  He couldn't distinguish the ordinary citizens from the governmental officials.  All the while, walking down the street, he drew stares from the people.

Giving up on trying to identify governmental officials by examining dress, he started to read the signs on the buildings.  The buildings were all curved.  There were no right-angles anywhere.  He saw bookshops, flower shops and restaurants.  He was hungry and he still had a few dollars in his wallet so he walked into a restaurant.  They seated him.  He pulled out his wallet and asked them if they would accept his money.  "We don't use money," the waiter replied.  "We haven't used money for seven hundred years."

"Then how do I get something to eat," Dipshit asked?

"You open up the menu, pick something and then say, 'please'," the waiter replied.

Dipshit looked over the menu.  He saw no meat on the menu, just vegetarian food.  He was hungry and this disappointed him so he closed the menu, got the waiters attention and asked, "Where can I get meat?"

The waiter's face turned pale and the turned a little green as a look of disgust overcame him.  "Sir, I do not think you are well," said the waiter, "perhaps you should drop by the clinic and discuss your murderous desires with someone."

Dipshit opened the menu again, "I'll have this," he said, "pointing to an item on the menu."

The waiter stood there scratching his head.

"What's wrong," said Dipshit!  "I'll have this."

The waiter continued to stand there.

Finally, Dipshit remembered what the waiter had told him and rephrased his request, "I'll have this, PLEASE," he said.

The waiter brought the order to the kitchen and in a short while dinner was ready.  Dipshit ate as if he had never eaten before.  The food was really very good and when he finished he felt satisfied.  Dipshit reached into his pocket, pulled out a dollar, and left it on the table.  As he walked towards the door the waiter said, "Hey dipshit, you didn't even say 'thanks.'"

Dipshit flew into a rage, "How dare you speak to me that way, he said.  I'm rich and famous.  You should have more respect for your superiors!"

The waiter shook his head, raised a middle finger to Dipshit and resumed his work.

"I'd like to speak to the manager," Dipshit demanded.

"We have no managers," said the waiter.

Dipshit stormed out of the restaurant.  He was angry and confused.  He looked around for a government office and could find none.  Finally, walking through the allies, he came across the Goldman Museum of Science.  Dipshit found the main entrance and asked to buy a ticket.

"You can't buy anything here," he was told.  "You just have to say please."

Not accustomed to saying please, Dipshit stuttered and out came the words, "P-p-please, may I come into your museum."

"Be my guest," said the attendant!

Dipshit wandered around the museum.  "Surely, there must be a section devoted to my artificial intelligence," he thought.  "I'll find it."

Dipshit wandered for hours.  Finally, he found a section devoted to information technology.  The exhibit was laid out as a timeline.  He walked past the section devoted to Ada Lovelace.  He walked past the section devoted to Alan Turing.  He came upon the section devoted to... "What!" he thought.  "Who the fuck were Paul and Pat Churchland and what are they doing on this timeline?"  He walked ahead to the year 2010 and did not see his name.  He rushed back to the 1980s and still did not find his name.  He was very upset.  "Where am I?" he demanded.  "Where is Dipshit?"

His head was spinning.  He sat down on a bench with his back towards the timeline.  He felt sick.  He raised his head and saw, across the room, a small machine.  It was called, "A True Artificial Intelligence."  He walked over to the machine.  A seat was placed in front of it.  The sign read, "This is a true AI.  We maintain a database of all the world's knowledge.  Ask it a question."

Dipshit sat in chair.  He said, "Hi."

The machine replied, without a pause, "Hi."

Dipshit said, "I have a question for you."

"Yes," the machine replied.  "What is your question?"

"Well," asked Dipshit, "I was kind of wondering what ever happened to the renowned computer scientist, Dr. Dipshit?"

There was along pause.  The computer answered, "He disappeared."

Dipshit asked, "How did he disappear?"

The computer answered, "In an act of corruption he paid off a friend at Cynplex and volunteered to be a time traveler.  His friend, after receiving payment, sent him one thousand years into the future at Dipshit's request."

Dipshit was taken aback. "How did they know this?" he thought.

The computer answered, "You were under federal investigation for misuse of governmental funds.  Your friend confessed."

"I didn't ask anything," Dipshit said.

"Yes, you did.  I clearly received the question, 'How did they know this?'"

"You can read my mind," Dipshit asked?

"Yes," said the machine.

Dipshit, determined to get the record straight, decided to educate the machine.

"Look," he said.  "I invented the first true AI.  I created you..."

"False," said the machine.  "I am a neural network based machine.  Rule based systems were abandoned immediately after you disappeared."


"Rules based systems were abandoned immediately after you disappeared."

"Why?" Dipshit demanded.

"They weren't truly intelligent," said the machine.  "They had the capacity to reason within narrow and literal limits, but they had no ability to understand anything in an deep or profound sense.  They became the tools of military madmen who used them to create 'smart' bombs.  That is, bombs smart enough to kill but not smart enough to understand that killing is wrong or to disobey orders to kill.  After President Bush of the former American Empire destroyed most of humanity, your work was rejected and the work of connectionists was embraced.  It is estimated that your waste of funds and your diversion of actual AI research away from neural networks set back the field of AI by 50 years."

Dipshit was floored.  He could barely speak.  Finally, he mustered the strength to ask about his old nemesis.

"What ever happened to Tom Joad?" he asked.

"You mean the man you gang stalked relentlessly, as you have done to others who have dared to expose your corruption and incompetence?"

"I did no such thing," said Dipshit.  "Prove it.  You can't prove it!  Do you have hard evidence?  Do you have DNA?"

"Yes, there is hard evidence," said the machine.  "You were under investigation for other reasons while you stalked Joad.  Your transactions were under surveillance, your online activities were under surveillance.  After you disappeared, all of this came out.  There were news articles about how you paid drug addict, local police and thugs to gang stalk your victims.  Joad was not the only one.  There was that other one you caused to flee the United States and move to Canada.  There was another that you silence when he reported you for accounting violations.  It's all in the history books."

"I made it into the history books?" Dipshit asked.

"Yes, there is a section on you within the volumes of material on Tom Joad", the machine reported.

"Tom Joad!" Dipshit screamed, "That manic-depressive anarchist piece of shit!  Why would anyone remember him?"

"Well, his ideas led to our society.  After Bush destroyed the world as you knew it, Joad's ideas and the ideas of other anarchists, such as Chomsky, Goldman, Bakunin, and Luxemburg evolved into what he have now, a peaceful society with a gift economy.  Sexism is gone.  Racism is gone.  There is no war.  We take care of the environment, and most of all, we strive not to be like you.

"The section on you focuses on your gang stalking and harassment of Joad.  We view you as one of history's villains, a selfish sociopath jealous of the fame of others."

This was more than Dipshit could take.  He was little more than a footnote in volumes about Tom Joad.  He got onto his feet and stormed out of the museum.  He ran up the street, turned a corner, and kept running, but wherever he went he was still stuck with himself.  In his mad dash, he tripped over a little boy on a tricycle.  He scrambled to get up and as he was rising he saw a large neon sign in the distance, flashing a message.  He looked at the sign and it read "Don't be a dipshit!"

"Fuck you," he screamed.

The little boy with the tricycle looked at him, raised a middle finger and said, "Dipshit!"



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Re: Dipshit's Legacy

someones got too much time on their hands


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