Arnold's Happy Day Part 2 | Poal: Say what you want.

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Not as gay as Starjello Arnold's Happy Day Part 2

PART 2

Before he could turn to head out the door, Arnold was hit with a crippling pain. A pain he learned should never be felt by anyone in any capacity ever. Hunger. Fear again gripped him as he ran as best he could through the high piles of garbage on his floor over to the kitchenette. While not quite as opulent as the kitchens found in the Cells, Arnold still had what he needed here. There resting on the shattered tiles in a grime shadow of what must have been a refridgerator sat his food box, a large, grey plastic bin about 2 by 3 feet wide and 2 feet deep. It was scratched all over and covered in a light coating of oil from transit. The label, which could faintly be seen through the grime and dirt read "Soylent". Arnold hastily tore off the cover of the plastic bin, tossing it aside and grabbed a bottle of food product.

Soylent was basically the perfect food, a mix of carbohydrates, rancid oils, water soluble nutrients, phyto/xenoestrogens, and oxalates. Nothing in the premixed food product was made of anything living or of a remotely similar physical or chemical structure to Arnold, perfect for integration into his toneless mass. What's more, the estrogen producing properties of his this drink, his exlusive source of quasinutrition, helped him avoid confrontation and better understand why his life was this neverending nightmarish hell. If he had it too good, others would suffer. They were all in it together and if he just worked hard enough and bore enough of the hell that was thrust upon him, someday he might become a WorkerSlave.

Arnold tore the cap from his fun chocolate-flavored soylent and gulped it greedily, still on his knees in the grimy kitchenette. Slurping down his chalky meal so quickly left him out of breath, but satisfied. He glanced up and to the right, activating his Tesla Brainfun Added Reality retinas. The time was 5:5...

"FREE TRIAL SOYLENT AMPHE-TIME MORNING MIXsixmonthsubscriptionmandatoryafterfreetrialBLINK NOW TO ACCEPT." Shouted an ad from inside his ears. Flashing lights and stunning patterns from the ad in his retina shocked him, releasing cortisol and causing him to blink several times in quick succession. "Thank you, Arnold! A trial is being delived to your domicile~" Spoke an entirely different and sensual voice. The smooth overtones and gushing sexual desire from the female voice flooded his brain with dopamine and reinforced his decision to accept the trial.

"Fuck! No, I just want to see the time!" Shouted Arnold as the ad in his eyes closed, revealing the time. 6:01 AM. "Oh not again goddamn it, Arnold you fucking useless piece of dogshit! Now you're gonna be late again fuck why can't you do anything right?"

Arnold jumped to his feet, losing his balance and tripping backward over his own feet. With a yelp he fell and smashed his poorly formed jaw into the small divider between the bedroom and the kitchenette, biting deep into his tounge. Gouts of blood rushed into Arnold's mouth and onto the floor. For a moment he was still from the shock. Flashes of white obscured some of the ads in the periphery of his vision as he climbed back onto his knees. He had to focus. Through the pain he thought how this would keep happening every single morning until he became a WorkerSlave.

Rushing out the door, Arnold stumbled down the dank, crumbling hallway. The poorly lit corridor was of a plain concrete construction with large acrylic disks overhead that dispersed what light could be drawn in from fiber optic cables routed out to the south side of the building. The length of the floor was covered with a drab green shag carpet that trapped moisture and reeked of mildew. Far away at the end of the hallway the crimson "Exit" sign flickered and strobed violently above the stairwell door as Arnold sprinted closer to it. Smashing into the pushbar, Arnold swallowed blood from his still bleeding tongue and gasped from the wall of cold in the stairwell. The stairwell was open to the elements and covered in plastic netting around the edges to prevent falls and suicide. The icy, smog-filled air stuck in Arnolds lungs, causing him to cough and sputter for several flights of his trip down to the courtyard.

Arnold ran across the frozen yard in front of his building to the bus stop. There was a crowd of about 20 people standing there. They were almost as ragged looking as Arnold himself in dress, but with less blood dribbling down their weak, malformed chins. They were, for the vast majority, of mixed racial descent. For the past few decades the government incentivized interracial marriage and copulation through tax breaks and preferential hiring practices. Arnold himself, was of mixed descent. He vividly remembered his parents clashing over familial traditions all throughout his childhood and knew no true family identity other than a vague sense of being "American". He felt a vague sense of unease and regret whenever this thought crossed his mind, but he knew that this was simply a social growing pain of society losing is racial prejuduces and that pervasive race mixing was the best way to stamp out racism. Arnold smiled, the idea of races existing in the strictest sense of the word as an empirically observable phenomenon was laughable. Thankfully the State realized this and did it's part to stamp out the so-called "racial identity" of Americans. Mixing things up and combining unlike genotypic admixtures was truly a brilliant method of saving their society from prejuduce.

The only barrier that really remained was language. The majority of those waiting for the bus squabbled loudly in Sp'Afro(pronounced spa-fro), a newer dialect of Spanish and African American Engligh. Others spoke an older language, Hindistani, a South Asian dialect. Both of these languages were unknown by Arnold, though he himself was a member of the new American Race. His parents had comprised of a European male and East Asian woman. He spoke Old American, the defacto official language of the United States. Though there was no official language, most legal documents and permits were in Old American. There had been rumors that the United States was secretly developing a new, unified language to overcome the last of the racial barriers between Her people, but Arnold didn't believe it. "Why not just switch to Sp'Afro?" he thought, "That's what most people use anyway. Who could imagine a government coming up with it's own language? That's crazy talk." Arnold smiled again at the joke and looked left at the approaching bus. People pushed and shoved to get to be first to enter the lurching, decrepit heap. It's rough, white polymer exterior was tattooed in thousands of gouges and paint scrapings both small and large.

Buses were one of the only remaining vehicles that were piloted by humans. New American drivers had combined powerful bus unions from across the country into one large hyper-union, known as the New American Bus Driving Equity Clan or NABDEC. Over the course of their formation and consolidation NABDEC survived government efforts to break them up through arson, assassination, and a few famous bombings. As a result of these attacks, the United States government realized to legal right of NABDEC to be the sole provider of bussing services to New American cities. As such, NABDEC chose to continue employing their loyal soldier as the bus drivers they started out as. This garunteed contract gave the NABDEC drivers all the leeway they needed to crash and careen wildly around the city with zero repercussions. They could ram past any traffic they wanted and did just that everyday, all day. This made for pretty rough commutes, but Arnold invariably slept through his commutes anyway.

“Wake the fuck up, you moron!” The bus driver’s thick Sp’afro accent prevented Arnold from immediately understanding what he was saying. Arnold had lost himself in his thoughts again and was blocking the other commuters from entering the bus. Just as he jumped to get on the bus he was thrown down by the others who, tiring of waiting 10 seconds, rushed onto the rotting bus. Arnold struggled to lift his marshmallow self off of the frozen concrete and shuffled as fast as he could manage onto the bus. As he scanned his TravilPasche code from his bodyphone’s NTC array that lived under the skin on his arm, the bus driver scolded him again, this time is his native Sp’afro. “Wakkem yall cabeza, tu mbwembwe!” he yelled, slapping Arnold in the back of the head as he passed. The driver slammed shut the door and rocketed off into traffic, the sudden acceleration threw Arnold face down into a slightly wet portion of the bus’s carpet. Something felt familiar about this sensation, but before Arnold could scrape the meaning out of his underdeveloped brain he was kicked by a young woman sitting next to where he fell. “Wakkem, mbwembwe. Llegamos a kuacha kwangu.” Wake up jackass, we’re at my stop. Arnold stared at the young woman. He features a strong mix of subsaharan black and eastasian. He skintone was so light that freckles came through strongly all over her slim face. Her dead eyes stared right through Arnold somewhere far into the distace. Her slack jaw and open mouth breathed out steam in the icy bus, creating a beautiful glow around her head with the sunlight that streamed through the window. He clothing was much cleaner and better made than his. A metallic mylar blazer with polygonal bracing adorned her shoulders and a high-cut crimson skirt covered what little of her legs it must. Her body phone was clearly the newest and most invasive of the currently available models. Unlike Arnold’s it actually protruded from her arm. Surrounding the screen on her right arm protruded an aluminum vignette. Cutting the skin into segments and making pattern of delicate paisly, the aluminum screengaurd stuck out of her arm several millimeters and dropped away in depth as it got farther from the center, cleanly blending into the skin of her arm. Arnie was lost in her features as she got up and stepped on him on her way off the bus.

He watched as her angelic form hopped off the bus and stopped. She patted her sides and looked around quickly at the bus as it started to move away. Arnold saw that she had left her bag on the seat when she left and looked back out to her. Without thinking she began to pursue the bus into the road, calling out and throwing up a hand to the oblivious driver. Almost instantaneously, she was struck from behind by one self-driving cargo trucks that careened down the road. He mylar blazer, though high fasion, had fooled the IR sensors on the front of the vehicle and prevented the AwwtohPielottSMRTBRAIN from activating the emergency break. Arnold locked eyes with his newest obsession as she was yanked under the front of the truck and quite literally exploded as she was rapidly and completely crushed from the feet up. The behemoth of a truch didn’t even slow down as it completely annihilated the woman. People on the bus and sidewalk didn’t even seem to notice. She was dead before she could make a sound.

PART 2 Before he could turn to head out the door, Arnold was hit with a crippling pain. A pain he learned should never be felt by anyone in any capacity ever. Hunger. Fear again gripped him as he ran as best he could through the high piles of garbage on his floor over to the kitchenette. While not quite as opulent as the kitchens found in the Cells, Arnold still had what he needed here. There resting on the shattered tiles in a grime shadow of what must have been a refridgerator sat his food box, a large, grey plastic bin about 2 by 3 feet wide and 2 feet deep. It was scratched all over and covered in a light coating of oil from transit. The label, which could faintly be seen through the grime and dirt read "Soylent". Arnold hastily tore off the cover of the plastic bin, tossing it aside and grabbed a bottle of food product. Soylent was basically the perfect food, a mix of carbohydrates, rancid oils, water soluble nutrients, phyto/xenoestrogens, and oxalates. Nothing in the premixed food product was made of anything living or of a remotely similar physical or chemical structure to Arnold, perfect for integration into his toneless mass. What's more, the estrogen producing properties of his this drink, his exlusive source of quasinutrition, helped him avoid confrontation and better understand why his life was this neverending nightmarish hell. If he had it too good, others would suffer. They were all in it together and if he just worked hard enough and bore enough of the hell that was thrust upon him, someday he might become a WorkerSlave. Arnold tore the cap from his fun chocolate-flavored soylent and gulped it greedily, still on his knees in the grimy kitchenette. Slurping down his chalky meal so quickly left him out of breath, but satisfied. He glanced up and to the right, activating his Tesla Brainfun Added Reality retinas. The time was 5:5... "FREE TRIAL SOYLENT AMPHE-TIME MORNING MIXsixmonthsubscriptionmandatoryafterfreetrialBLINK NOW TO ACCEPT." Shouted an ad from inside his ears. Flashing lights and stunning patterns from the ad in his retina shocked him, releasing cortisol and causing him to blink several times in quick succession. "Thank you, Arnold! A trial is being delived to your domicile~" Spoke an entirely different and sensual voice. The smooth overtones and gushing sexual desire from the female voice flooded his brain with dopamine and reinforced his decision to accept the trial. "Fuck! No, I just want to see the time!" Shouted Arnold as the ad in his eyes closed, revealing the time. 6:01 AM. "Oh not again goddamn it, Arnold you fucking useless piece of dogshit! Now you're gonna be late again fuck why can't you do anything right?" Arnold jumped to his feet, losing his balance and tripping backward over his own feet. With a yelp he fell and smashed his poorly formed jaw into the small divider between the bedroom and the kitchenette, biting deep into his tounge. Gouts of blood rushed into Arnold's mouth and onto the floor. For a moment he was still from the shock. Flashes of white obscured some of the ads in the periphery of his vision as he climbed back onto his knees. He had to focus. Through the pain he thought how this would keep happening every single morning until he became a WorkerSlave. Rushing out the door, Arnold stumbled down the dank, crumbling hallway. The poorly lit corridor was of a plain concrete construction with large acrylic disks overhead that dispersed what light could be drawn in from fiber optic cables routed out to the south side of the building. The length of the floor was covered with a drab green shag carpet that trapped moisture and reeked of mildew. Far away at the end of the hallway the crimson "Exit" sign flickered and strobed violently above the stairwell door as Arnold sprinted closer to it. Smashing into the pushbar, Arnold swallowed blood from his still bleeding tongue and gasped from the wall of cold in the stairwell. The stairwell was open to the elements and covered in plastic netting around the edges to prevent falls and suicide. The icy, smog-filled air stuck in Arnolds lungs, causing him to cough and sputter for several flights of his trip down to the courtyard. Arnold ran across the frozen yard in front of his building to the bus stop. There was a crowd of about 20 people standing there. They were almost as ragged looking as Arnold himself in dress, but with less blood dribbling down their weak, malformed chins. They were, for the vast majority, of mixed racial descent. For the past few decades the government incentivized interracial marriage and copulation through tax breaks and preferential hiring practices. Arnold himself, was of mixed descent. He vividly remembered his parents clashing over familial traditions all throughout his childhood and knew no true family identity other than a vague sense of being "American". He felt a vague sense of unease and regret whenever this thought crossed his mind, but he knew that this was simply a social growing pain of society losing is racial prejuduces and that pervasive race mixing was the best way to stamp out racism. Arnold smiled, the idea of races existing in the strictest sense of the word as an empirically observable phenomenon was laughable. Thankfully the State realized this and did it's part to stamp out the so-called "racial identity" of Americans. Mixing things up and combining unlike genotypic admixtures was truly a brilliant method of saving their society from prejuduce. The only barrier that really remained was language. The majority of those waiting for the bus squabbled loudly in Sp'Afro(pronounced spa-fro), a newer dialect of Spanish and African American Engligh. Others spoke an older language, Hindistani, a South Asian dialect. Both of these languages were unknown by Arnold, though he himself was a member of the new American Race. His parents had comprised of a European male and East Asian woman. He spoke Old American, the defacto official language of the United States. Though there was no official language, most legal documents and permits were in Old American. There had been rumors that the United States was secretly developing a new, unified language to overcome the last of the racial barriers between Her people, but Arnold didn't believe it. "Why not just switch to Sp'Afro?" he thought, "That's what most people use anyway. Who could imagine a government coming up with it's own language? That's crazy talk." Arnold smiled again at the joke and looked left at the approaching bus. People pushed and shoved to get to be first to enter the lurching, decrepit heap. It's rough, white polymer exterior was tattooed in thousands of gouges and paint scrapings both small and large. Buses were one of the only remaining vehicles that were piloted by humans. New American drivers had combined powerful bus unions from across the country into one large hyper-union, known as the New American Bus Driving Equity Clan or NABDEC. Over the course of their formation and consolidation NABDEC survived government efforts to break them up through arson, assassination, and a few famous bombings. As a result of these attacks, the United States government realized to legal right of NABDEC to be the sole provider of bussing services to New American cities. As such, NABDEC chose to continue employing their loyal soldier as the bus drivers they started out as. This garunteed contract gave the NABDEC drivers all the leeway they needed to crash and careen wildly around the city with zero repercussions. They could ram past any traffic they wanted and did just that everyday, all day. This made for pretty rough commutes, but Arnold invariably slept through his commutes anyway. “Wake the fuck up, you moron!” The bus driver’s thick Sp’afro accent prevented Arnold from immediately understanding what he was saying. Arnold had lost himself in his thoughts again and was blocking the other commuters from entering the bus. Just as he jumped to get on the bus he was thrown down by the others who, tiring of waiting 10 seconds, rushed onto the rotting bus. Arnold struggled to lift his marshmallow self off of the frozen concrete and shuffled as fast as he could manage onto the bus. As he scanned his TravilPasche code from his bodyphone’s NTC array that lived under the skin on his arm, the bus driver scolded him again, this time is his native Sp’afro. “Wakkem yall cabeza, tu mbwembwe!” he yelled, slapping Arnold in the back of the head as he passed. The driver slammed shut the door and rocketed off into traffic, the sudden acceleration threw Arnold face down into a slightly wet portion of the bus’s carpet. Something felt familiar about this sensation, but before Arnold could scrape the meaning out of his underdeveloped brain he was kicked by a young woman sitting next to where he fell. “Wakkem, mbwembwe. Llegamos a kuacha kwangu.” Wake up jackass, we’re at my stop. Arnold stared at the young woman. He features a strong mix of subsaharan black and eastasian. He skintone was so light that freckles came through strongly all over her slim face. Her dead eyes stared right through Arnold somewhere far into the distace. Her slack jaw and open mouth breathed out steam in the icy bus, creating a beautiful glow around her head with the sunlight that streamed through the window. He clothing was much cleaner and better made than his. A metallic mylar blazer with polygonal bracing adorned her shoulders and a high-cut crimson skirt covered what little of her legs it must. Her body phone was clearly the newest and most invasive of the currently available models. Unlike Arnold’s it actually protruded from her arm. Surrounding the screen on her right arm protruded an aluminum vignette. Cutting the skin into segments and making pattern of delicate paisly, the aluminum screengaurd stuck out of her arm several millimeters and dropped away in depth as it got farther from the center, cleanly blending into the skin of her arm. Arnie was lost in her features as she got up and stepped on him on her way off the bus. He watched as her angelic form hopped off the bus and stopped. She patted her sides and looked around quickly at the bus as it started to move away. Arnold saw that she had left her bag on the seat when she left and looked back out to her. Without thinking she began to pursue the bus into the road, calling out and throwing up a hand to the oblivious driver. Almost instantaneously, she was struck from behind by one self-driving cargo trucks that careened down the road. He mylar blazer, though high fasion, had fooled the IR sensors on the front of the vehicle and prevented the AwwtohPielottSMRTBRAIN from activating the emergency break. Arnold locked eyes with his newest obsession as she was yanked under the front of the truck and quite literally exploded as she was rapidly and completely crushed from the feet up. The behemoth of a truch didn’t even slow down as it completely annihilated the woman. People on the bus and sidewalk didn’t even seem to notice. She was dead before she could make a sound.

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