Lawyerclysm? Hah!

Fake News written by Noah Morals on Tuesday, June 12, 2001

from the in-a-world-not-far-away dept.

Jon Splatz is a big fat idiot. He has rambled incessantly during the past years about the so-called "Lawyerclysm" in which the legal system runs amok and civiliation collapses. What a crock.

If anything, we are rapidly hurtling to something far more sinister: the "Monopoclysm", in which Big Evil Corporations monopolize all aspects of society. I've seen the future and it's patent pending.

I had this horrible, terrible dream the other night. I remember every detail perfectly...

It's 7:00 AM, the first day of the Month of Disney, 2028. My alarm clock utters a loud buzzing sound. This noise, I realize as I regain consciousness, is copyrighted by Disney and thus three mickeys have already been deducted from my credit account to pay the Disney royalties. Like I do every morning, I consider reconfiguring my alarm clock to instead play a more pleasing noise, but then I realize those sounds -- copyrighted by AOL-TW-CBS -- have a heftier price tag, ten mickeys per play.

As I stagger over to the shower cubicle I remind myself that three mickeys is a reasonable price to pay to enjoy the intellectual property produced by the world's finest company. I could rest assured knowing that my money was helping to pay the wages of some anonymous guy in Taiwan who labored over a hot computer terminal to produce a sound with just the right pitch and frequency guaranteed to awaken me from a deep sleep instantly.

I also remind myself of the Bad Old Days when piracy was rampant and corporations lost millions per hour to fools who stole their intellectual property with no sense of guilt whatsoever. So what if the quaint, nearly archaic legal concepts of "public domain" and "fair use" had been abolished with the 34th Amendment; the current arrangement was simple, fair, and guaranteed that the children of corporate God-Kings (formerly CEOs) could attain the American dream and buy that fifth luxury car they desire.

Ah, but it was too early in the morning to dwell on ethical issues! After showering, I decide to put on a certain outfit made from poly-meta-asfertinate-fibers that looks really sharp, even though the material is patented by Dow-Exxon Chemical and I would have to pay 50 mickeys for patent royalty rights for the day. But then I had received the outfit for free when I agreed to allow AOL-TW-CBS to put cameras in my apartment so they could collect marketing information they so desperately needed to conduct efficient business and better serve their valued customers. So I figure the small royalty payments every now and then aren't a big deal.

While eating breakfast I sit mesmerized watching the advertisements projected on the back of the cereal box. Meanwhile, corporate logos dance around my apartment walls, produced by a movie projector which I was required to leave on as part of my lease agreement (not that it mattered, the projector didn't have an "off" switch).

I notice the Ford-Chevy logo and realize I hadn't changed the oil in my groundcar in over 3 weeks! I've heard some fools say that motor oil can last for 3,000 miles, but I don't believe it. The Mr. Ford Chevy spokesman on TV says oil only lasts 100 miles and anything more can cause your engine to blow up. If you can't believe a paid spokesman on TV, who can you believe?

A few minutes later my doorbell rings. The visitor announces that he is collecting donations for the God-Queen of AT&T&MCI. The God-Queen's mother had unexpectedly contracted Johnson's Disease (sponsored by Wal-K-Mart) and desperately needed financial support to put her in cryogenic suspension until a cure could be discovered in the future.

I'm a softie at heart. I couldn't help but feel sorry for the overworked God-Queen and her ailing mother and so I purchased 2,000 minutes of airtime from AT&T&MCI knowing that part of my money would go to a worthy cause. I also knew that I needed to perform a certain number of good deeds to get into the Land Of Infinite Material Wealth when I died; this act would put me one check mark closer to that goal -- and I could save up to 53% on my long distance calls!

I wouldn't be able to take advantage of those 2,000 minutes just yet; I needed to be at work by 9:00 AM. I grab my briefcase and set off for the United-Delta-Southwest Airlines Skyscraper in my Ford-Chevy Gasguzzler groundcar. My car's radio comes to life (it doesn't have an off switch or a mute button) and announces the latest headlines from AOL-TW-CBS Headline Pravda News.

"...State of Missouri sells naming rights. In exchange for 100 billion mickeys down payment and 20 billion per year, the state will henceforth be called Microsoftia..."

"...Earlier today a New York account executive was arrested for revealing an account or description of a Yankees baseball game without the prior written permission of Major League Baseball. The man has been turned over to MLB's parent company, Nike Sports Monopoly, for sentencing at the Nike SuperMax Prison in Albany..."

"...Smugglers were arrested at the Canadian border by Microsoft-FBI for attempting to import copies of banned 'Linux' software. Such contraband is prohibited by the 35th Amendment because it infringes on the inalienable right of Microsoft to make money. Said one MS-FBI prosecutor, 'This is just the latest salvo against Capitalism by the corporate terrorists in Finland. We must put an end to these atrocities which irreperably harm Microsoft employees, stockholders, customers, and ultimately the entire world...'"

At 8:52 AM I arrive at the skyscraper, park my groundcar, and enter into the lobby. As I ride the elevator to the 251st floor, I read the inscription above the door for the millionth time: "The 35th Amendment to the US Constitution: Congress shall pass no law infringing on the right of businesses to earn a profit. The 36th Amendment to the US Constitution: The preceeding Amendment also applies to all government bodies, not just Congress. Sorry but we made a mistake. It won't happen again."

Aw, the 35th Amendment, that great bastion of modern Capitalism. I think back to the Bad Old Days of the 1990s, when I was a trial lawyer who specialized in class-action lawsuits. How things have changed since then! Legal scholars all agreed that the courts could not rule against a corporation under any circumstances because that would interfere with their fundamental right to make money. The legal profession disappeared overnight. I have no regrets, however, because I switched to a career as Advertising Manager #162062 for United-Delta-Southwest, making far more mickeys than I ever did, and now I have a clean moral conscience.

Well, actually I don't make quite as much money. Half of my salary is paid in United-Delta-Southwest frequent-flyer miles along with company scrip redeemable only at the company gift store. But the other half is paid in honest-to-goodness mickeys, backed by the Disney/Federal Reserve Monopoly. Ever since 2012, when Disney acquired the Fed and made Alan Greenspan the God-King of Disney, the mickey has been the most stable and valuable currency in the world. It's much better than those worthless dollars the old Federal Reserve printed. Heck, for a small fee you can request that Disney print your currency with a custom portrait and design! (But don't try to counterfeit a mickey because that would be a violation of Disney's copyright and you will receive a long sentence of hard labor in the dungeons underneath Disney World.)

Best of all, though, is that I no longer have to pay taxes. A coalition of God-Kings convinced Congress -- or what was left of it -- to abolish all taxes because they reduce the amount of money that people can spend on instant gratification and material wealth. Every mickey a person pays in taxes is a mickey they could have spent on tithes to their favorite corporations! So while my salary is less than before, the elimination of taxes means my standard of living is much higher than ever. Ah, but why am I dwelling on the past? I have advertising campaigns to create and public relations strategies to execute!

But after entering my office, I quickly realize I have made a terrible mistake. I must have looked at my calendar wrong; today is not Disney 1st, it's Nabisco 31st, the first day of the Feast Of Adam Smith. Today is a national holiday! I have the day off from work, but I'm supposed to attend services at the altar-vault in my neighborhood First Church-Bank Of St. Avarice!

I figure that if I take a short-cut across the Oracle Tollway and bypass the Nursing Home for Renegade Socialists, I might be able to reach St. Avarice in time for the first reading from "The Road Ahead" by His Majesty, Bill Gates 1.0.

But traffic was heavy. Agents from Merck-Bayer-FDA had erected a checkpoint looking for people smuggling drugs into the city. It's okay to smoke Marijuanacaine®, but it's not okay to sell it without first paying patent royalties to Merck. An awful lot of people on the fringe of society like to distribute Marijuanacaine® and Methaheroine® without patent licenses because there's so much money at stake. But it's a crime punishable by a one year sentence as a Merck research subject and guinea pig.

When I reach the checkpoint, the Merck agent punches in my ICSN [International Customer Serial Number] and my personal information appears on the flat-screen 128 inch SonyTrust monitor behind her. It shows my bank account balance, my police record (a misdemeanor copyright violation when I was much younger), my 1024-digit LBHC (Lifetime Buying Habits Code), my condensed DNA sequence, my credit history, and my IER (Incriminating Evidence Record).

The Merck agent compares my fingerprint, retinal scan, voice pattern, and DNA sequence to the ICSN Database and then, satisfied, waves me on through. I travel at top speed and arrive at St. Avarice only a few minutes late for the sermon.

Upon entering the church-bank I pay the teller the copyright royalty fees for the right to listen to the sermon (written by the Disney God-King), to listen to the hymnals (composed by the RIAA), to look at the paintings and stained glass adorning the altar-vault (crafted by Crayola), and to sit on the post-post-modern-style benches (patented by Holy Furniture Monopoly). As I sit down, the Head Cashier delivers a passage from "The Wealth Of Nations".

The hour-long service (sponsored by Microsoft) consists of a sermon entitled "Thrift Is The First Deadly Sin" and then an advertisement encouraging church-bank members to take a "vow of extravagance" and join the St. Avarice Monastery. Afterwards, everybody walks to the front of the altar-vault and contributes the customary tithe.

Just as I'm handing over a wadful of mickeys, I feel a slight discomfort in my chest. The pain spreads... And then I realize with a sudden sense of raw terror that I had failed to pay the patent renewel fee for my Pacemaker®! But Merck-Bayer-FDA should have deducted the pacemaker intellectual property fees from my account automatically! Maybe they had made a clerical mistake. But the corporation is always right!

Why aren't any of the tellers and cashiers helping me? Oh... and then it hits me. Everybody in the church-bank knows my bank account balance, and they all know it isn't sufficient to cover the ghastly patent royalty fees for major surgery. Somebody has to pay for the rights to all of those surgical instruments...

But it wasn't going to be me. My life flashes before my eyes. Did I collect enough points to earn my place in the Land of Infinite Wealth? I was... going... to... find... out... soon... e... nough...

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