©Ernest Hogan 2014
A bug is a thing with sucking/penetrating mouth-parts.
The Kafka virus transforms the President a giant cockroach. Secret service agents go into mouth-frothing, tongue-biting convulsions, bleeding into their ear-pieces. The First Lady rushes in, seeing her chance to indulge in insect-style mating without violating her religious beliefs, her mouth waters in anticipation of a life-long supply of semen from one copulation, and the sweet taste of testosterone-soaked brain tissue. She envies her husband's sucking/penetrating mouth-parts.
A bug is an electronic listening device.
How does a computer virus change a human into a cockroach? I asked, from dusty corner of my brain into the Undernet.
"Simple," said a saguaro, "have the static blast from switching off the computer trigger a programmed chain-reaction DNA reconstruction."
A bug is a virus.
I didn't like being exiled to cyberspace like this. The good stuff was all happening in the real world. The street can be virtual reality for people who have lives.
"Don't bug me, man," my father often said.
A big advantage of Cope, our new, recombinate opiate/coca drug is that it depresses the will to resist while increasing energy and consciousness. Users become busy, productive zombies. Things go better with Cope.
Giant insects were once popular sci-fi monsters.
FLASH! THIS IS CALIFIA. DON'T WORRY. WE'RE TRACKING YOU. CAN'T REALLY SAY MUCH. NEVER KNOW WHO'S LISTENING ON UNDERNET.
Super-viruses are the boogiemen of the Information Age.
THOSE DAMN SAGUAROS OR WHATEVER -- THEY KEPT FADING IN AND OUT AROUND ME.
Finally I asked, "Just what are you?"
"Your brain is incapable of processing that information."
"But I've got this chip in it!"
"Sorry. Still not enough power."
"But I gotta know! It's killing me!"
"Very well. The fact is, we are the natives, and you are the aliens."
"Uh . . . uh . . ."
"See. We told you."
A message from my body: Vampiko sticks her tongue in my ear, then says, "It won't be long now, mon amour."
Another feed from Washington: The Speaker of the House scans the latest Wired as he eats his usual breakfast of pit-bull pituitary glands with milk and sugar when three doberman-sized lizards crash through a window.