The Pronoun Reassignment Specialist...

 

PLEASE HEED THIS WARNING. If you are sensitive to certain kinds of speech, thought experiments, or other ideations which could be considered offensive, controversial, or otherwise unsettling please consider refraining from reading beyond this point. Sooner or later your kind of eyes will encounter certain information which you may not want to know, deem triggering, or find psychologically/spiritually traumatizing. Some of the adverse effects associated with these kinds of hazardous bits of information may include existential anxiety, moral terror, dreadful dreams, and a fervid yet futile desire to completely purge all knowledge and meta-knowledge obtained as a result of reading this book. Of course, the author assumes no legal or other liability in conjunction with any negative experiences, effects, or aftermath; and any further act of reading this text shall be done at the reader’s own risk. Furthermore, any attempt to provide negative reviews or reactions to this book, incite actions against its author, or in any way refute the ideas, intentions, and illuminations of these pages will be done at your own risk of other negative outcomes which the author also hereby waves any culpability. For all intents and purposes, you are entirely on your own, and no one can spare you from the consequences of your own actions as a result of reading and reacting to this book or anything else for that matter...

FADE IN TO OPENING SCENE...

(See door marked Pronoun Therapy and Consulting. Show face of engineer irritated at having to wait in lobby with gun pointed at him by robot enforcement drone. Door opens. A peacock with some humanoid features exits. Then Therapist enters frame of doorway and reads number of Engineer which matches tattoo on his forehead. Engineer gets up and walks into the room with gun remaining on his back, drone pushes him inside door seals shut automatically. Cut to interior where Therapist and Engineer stand opposite each other.)

 

T: Why don’t you make yourself comfortable? You can undress to your level of comfort, choose to be seated, lay down, or whatever makes you feel at ease.

 (Engineer sits down with arms crossed, robot barrels from corners trace his move with cameras trained on him as well.)

 T: As you may already know, I’m a pronoun reassignment specialist. We don’t need names in here, but my pronouns are Pseudoscientif-a-rific and Selfi-Smart, but enough about me. Let’s talk about you. What do you feel right now? Be honest.

 E: I feel like a biological man with a simple penis to predefine my pronouns and a degree in engineering, who is surrounded by a bunch of lunatics like you, who insist that I placate their delusions and automatically intuit what sorcery of nonsense syllables they prefer to be addressed by as if I can just conjure up some spell of shared delusions, and never offend the shattered dreams they insist on using to define themselves.

T: Ok I see. So, you don’t feel as if you belong in the social body you’ve been assigned?

E: No. I wasn’t assigned anything. I was just trying to apply for a job here, since I recently graduated with an engineering degree and all the insurmountable debt that comes with it, and thought I’d try this place since it is the only company the government allows to hire engineers. What doesn’t fit, in my opinion, is this clown-shit ideology being force-fucked into the same space where brains are supposed to be but end up being shoved out the side of the skull to make room for this horseshit.

 (Cut to application with entry space for PREFERRED PRONOUNS which has been left blank)

T: You seem agitated. Don’t you think this negative energy you seem to have toward those who identify differently could be the result of your own unresolved pronoun issues which you project outwardly?

E: No. I have a brain, a penis, a pair of perfectly functional testicles and eyes, the latter of which can clearly see what bullshit and delusions look like. Adopting some psychotic set of pronouns to differentiate myself in conversation isn’t going to do anything to improve personal relations, speed conversation along, or anything else but support the spread of these damned delusions.

T: AH, I see then. So, you don’t want to accept yourself or others on a deeper level and prefer to present yourself as the archaic curmudgeon type. That’s perfectly acceptable. Let me just have you mark yourself down as a THEY/THOSE, and we can be done here.

(Cameras zoom in and guns slide closer.)

E: No. I’m one fucking person and not a conglomerate group of synchronized assholes or some dip-shit with multiple personality delusions.

T: I see. First of all, its called an associative identity awareness condition, and not MPD. Secondly, there’s no reason to be upset. I can assure you that before you leave here today I will resolve your pronoun issues. I take my job very seriously and have many accreditations. (Show degrees on wall with crayon lettering and macaroni painting construction) Perhaps we should put you down as a provisional HE-SHE/HER-HE so you can explore your pronouns more openly.

E: Again, I’m one fucking person with a single fucking penis, and relabeling doesn’t change what I am- it only perpetuates this bat-shit crazy shit-show that’s destroying society.

T: I think you should consider refraining from using insensitive conspiracist slurs to blame societies problems on the latest outbreak of batCoronaVirus91, and tone down your toxic masculine penis pride. That being said, it seems to me that if these pronouns don’t matter, then perhaps I can put you down as a TODDLER-DIDDLER/RAPE-FEIND.

 E: I’m not one of those.

T: But it doesn’t matter, Right?

E: You really are an idiot. I don’t diddle toddlers or rape, so I don’t want to be referred to as someone who does. Those things are deplorable. I’m a decent, normal human male.

(Therapist cringes psychotically at the word normal and screams)

T: Ok, I think I’ve heard just about enough of your hate speech! The N word is the only word we don’t allow in this room! Maybe I should just register you as a HE/HIM then.  What do you think about that?

(Guns move to point blank range. Red record light on camera glows bright and swells)

E: I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not playing this game.

T: And what game do you think this is?

E: You’re trying to justify a way to have me sent away to one of those camps where they turn you into something… ELSE.

T: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Those camps are just conspiracy theories. I mean, there aren’t even any pronouns to refer to them. How can they exist without having properly assigned pronouns?

(Engineer’s face turns pale, eyes take notice of guns, cameras, and Therapist’s facial ques)

E: Yeah, makes total sense. I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey I have an idea, since I clearly have a lot of personal issues to work-out, hows about you put me down provisionally as a generic YOU/YOUS?

(Therapist grins and walks over to engineer menacingly. An assistant bot is summoned as Therapist snaps fingers, and places a cart with several torture tools laid out ready on top of it)

T: That might work out alright. For now though, I’m going to need you to bend over this way and scream out 500 Hail Satan’s facing the flag while I penetrate you to initiate your new pronoun adjustment therapy.

E: On second thought, maybe I’ll just have one of those cyanide pills. That’s still an option, right?

(Therapist smiles and disrobes before perusing its fingers over the set of tools and grabbing a particularly menacing one which buzzes.)

T: I’m afraid that option has been discontinued. Too many of our most productive workers were choosing that option, and cyanide supple couldn’t meet the demand. Plus the overall productivity levels were suffering as well. Now, are you ready for your pronoun reassignment treatment?

(Tool buzzes loudly, Engineer looks terrified and frozen in horrific disbelief, Therapist tuns Engineer over to position bent over bench/couch and facing flag)

E: I thought…

T: No, you didn’t. Alright you sissy De-Gender-ate. It’s time to adjust your pronouns.

E: What am I going to end up as?

(Tool buzzes as Therapist secures Engineer in place with restraints)

T: Your pronouns are going to be EMPLOYEE/OBIDI-ANT

(Engineer’s tears stream down face, then a look of acceptance settles over him OBIDI-ANT)

E: I suppose I’ll learn to live with that.

(Saw sounds and flesh cutting ensues with screams of pain and maniacal laughter. Therapist holds up mutilated nondescript genitals and throws them at a trash can which is overflowing with biological waste, part of the thrown bits bounces off of the pile onto the floor.)

T: Well, not everyone can fit in here.