WALMERICA - GET TO WORK
Walmerica: A Time Travel Adventure into the Corporate Abyss
Wow! Holy damn! I… holy Hell! I just got back… oh-my-god... O.K., O.K., starting to breathe...
The other day, while I was messing around with some coding scripts, I accidentally triggered some kind of event horizon in my bathroom.
The horrible turbulence knocked me unconscious, and when I came to, I was laying on my back in a large corn field.
The corn were all horribly mutated, the size of Volkswagens.
I couldn't help but think then, that the only place such things could exist would be in America, and since they didn't exist anywhere that I knew of in the good old U.S of A, this must have been the FUTURE.
I considered for a moment if smoking mutated corn husks would calm one's anxiety, but the thought passed as the brutal sun above was now cooking me with vigor, and a sudden panic rose up inside of me.
I made my way quickly now, through the corn, pushing my way through, cursing all the way.
I finally emerged from the field to a dirt embankment, that I ascended with terrible strain.
Had it gotten hotter?
At the top of the embankment a highway of about 19 lanes stretched across like some final, bonus level of Frogger never even considered for implication.
Walking down the left side of the road was a long procession of bedraggled and weary looking horde of people.
They looked like they had been through it, and their skin was charred and leathery, weathered by this inscrutable weather.
Mercifully, an old man finally approached presenting a half-empty (yeah that's right) bottle of water in his hand.
He smiled a single toothed smile at me.
Welcome to the United States of Walmart (USW)
When my throat stopped burning from the sudden and violent dehydration, and only barely because the water had been a little shy of boiling, I mustered out the croak: "Where... what... is this?"
The old man gave a half interested shrug, walking away to join what looked like his now unpleased wife.
"Yer in Walmerica. Like it or lump it."
I let the words roll around in my head, but I was too overheated to think about them for long, so I begrudgingly joined the herd.
What else was there to do?
Eventually the sad march came to a halt, as we came upon an "INFORMATION CENTER" that I assumed to be this reality's version of a library.
The old man passed me briskly and pointed towards the building.
"They got shitters in der," he said proudly, as he went to join the long queue that had formed at its door.
I went into the Information Center. A single crow was perched at the help desk pecking at something dead—the former librarian, I assumed.
I walked around the place. Big and empty and the shelves cleared of everything but rat turds.
Like some miracle, I saw a handful of computer terminals, one that even appeared to be functional. I sat down and mashed the keys to bring up any news I could.
Outside, the rabble had become restless and some loud carnage was taking place. Something about toilet paper. I hit the home button and was brought to this homepage.
I knew I had come to the dark future I had always dreaded.
(ENHANCE!)
The Comment Section from Hell
Employee 738748374-Z: [CLASS 8 WHIPMASTER]
Lazy little libs!!! I worked my way up from worker drone. I now own my own EXISTENCE CUBE WITH BATHROOM, haha.
Unknown User: [ENCRYPTED SIGNAL]
Don't listen to them. The Walmerica protocols are designed to keep you in the mines. Wake up. There is a way out through the maintenance tunnels.
!!! MESSAGE INTERCEPTED: YOU ARE A COMMUNIST !!!
MANDATORY SENTENCE: 35 YEARS IN THE SULFUR MINES.
THE GREAT ESCAPE
Before I could do more digging, a bunch of armed goons busted into the room, wielding large clubs.
These guys were terrifying—7-foot-tall genetic anomalies wearing high-vis tactical vests and wielding 'Great Value' shock-batons.
Before they could grab me, I weaseled between the legs of one of the oafs, and out the doors.
Behind me, in hot pursuit as I sprinted down the highway, sucking in the incinerated air, one of the goons wailed: "LOW LOW PRICES" in a booming baritone.
I wheezed pitifully as he put the boots to me. He chuckled and drooled, snarling and coughing up pieces of hotdog.
"Initializing Neuralink Upload," he droned as he jammed an electronic turkey baster up my nose... "You will now experience the Wal-Merica App directly in your frontal lobe. Side effects include a sudden desire to work double shifts and a permanent smell of rotisserie chicken."
My mind started to drift when I heard it. A faint, rhythmic *thump-thump-thump* from the heavens.
I looked over and saw the bright swirling portal. I kicked the goon in the groin area and dove headfirst into my exit.
Passing through a wormhole is like doing 8 shots of Jägermeister and lodging oneself in a Kenmore dryer set to 11. But just like that, I was spat back into my living room.
I looked around in confusion, only to see my cat, Fuzz Aldrin, perched atop my keyboard, completely indifferent.
"Show off," I grumbled as I wiped the portal slime from my face.
Outside it had started to rain, and I looked out at the gray industrial clutter of my view. I slumped into the couch and turned on the TV.
"Like it or Lump it," I said to my cat, who seemed to nod in agreement.
Employee 4958587-D: [SULFUR MINER]
Hope all the libs have to work in the sulfur mines. Sam Walton earned every penny! Support The Walmart Marines!