Chrone Osphere, The Man


Death of an Icon
August 5, 1962

(Editor's Note: While we would usually be compelled to edit Chrone Osphere's column for the sake of presentation, the editorial staff chose not to alter this automated transmission due to possible legal rammifications it may have as evidence.)

Cerebral Stenographer [Active]
Cortical Stimulators [Active] For [1923217.34] hours
Auto Log Transmission [531231]
STC [x=2545534654. 646354361 354361314527573763453742733737 .453434347563743. 45343748373737937937.58] [y=4533377373574593575. 55457545754585301. 4504504. 554524] [z=452452707505720720057075075. 4527827520240732072. 75250890407254274078207.2] [t=7453436. 5. 620450440402200120450. 4. 046. 040024542. 4542]

ohmygodohmygodohmygod-
Norma? Norma?
You gotta wake up now, okay?
You've got to start breathing, at least.
Can you do that for me?
Take a deep breath and everything will be fine.
Have I lied to you yet? I showed you the ship just like I promised.
Don't worry- I'm not worried about the vomit.
It's only a throw rug, so I'll just throw it out.
Ha!
Seriously, hon, you're turning a real ugly shade of blue.
I thought you said you'd done this stuff before? It was your dealer.
You think he sold us some bad shit?
Who's Dr. Greenson, and why did he give you so many prescriptions?
What are all of these bottles?
What all did you take, Norma?
What are these?
Suppositories?
Are you taking drugs up your ass?
You didn’t tell me about these.
Norma?
ohfuckohfuckoh-
You can't die here.
This wasn't supposed to happen until next week.
Seriously, Eunice the maid already saw us together, so this can't happen.
You've got to try to get up, hon.
Norma? Norma!
ohshitohshitohshit-
I've got to do something with the body.
I'll chop it into pieces, like I did with that flapper chick.
Should I bury this one in a mine, too?
No!
Think, dammit!
I've got to put her back in her place- make it look like she did this by herself.
Where's the stash?
Good.
Put that in her purse.
I'll just cruise up the hill and park in her pool.
Hopefully, after dark, no one will see the time ship.
Good.
Now come on, girl, we gots to get movin’.
Damn, you’re heavy.
You know sex stars in the twenty-first century only weigh like a hundred pounds?
Oomph.
Shit- what was that?
I don’t have time to make this look good, so I’ll just drop you near the phone.
Sorry, Norma.
You deserved better.
But I’ll be damned if I’m getting bogged down in 1962.
At least no one knows about this.

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