When you wish upon a star …
What star? There are only satellites.
When you wish upon a campus.
What are we going to wish for?
The destruction of the campus. With us inside it. Like a wicker man.
Fucking A.
Why do we have to die too?
Because we’re compromised. Hopelessly so. We’re tainted.
Already?
It gets to work pretty quickly. It’s like being bitten by a zombie.
Damn – so we’re zombies.
Sure we are – we’re zombie organisational managers, pretty much.
Could be handy. It’ll make us very good at university admin.
So when do we actually turn – into zombie organisational managers, I mean?
It’s happening. It’s in process.
Maybe we can drink it out of us.
Do you think? Is that a known antidote for zombie organisational managers?
Well, drink doesn’t make you more organised, does it? Or more managerial?
The real zombies are out there, beyond the stony wastes. That’s what they’re afraid of.
What, the working class?
Worse: the non-working class. The uncontrollable ones. The maniacs. Who can’t be organised, or managed.
So why is the campus open to them? You can walk right through it.
They haven’t turned on the forcefields yet.
Forcefields?
Sure. Emergency forcefields. The campus defences. They’ll lock us in and lock them out.
Wow.
Work in Progress 