Creatures from science fiction novels live among us. I can’t skip down the street without bumping into a cyborg. As a young sprout, I often dreamed of a world taken over by monsters, aliens, robots and yes, cyborgs. My fantasy of planetary destruction at the claws of nonhuman lifeforms helped me cope with the burden of being around other people. I blanketed myself in this comforting reverie and chanted, “One day...one day it will happen,” like a servant of the metaphysical cloud nymph praying for yummy manna. Like all positive thinking, clicking and finger-snapping wishes to the stars, this dream ended in disappointment. The reality of a world crawling with cyborgs isn’t as exciting as my imagination led me to believe.
Superficially, the anatomy of real world cyborgs is duller than watching cottage cheese expire. Popular folklore suggests cyborgs are humans with organic minds and mechanical appendages. “Robocop” was a man inside a robotic body. This was probably achieved by supergluing an Atari motherboard to knight armor, but let’s not speculate on frivolous technicalities. What matters is that cyborgs in the real world are computerized in the mind. Occasionally you’ll find a defective model who uses their technology to project holographic images of their genitals in public, but that’s as mesmerizing as it gets. Most cyborgs have ditched their ineffective human brains for semi-efficient robot minds. This may sound interesting, but I assure you it’s not. The mechanical host brain is carried in their hands. How stupid is that? I can only assume their skulls are filled with cobwebs and circus peanuts.
The iMind, carried in the hand or pocket, is the cyborg’s basis of existence. For reasons unknown, cyborgs call their digital minds “phones.” I believe this error in semantics is caused by a corrupted data file in their systems, but confirming this theory would involve speaking to a cyborg and that simply won’t happen. Though I’ve never conversed with them, I have observed their behavior. At first I was disgusted to learn that cyborgs rely on their flimsy palm brains for literally everything. This feeling receded with time. Now I merely feel a cool, detached level of disdain for their iDependence. Cyborgs plunk commands into their computerized minds, requesting information on where to eat, what to eat, how to breathe, what to watch, how to chew gum, what clouds look like, how to walk and any other trivial conundrum life presents. Once the inquiry is submitted, the cyborg’s handheld mind will retrieve content sorted by how many keywords are stuffed into a webpage. The cyborg will then skim and repeat the information found on the first web page, never questioning the validity of the source. Suffice it to say, cyborgs couldn’t have an opinion on anything if Wikipedia didn’t exist.
An interesting feature of the mechanical brain is that it’s not capable of original or abstract thought. When a cyborg “creates” something, they’re actually scanning the collective hive mind for keywords, collecting the ideas of others. They then rephrase and repackage the recycled data as their own. To the cyborg brain, only that which already exists can be invented. This is why cyborgs believe that everything floating through the digital playground belongs to everyone.
The unmechanized half of cyborgs is little more than a twitching sack of nerve endings. When I see an iTard they’re usually in the sitting position, though they have been known to stand if no chairs are around. Their glazed eyes drown in the screen and descend into their digital brain, incapacitating the rest of their body even while it’s standing. Every part of the body flops except for the palm muscles and finger joints. Rendered hollow by the parasitic computer mind, the dried husk of the organic host brain requires all the body’s energy to simultaneously skim data and tap the screen, which vaguely imitates the act of thinking if you’ve been huffing paint for a week. Since the wave of cyborgs is fairly recent, little is known about the bodily effects of lifelong immobility, nonthinking and excessive fingering. Unfortunately, our nation’s top chemists and biologists are too busy developing weight loss and boner pills, so the answers may be years ahead of us. I imagine they’ll devolve into a dead-eyed sack of gelatinous organs with strong, veiny hands emerging from flappy folds that were once arms. Their main function in society will be playing keyboards and molesting legless children.
A less common aspect of cyborg anatomy involves a blue tooth located in the ear. Once a popular breed, only a subsection of cyborgs currently have this feature installed, making them a distinct and dying mutation within the cyborg species. The listening tooth allows them to hear voices in their head and talk to them. In the microcosm of cyborg evolution it was deemed necessary to have a chattering tooth wrapped around the ear. As with all forms of evolution, the blue-toothed blatherers have a distinct advantage over other cyborgs. Unlike their toothless brethren, these head cavities can talk to other people without using their hands, enabling them to eat cheese and masturbate while they speak.
The mating habits of cyborgs achieve a contradictory state of being alien and boring. As with all of life’s problems, cyborgs consult their robotic minds for answers. Whereas other species look to the outside world for love or lust, cyborgs look within their detachable brain. They spend considerable time perusing the online meat hub for another cyborg as desperate as themselves. Some are searching for a longterm dumpster mate to grow rusty with. Many more are looking for anonymous blowjobs and Satanic butt-fucking. Given the inevitable deterioration of a cyborg’s skin jelly, one can only assume that successful mating encounters are initiated by a failed series of spasming and misguided thrusts, culminating in tearful fingering for both parties. At first glance, we could at least be thankful that reproduction would be next to impossible, but we must remember that cyborgs are part human. Humans, being self-aggrandizing replicants, will always find a way to pollute the planet with their offspring.
With living cyborg discharge comes a growing concern - if these cyborgs are mutating from weak-willed humans and if these converted pod folk duplicate themselves, how will we get rid of them?
I’m not sure we can. Like cancer, they will continue to spread and duplicate themselves until they’ve contaminated the world in their image. If we look at our contemporary lexicon, the evidence of cyborg infiltration is so rampant it’s easily overlooked as normality. In twenty years acronyms will replace complete sentences. The entire world’s population will walk around saying, “OMG,” “LOL” and “TLDR” anytime someone addresses them with, more likely than not, a different set of acronyms. Eventually, the meanings of words will be lost and the value of noise emitting from a cyborg’s slacked orifice will be measured by it’s individual letters. AAFA - figure it out. Or don’t. Who cares? You can just Google it.
This brings us to the primary religion of the cyborgs. The Great God Google lords over it’s dependent followers with the fervor of a hormonally imbalanced rapist in heat. When cyborgs argue, a mantra is chanted through the halls - “Google it.” “Google it” has become a hymn for cyborgs incapable of analytical thought or objective research. The fact that a web search, even with specified terms, will retrieve mountains of pages that are contradictory to one another, factually incorrect and sorted by pages intentionally loaded with popular keywords is of no concern to the faithful. Wikipedia is the prophet of user-submitted bias, wandering earth in the form of an encyclopedic research tool birthed to enrich our lives. As the first link, it was chosen by the heavenly father to change our lives using hit and miss data mingled with easily digestible factoids. Cyborgs can all breathe with ease. They can now act like they know everything without having to think about anything. Of course, if the desire ever came to think about something, they could always Google it and learn how to think, assuming the page they click and skim wasn’t created by a false prophet who delights in finagling dullards with misinformation.
Unfortunately, the cyborgs appear to be the wave of the future...the horrible, ugly, mentally obtuse future. There is no avoiding it. Luckily, we can make our own lives better by making the life of cyborgs intolerable. When they’re not looking, glue their phone to a public toilet. Your heart will flood with joy as the cyborg looks up to the sky, crying “Why Google? Why!?” We can get hours of entertainment by uploading false information into their collective mind and watching as they go around parroting these “facts” to one another. Like any insect swarm, if extermination is no longer possible, using them as tools for entertainment may be the salvation of unmechanized humans. If we can put ants in farms and tip cows in they’re sleep, why can’t we put cyborgs in glass cages or play cyborg dominos when they’re waiting in line for the brand new, life-changing, mildly updated phone that comes out every year? After all, the Great God Google did put them here for our amusement. If their god didn’t want them to be taken advantage of, why would it create brainless, finger-tapping imbeciles in the first place?
