The “multiplier effect” is an economics term that means so much horseshit or some such. (Economics is the branch of sociology that specializes in humans fucking each other and not in a fun way.)
I’m here to tell you about the real multiplier effect.
It works a little something like this:
A store notices, perhaps even by accident, that products with a red dot sticker are selling slightly faster than non-stickered items.
The produces a sexual response within the store owners, but that’s a story I’m saving for another post. Click here to buy access to my premium content.
Whatever it had been at one time, it was now a swampish bag of goo. Forty shades of swirling green ziplocked in a plastic bag which moved of its own volition.
“Look,” I said in hushed terror. “It moved. It’s alive! Run, honey, run! Save yourself! Remember, I always loved you!”
I threw myself over the bag and that’s the last I remember of having my own identity. I call it the time before The Other.
Yes, it was time clean out the fridge. Household rules dictate that when we are unable to squeeze a single item in without something else being displaced and bouncing off our toe on its way to the floor it must be time.
Then my wife made another shocking discovery.
Your home is on fire. Grab five items (assume all people and animals are safe). What did you grab?
OK. I’ll do my best. I’m a professional and I still have a job to do. I have taken the Advice Columnist’s Oath and that means, basically, I have to take it. Each and every time. Very well. Out of respect for the craft I will give this question a serious response.
What do I grab?
First Item: “Screen.”
I grab the screen. Get it? Screen grab? Woo hoo! I crack myself up. I’m a real hoot. My house is on fire and I’m cracking some of my best improv material ever. It’s a win win.
Professionalism be damned.
Uh, what was the question again?
Seriously, though. I’m not kidding. The 42″ flat screen LCD TV is obviously the first thing. I’m not insane. An American is nothing without his TV. And I can carry that puppy under my arm, all by myself. I’m sure it won’t be too heavy because I’ll be all hopped up on adrenaline from the flames.
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Existing in a jar
A theory not disproved
No matter who you are
A theory from a man
Messin’ with your head
Little fool, can you even know
If you are alive or dead
The wife is out of town so I finally got to watch some Stephen Hawking on Netflix. (Sorry, Northern Exposure. You’re officially on hiatus.) I promptly wrote the song above. Thanks a lot, Steve.
Actually, without even knowing it, I twixed the mind master of disaster a long time ago. You see, I’ve long had this theory of my own.
In my version, I am the only person who really exists. An evil all-powerful genius creates a bubble of reality, with me at the center, that follows me around no matter where I go. Places, things and yes, even people, are all illusions created to torment my existence. Apparently the meaning of life is to torture me, the humble innocent. The most probable explanation is that He’s writing a sequel to the Book of Job.
If my theory is true, that means I’m talking to myself right now. Touché, touché!
The point of the brain in a vat thought experiment is that the theory can’t be disproven, therefore, it’s possible. I like to think probable. It also shows that scientists will gleefully rip from the inventive world of Hollywood for their own selfish means. Isn’t there some way to protect us from the scientists?
Oh, almost forgot. They aren’t real, either.
Strife of Lie
by Tom B. Taker
Never tell ’em up front how the story ends. I had a good movie-going experience. Oops. What? Yes, it’s true. In fact, I’d say it was literally the best movie going experience I’ve had in years. We’re off to quite the positive start, eh? Or are we?
The devices were turned off.
No one sat too close.
The theater was sparsely populated.
But it wasn’t perfect.
The young man who knocked on the door had dropped the name of Cliff Face. He was about to get booted from my porch, too. But that name! It gave me pause. For the moment the stranger had captivated my attention. Curiosity always got the better of me.
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