Anywhere in the story: “There is no font size big enough to describe the ‘oh shit’ that is about to occur.”
The body corporate had done it. They’d finally leashed the beast of their own making. They controlled the internet. And there wasn’t even time to celebrate.
“Now, we need to start talking about the three 'sisses’. Censorship, sponsorship, and shill. Every single page, every site, every last goddamn corner of the internet is controlled by us, so let’s start earning.”
“Sir?”
“in a minute, Weatherby.” The rich, older, white man had his mind only on his plans. “First order of the agenda: heteronormitivity. Anything that isn’t man plus woman vanishes. Second, gender role reassignment. Let’s get all those bitches back in the kitchen. Third–”
“Sir, this is really important.”
“Weatherby, I do control whether or not you keep your job…”
“But sir…” Weatherby pointed out the window.
They were on the twenty-fifth floor, but they could still be seen. Not the random flow of pinhead-points of different colours, but a sea of them flowing inexorably towards their building. Even up here, they could hear the distant strains of Les Miserables sung by thousands of voices.
“Sir,” said Weatherby. “There is no font size big enough to describe the 'oh shit’ that is about to occur.”
Something slammed against the nearby window, causing all in the boardroom to startle. Everyone stared as it unfolded into a poster-sized lolcat with red eyes and fluffed fur.
It read, Ohai. We’re frum the internets. You pissed us off. kthxbai.
The CEO’s face fell. All those people. All of them. They had once had their genius minds distracted by fandoms, lolcats and porn. Now that their addiction was censored and controlled…
…they had nothing better to do than get really creative on the asses of those who censored and controlled it.
A second poster landed and unfurled against the glass. It was tub girl. With the legend, The internet is for PORN!
Weatherby was right.
A third. A cute little girl in a frilly dress inside a motivational border. Its caption read, OH SHIT! and underneath, You’re all going to die.
It was now going to be a question of how they were going to survive.
Or even… if…
[AN: Sign the petition to stop CISPA here!]
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