Nicomp Fan Fiction
This really STINKS
Fear and Loathing in Cyberspace
Nicomp jostled restlessly as his iPhone 7 screeched itself awake. Somewhere in the subdivision a garbage truck screeched back as it consumed mass quantities of un-recyclables. Birds warbled dreamily throughout bristlecone pines dotting well-manicured backyards. Lawn mowers puttered to life as documented aliens plied their trades. It would be a wonderful day.
The Story Arc Expands
Downstairs nicomp trudged. His Egyptian cotton robe cinched flatteringly at the waist, he configured his Keurig K45 Elite Brewing System. Good Morning America informed him with a casually serious hipster summary of today's news: somewhere in America a Mother had recorded something moderately questionable relative to her child. Thankfully, the video went viral and GMA hosts presented modestly controversial opinions to each other. Then they bantered over the weather. The day continued to be good.
Nicomp sipped his java and wrote some Java code on his Panasonic Toughbook 53. He deeply appreciated the 32GB of RAM and 3.2Mhz quad-code processor as he touch-typed his latest mobile app. With a smooth flick of his right index finger he uploaded the program to his Google Store. The world could thank him later.
Nicomp Dons Clothing
After breakfast and kitchen cleanup, nicomp programmed his Sony DVR to record Dr. Who on BBC America through his Apple TV. Upstairs he strode to dress himself for one more escapade in the real world. He studied his closet for 42 milliseconds, selected a carefully rumpled pair of Buck Mason olive chino pants, and put them on one leg at a time. His upper torso he artfully obscured with a Buck Mason cool cotton shirt. His socks and shoes shall remain unnamed but rest assured he did not venture outside barefooted.
The Plot Thickens, But Remains Palatable.
A new day beckoned. Through his garage nicomp trod, purposefully intent upon selecting an appropriate Tesla with which to navigate his appointed rounds. He settled into one of the the black ones. The vehicle hummed to life, but the garage door remained closed. It was not supposed to remain closed. No amount of remote control manipulation resulted in any semblance of elevation.
Reluctantly but not quite bitterly nicomp exited his third-favorite Tesla. He exited the garage through an opening sufficient for his lithe frame but woefully small for any of the vehicles. Finding himself outside with no ocular UV protection, he briefly returned to the garage and grabbed a pair of Oakley Flak 2.0 XL shades. He went back outside.
The Autonomous Vehicle Arrives
At that moment, a flatbed trailer arrived. It was attached to the back of a truck. On the top of it sat a shiny new self-driving vehicle. Nicomp subtly observed the envious stares of his neighbors as skilled technicians unloaded a shiny new Mercedes that none of them would ever own. He experienced a brief pang of regret over the shade of AMG Solarbeam Yellow but quickly dismissed his misgiving.
After signing a few hundred pages of legal disclaimers, nicomp found himself nestled in fine Corinthian leather. He stared knowingly at the digital dashboard. He stared unknowingly at the user's manual before ceremoniously dropping it into the back seat. There was no time for figuring stuff out. Nicomp was late for his elliptical workout.
The Elliptical Workout Proceeds
Nicomp punched in coordinates for the closest fitness club to which he belonged. His robot car beeped approvingly and set off shortly thereafter. With no driving responsibilities, nicomp occupied his travel time with ESPN highlights. He chuckled softly as highly paid athletes performed for his entertainment. If only they knew.
Arriving at the fitness club, nicomp watched his car efficiently park itself adjacent to a 1982 Chevette and a Ducatti Panigale R. He mentally noted to himself that the parking algorithms were not as self-aware as Bosh software engineers might have imagined. This would not impact his workout in any way.
After 1 hour and 1000 calories, nicomp walked lithely back to his car, which was now bracketed by a Trek 5000 carbon fiber racing bicycle with upgraded Dura Ace components and a greasy oil stain on the asphalt. He allowed the engine to gun itself and drive him to one of his homes. At that home he built himself a Quinoa smoothie, then he took a nap.
Chapter 2 should beSee results without voting
Here is a fitness club in Istanbul, Turkey. Hopefully it will enhance your enjoyment of this fan fiction. Atalar, Caroline Fitness Club
Rate this Fan Fiction because you know you want to
More by this Author
You know you want to.
It's true: people read my laundry articles. There's hope for this Little Blue Marble we call Earth.
Ever been to a NASCAR race? I thought not. Here are my top 10 reasons why NASCAR racing doesn't rock.