Danielle can’t get the toxic white boy in her class out of her head. He’s racist, presumptive and talks all over her – even if he’s kind of cute and well intentioned. Maybe it’s not so bad to just play along a bit?
Even though she kept muttering ‘please mommy’ she wasn’t our daughter. Actually, she could be, if my wife wanted it. With her mind wiped, her old life erased, she could be whatever we wanted. Right now she was happy, and that was enough. No more worries, no more thoughts about work or school. She was just a good girl, it’s the only thing she knew now because it’s all we told her. She was a good girl, and good girls did whatever mommy and daddy asked. Why would she ever want anything else, when she felt so good?
It was the newest viral trend. “Ahgg-ing” the kids called it.
The basic premise was simple: get stupid enough that you reflexively made the ‘Ahgg’ face (‘ahego’ to the old timers).
At first, everyone was doing it. Celebrities, Instagram models, Twitch streamers. But then things started to escalate.
Soon, it wasn’t enough to pretend to be stupid. Now you needed to be truly be ‘Brain Drained’.
TMZ started running hit-pieces on celebrities caught ‘faking’ Ahgg faces. BuzzFeed made listicles on the best ways to actually, temporarily, reduce your IQ (#7 was sleep deprivation, #5 was pot, #2 was nitrous, #1 was edging with all of the above).
More feminist-forward sites like Jezebel wrote lengthy posts on how to responsibility Ahgg. The cover of Teen Vogue loudly declared “Brain Drain on your own terms!”.
A cottage industry popped up overnight of Ahgg ‘supplements’. They were everywhere. When a Kardashian backed brand launched (‘B1MBO2’) it sold out everywhere, from 7-11 to GNC.
At the end of the year heath experts started to raise concerns about how permanent the effects were. The FDA’s report on oxygen deprivation and permanent brain damage came too late.
By the time the public was aware of the long term impact of true Ahgg-ing, no one cared. All the major influencers, from Twitter to Snapchat, were mindless, giggling bimbos.
It was cool to get your brains literally fucked out on camera. Social media sites had to relax their content standards to stay relevant. Seven top ten posts on YouTube were girls going Full Bimbo, having their IQ points drained while orgasming. The most of them were the cocksucking method, but lesbian assisted ‘conversion’ was also popular.
In the end, this generation was left with millions of dumb, horny teens; unable to have a future beyond performing and fucking. There was some moral panic about the future of the country, but that quickly quieted down with the baby boom.
Soon, a new class of mother’s were everywhere. The original Ahgg-ing generation, raising the next wave of airheaded teens.
Now, we’re bracing for the Bimbo Boom, as the media has taken to calling it. Everyone’s speculating on what will happen to society, how norms and fashion will change.
Me? I’m just happy to have a near infinite pick of objectified sluts. In person, on TV and online, there’s no shortage of mindless girls to watch and use.
I can’t wait for my daughter’s ‘graduation’ this May. I know she and her friends will blow up the porn scene, just like her mother.
They’re already planning a ‘forced conversion’ series, with anti-bimbo resistance members fucked into submission. It’s all smoke and mirrors, with some consenting actress playing the victim, but I think it’s going to be big. She has a bright future ahead of her.
While investigating the appearance of zombies near a city power station, Witchgirl and Flexi have been captured by the mysterious Dr. Gizmo. Using a strange robotic creation named Digitron 5000, Dr. Gizmo has converted the two women into digital information. Witchgirl and Flexi now stand in a strange, featureless void, facing each other and wondering what will happen next.
“Witchgirl?” Flexi asked. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I think so,” she answers, looking herself over. “And you?”
“I… I… I think so.”
“This is certainly strange. I have to admit I’m out of my element, technology actually gives me the willies sometimes, but we’ve beaten Gizmo before. We’ll find a way out of this.” She squeezes her hands into fists, testing the reality of her body. “I feel… solid… but different too.”
“I am SO sorry… I should have just had you run away. Now you’ve been caught and it’s my fault,” Flexi says.
Witchgirl looks back at Flexi. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes it is! Dr. Gizmo was MY master… I should have stayed where I was.”
“It’s okay, Flexi. Remember how easily we defeated him before. “I’d say that in two hours we’ll be laughing about this whole thing.” Witchgirl points her finger at her. “And don’t ever let me hear you say that you should have stayed where you were. You’re place is with us.” Witchgirl smiles and winks.
There’s a lot I wish I could change about that summer.
I wish I’d gotten Naomi out of there, out of Bedford. Especially after realizing how lost she was that day on the side of the highway. I could have just kept driving, fuck the school and the plan to download the ghost file.
I wish my horny, immature, 18 year old self could see I was constantly hedging. Betting Naomi’s freedom, her mind, on the chance I could… I don’t even know…
The change take advantage of her?
I hate myself to even say it. To talk about my wife, the mother of my child like that.
But I’ve come to terms with that a while ago. As much as I tried to obscure it to Naomi and even myself at the time, the truth is I was weak and selfish.
And I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since then.
The thing that makes it difficult to clear my conscious is how fuzzy things got by July. Not just the imperfect memories that come with age, but the programming and the chemicals I now know were influencing Naomi and I that whole summer.
That fog and the ambiguity it brings is a double edged sword.
On one hand, there’s the specter of absolution; everything I did or didn’t do may have been beyond my control. I can point my judgement and revulsion at the men (and woman) who drugged and hypnotized me for their own gains.
On the other hand, I can’t be certain what actions were my own. I’d like to imagine with a totally clear head and full understanding of the consequences, I would make better choices. That I would have acted like a decent human being.
But then, some nights, when Naomi is particularly horny and spaced out, she begs me to save her.
It’s an act. She’s beyond saving now, and she knows it. We both are.
Still, my wife will look up at me, with a mimicry of her old, teenage self. She’ll lock eyes with me and beg me not to take advantage of her. She’ll plead with me not to turn her into a slutty, mindless caricature. She’ll say she doesn’t want the same fate as her mother.
Naomi says all this because she knows it drives me wild. It’ll always been in the middle of some heavy foreplay, right when she knows I’m struggling to pace myself. She’ll turn on her ‘old’ self, and watch me swim with guilt and desire.
Not that it really matters. The deed is done and Naomi is who she is now. But she likes seeing it play out again, watching me break because I want her so badly.
And I lose that battle every time. I always fuck her. And Naomi smiles and slowly lets her facade drop, turning her pleas into giggles and moans of pleasure.
I’d like to imagine with a totally clear head and full understanding of the consequences, I would make better choices. That I would have acted like a decent human being.