“Oh, shit,” thought Jeff. He quickly moved the ashtray that contained his joint into a spot behind the computer, just in case.
He then jabbed at Control-Q to quit the program. A dialog box popped up: “Save template for later or perform quick manipulation before quit?”
Jeff didn’t want either one. He tried pressing Alt and F4. The “Perform Quick Manipulation” button flashed, and a new dialog box appeared: “Manipulate self or others?”
“Damn it,” thought Jeff. His overly relaxed brain took a second to remember what else to try, but it finally came up with Control-Alt-Delete. He managed to find the task manager, and clicked on the option to end the “Reality Manipulation” process.
The task manager disappeared, and then the “Others” button flashed. Yet another dialog box appeared: “Manipulate closest ‘other,’ choose a specific person, or apply template to world?”
Jeff frustratedly poked a mouse button, the cursor happening to be on top of the third button.
A dialog box popped up that said, “Manipulating and quitting program,” with a progress bar.
“Finally!” said Jeff out loud, sarcastically.
The progress bar wasn’t moving particularly fast. “Stupid piece of shit slow computer,” Jeff mumbled. He picked up the joint and his lighter, relit it, and took a hit, then another.
At last, the progress bar got to the right edge of the dialog box, which closed and returned Jeff to the desktop.
“What was I doing before I started playing around with that stupid ‘Reality Manipulation’ program?” he wondered. As he tried to remember, his eyes happened to fall on his Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar. It was almost the end of the month, and he thought he’d practically memorized the photo. The model’s face was the same, but now her bikini top strained to contain a melon-sized pair of breasts, and instead of long blonde hair, she had a short spiky haircut that was, of all colors, bright green.
Scratching his head, he turned to see his poster of Liv Tyler in “Lord of the Rings.” She now had massive breasts beneath the bodice of her elven gown, and instead of long, flowing brown hair, she had a blue Mohawk.
“Jesus, I’ve never hallucinated like this,” he said, putting the joint back down. “Or someone’s playing a prank.”
Still confused, he logged into Facebook. Right there at the top of his news feed was a photo of two girls he vaguely knew from high school standing in front of the Grand Canyon or something like that -- and he was positive they’d never had boobs anywhere near that big, and they definitely didn’t have hair that was purple, or fire-engine red, and in weird hairstyles.
He rubbed his eyes, but the photograph stayed the same.
Okay, this was serious. He opened his video player and loaded his porn collection into it, then started clicking at random.
Every single girl he saw had enormous breasts and had hair of a color somewhere in the giant Crayola box in a style that would have fit in at a hardcore punk club.
“This is kind of awesome,” he decided about his hallucination, as he watched an otherwise-petite Asian schoolgirl being fucked between her volleyball-sized breasts, her tangerine-colored hair -- long on half her scalp and shaved on the other half -- flopping back and forth furiously.
One quick masturbation session later, he quit the video player, hid his paraphernalia in the bottom drawer of his desk, and crawled into bed.
The next morning he awoke, head still feeling a bit fuzzy, although he snapped into clarity when he saw...
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