Page 60 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“Just like the milk, I don’t think it matters,” he said as they steered the cart toward the virtual bakery.
Georgie swatted a loaf on a high shelf.
Ping.
“Objective met. Proceed to the next item.”
“Gherkins?” he said, staring at the weird word.
What the hell was a gherkin?
“It’s a fancy pickle!” Georgie exclaimed, reading his mind.
“Pickles should be with condiments,” he replied, then did a quick Faby check. The kid was still contemplating the meaning of life.
Okay! They could do this!
“But it doesn’t say pickle. It says gherkin. Maybe they’re back in the produce section in a refrigerated case,” Georgie replied.
He shook his head. “Everything in this store is pretty cut and dry. Bread, milk…”
“But the list says gherkin,” VR Georgie interjected, waving her digital arms.
She was right, but it didn’t matter.
“Three, two, one. Diaper blowout,” came the robot lady’s calm voice.
They stared at the digital Faby, who seemed quite content.
“I think we should keep shopping. The kid seems okay,” he said when three distinct pings pulsed through his headset and…
Sweet Montezuma!
Like a breached dam, a brown substance burst from Faby’s diaper, flowing like a roaring river.
“Faby! No!” Georgie cried, lifting the virtual infant from the cart, only to have the VR crap shoot out in all directions.
He couldn’t move. The virtual Jordan Marks watched in horror as Faby spewed poop like a brown Niagara Falls.
“Twinkle, twinkle…” Virtual Georgie began to sing.
“What are you doing?” he called.
“Trying to stop the blowout!”
“With a song?”
“Do you have a better idea?” she cried, rocking the baby from side to side as an ungodly amount of virtual poop roared out of the VR infant.
“Here, pass me the baby,” he cried, reaching through the curtain of brown when everything went black, and a voice called to him from the virtual baby beyond.
“Simulation terminated. Status: failure.”
