Gulliver's Travels: The Broligarchy
Episode 1 | A teaser, a test, a temptation
I came up with this idea a few weeks ago to combine my desire to write about politics and my love of both fiction and reinventing fiction. I’m currently posting a ‘sequel of sorts’ to the Wizard of Oz, entitled Dorothy: Locked & Loaded. I’ve rewritten Alice in Wonderland, which will come out later this year. And now, I’m trying my hand at a modern version of Gulliver’s Travels, a transparently anti-broligarchy satire of the state of the State.
The story is told in journal entries by intrepid reporter Samantha Sharp, who takes on a fake persona, Sam Gulliver, to infiltrate and discover the inner-workings of Gigaland’s intricate techno-political landscape. Will she succeed in a land hostile to women and reporters?
Will the story succeed? We’ll see. This is yet a new adventure for this author; I enjoy trying new ideas and new genres, testing my abilities, and trying to put on a good show. I’m hoping for something biting, boundary-pushing and comedic. Fingers crossed!
Without further ado, I give you the pilot installment of "Gulliver’s Travels: The Broligarchy.” I encourage you to comment. I can take a hit.
Journal Entry 1: Welcome to GigaLand
The whoop-whoop of helicopter blades shakes me into consciousness, and I spit out a mouthful of sand and salt.
I should be dead.
I sit up and wipe the sand from my face, whip my hair over my shoulder and feel it stick wetly to my back. My mouth is a mocktail in a world of bourbon flights, sad and tasteless. And my outfit, what’s left of it, barely resembles the bikini I started my day in. No ID. My trifold phone gone. Even the little chunky flip-flops I wore down to the sundeck are somewhere out to sea. In the distance, I can see shapes bobbing in the waves, but nothing else. Not even telltale smoke.
I’m alive, and there’s only one place I could be, one place I shouldn’t be — or rather, one place Samantha Sharp shouldn’t be. My stomach rumbles at the thought of it, and I heave over onto my hands and knees, sandy ass in the air, and dump an ocean of seawater onto the beach. It dribbles from my mouth, salt water and sand and bile, sheer disgust and a belly full of pure terror.
I should be a bloated corpse, bobbing in the surf. I should be a headline.
Somewhere past my crusty ass and ruined pedicure is the flotsam and jetsam of the remains of the SS Entrepreneurial Spirit. Take a cruise, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. They being the relentless adverts that played across my holos, pinged my trifold, dotted the signage along the autobahn. A perpetual message to relax, enjoy, and escape. And now, the luxury cruise ship that was supposed to deliver me to GigaLand for exactly 24 hours, before carting me safely back to the Caribbean and the real world, is nowhere to be seen. The only remains, from what I can tell, can be found in the distance there, where the helicopter is hovering like a speck of dirt on the IMAX screen of life. Instead, I’m here, spitting out saltwater, half-drowned and crunchy with sand in places sand should never be, staring at MaraLardo, the crown jewel of President ✨DAX™️’s✨ empire.
MaraLardo.
An artificial island, a fortress of excess, and the most exclusive piece of real estate in the world. It erupts from the ground like a tacky golden tumor, all faux-Roman columns and glimmering gold plate, its very presence flipping off the concept of good taste. It was designed to impress the kind of people who think a gold toilet is the peak of civilization. And now, I’m nearly naked at its doorstep, or the tiki bar that juts out over the water under a neon sign that reads, Now Trending. Is that the name of the bar? Or is the menu about to come alive in living color?
Past the palms, I see the klieg lights playing into the pink and orange clouds above a series of alabaster towers, otherwise known as ✨DAX™️’s✨Palm. In it, they say he holds the world in his grip, or at least the slice of the world that hasn’t banned him or charged him with Crimes Against Humanity. MaraLardo, the center of Gigaland since the nation fell to the inevitable Prime Optimization Directive™️, or iPOD, and OptiMAGA was born.
I need to move. But first, I need to think.
I was on the ship as Samantha Sharp, investigative journalist, purveyor of inconvenient truths, and proud enemy of every billionaire who thinks their off-shore holdings make them untouchable. That identity? Gone. If I waltz into GigaLand’s Alpha Zone flashing my press credentials, even if I had them, where will I end up? Even here, where my creds don’t matter, if I’m found out as a journalist, my Influence Score will plummet straight to the Nulls and I'll be auto-deported to international waters faster than you can say "Fake News."
I’m here now, but I’m an illegal with no creds, and even with creds, I only have a 24-hour VISA. I’m a threat — an independent woman capable of making her own choices. I’m a liability — a journalist hell-bent on extracting the truth like a dentist extracts the teeth of Nulls long removed from fluoride in their water. I’ve got no money. My clothes are ruined. And I’ve never been to Gigaland before. I only know what the holos say, and nothing they say about Gigaland is believable.
I need a new name. A new story. A new lie.
So I roll my aching shoulders back, crack my neck, and inhale deep.
I am Samantha Gulliver now.
A lifestyle influencer, a high-engagement content queen, a networking socialite with a hunger for clout and a keen sense of hustle. I am here to document my once-in-a-lifetime entry into GigaLand, to bask in the radiance of Dax™ and his Titans, to "observe the optimization of human excellence up close."
Translation: I am going to lie my ass off, infiltrate the most ridiculous nation on Earth, and get the story of a lifetime.
A new lie in a world of lies becomes an inconvenient truth. And truth is just a value shaped by influence in Gigaland. If you’ve got the influence score, you speak the truth.
Assuming I don’t get vaporized by a private security drone first, I have a chance to do something no one else has ever done or will ever do.
More later. Right now, I need to find a shower, some dry clothes, and a beverage. The tiki bar sign flashes and changes. Now Trending: Rum Punch! I could use one of those, or three. And somewhere there, leaning against the rails is someone who will be my entry point so I won’t get flagged as a trespasser. Because in GigaLand, trespassers get "downgraded." And I am not ready to be optimized out of existence just yet.
End Journal Entry 1
Author Note: If you like it, let me know. I plan to use images extensively, including fake tweets, emojis and other ways to highlight how a future population engages in over-the-top ways. Sam is a savvy communicator, so she’ll know how to reach and engage with the masses…if she survives.
I probably won’t be posting the story here — too much going on in this space with Dorothy: Locked & Loaded, but I have a spot, and the read will be free all the way through. Expect some silliness, some outrageousness, some raunch, and what I hope is a biting critique of the bullshit that’s going on everyday now.
Interesting start!