Position Title: Content Filter, Grade III
Position Type: Exempt Government Right-to-Work
Reports To: Division Supervisor; various Corporate Benefaction Liaisons as necessary
Salary: $70,00 annually (middle-class plus tier) with eligibility for benefits, including Federal Medicharge, after one year of service
Description: Join one of the fastest growing tech industries and serve your country at the same time! The United States Department of Civil Data and Corrections is seeking qualified applicants for available monitoring and redirection positions. Ideal candidates will have a passion for narrative advancement, a keen sense of fidelity, and a desire to maintain the status quo in all circumstances.
- content filtering for up to 20 control-mandated cases
- removal of undesirable seeds
- newsfeed scrubbing
- viable re-creation of unapproved materials
- redirection to proper follows and likes
- Master’s degree in Social Media Architecture, Network Monitoring, or a related field
- 3-5 years’ experience working with control-mandated individuals
- Ability to monitor multiple accounts simultaneously
- Dirt world alias training preferred
*Background check, drug/alcohol screening, and loyalty pledge MANDATORY*
THE USDCDSC IS AN EQUAL-OPPORTUNITY EMPLOYER OF ALL CITIZENS WITH A PATRIGRADE SCORE OF 150 OR GREATER.
A man bumps into a skeleton walking down the street. “Careful, I’m bonin’ here,” says the skeleton. It continues on its way. The man adjusts his frayed tweed necktie and looks at his shoes, the latest from the Claude Apres spring line.
“If it rains, I’ll kill myself,” says the man. He says things like that. The man steps over a crack in the pavement and counts his steps until the end of the block. He likes little challenges with little rewards; he eats almonds just to have something to pick out of his teeth.
The man waited at the station. The train was late, the plane was early, but he didn’t know what the car was. He occupied himself with his little thoughts. Someone invented the paperclip, thought the man. The train arrived; she didn’t. He looked at his watch, a small computer, wondering if people in the past could’ve loved each other at all.
The man and lady got into bed. They hugged.
They hugged for a real long time.
He gave her the condom he bought, because they have to sell them to you, no matter how old you are. Then they kissed on the mouth. Her bra was making him so horny that he touched it. He rubbed her big meaty whompers.
He bit her butt, sexually.
They both felt like they had to pee, but they stayed in bed. Because that’s what happens. No one knows what happened next, but the next morning the bed was all messy.
“I miss seeing your eyes,” Rich said. He felt Edie’s smile.
“I miss going to the bathroom alone,” she said, “but I always slept on my side, so it’s a toss-up.”
Rich and Edie got up via their rehearsed rocking motion. They dressed, wriggling into a custom-tailored outfit. After breakfast, they boarded the bus. Only most people stared at them anymore. When they got into the elevator at work, its occupants exited in a huff of feigned politeness and disgust. After the incident, they’d kept Rich’s job over Edie’s once they’d recuperated. Being one person didn’t make the hard decisions any easier. They’d come up with a system: he’d do the logical thinking, and she’d cover the abstract. After work, Edie decided they’d walk home. They took the route that passed the park where they first met. Edie eyed the playground. Rich looked at the pond where they’d skipped stones as fresh college graduates.
“I miss actual sex,” Edie said. “I know the choice was life or sex, so I don’t regret it, but still…”
Rich folded their arms. A drake, duck, and scurry of ducklings skittered across the pond. “I want to separate,” he said.
“Divorce? That’ll be awkward.”
“No, I mean separate our skin and bones.”
They sat down under a billowing oak, flattening a patch of clovers, trying to find something to say.
Eddie’s lips smacked like a horse stuck in mud. He finished his second helping. Char glared at him from across the table. The flickering candles reflected off the sheen of sweat soaking Eddie’s forehead. She took a drag off her cigarette.
The little noises sent her eyebrows twitching. Each slurp and chortle bored into her soul. Bits of food viscera sprayed from his mouth, coating the table with a thin film of Eddie. Char stared through her wineglass and out the window.
Eddie belched, then asked for the potatoes.
“Don’t forget your father. They couldn’t cut him out of his car…” said Char.
Eddie looked at her with hard-boiled egg eyes. “It was an accident. It had nothing to do with his weight,” said Eddie. He stopped chewing and set down his chicken leg.
Fade in. A football player sits on a stool in a sparsely decorated room.
“Don ‘Beef’ Majerski here. As a former professional linebacker, I know pain.”
Cut to black-and-white in-game footage of crushing hits and tackles. Cut back to Don.
“But sometimes regular pain-relief products just don’t cut it.”
Cut to a hospital waiting room. Violins weep in the background. A doctor enters and mouths, “I’m sorry.” Beef Majerski hangs his head. His remaining family gives him a group hug.
Cut back to Beef in the sparse room.
“So whether it’s on the field, or in the other places there are, I reach for EtceterinTM.” He pulls out a syringe and injects himself. There is a twinge in his eyes, like the time he called an escort service and they sent his second ex-wife.
“Only EtceterinTM can handle the intangible aspects of pain. And I should know a thing or two about intangibles.”
Cut to a montage of the “Beefensive Line” making spectacular moves on the field, then to the joy of the coaches and other players.
Cut back to Don. He smiles, syringe still sticking out of his thigh.
Voiceover: “EtceterinTM. For miscellaneous pain.”
Mayor’s Hat Missing, Reward Offered.
Ah, the Pine Meadow Times. Right there on the front page, too. The next article has a picture from last night’s ceremony. Town Wowed by Annual Event. We don’t get a lot of excitement around here. The Charity Gala for Worthy Individuals is like the Academy Awards for Pine Meadow. After last night, you can call me Lou Peterson. He’s our Billy Crystal… well, he was.
I’m still riding the high. My introductions were poignant, my flubs forgotten, even as I sweat through my suit under those stage lights. You’d never guess I was a first-time host. All the credit goes to Pine Meadow Community Education. God bless Mrs. Odegaard and her “Talk of the Town” public speaking course. It extroverted me. My opener? “If you think I look bad in this suit, you should see the guy I dug up to get it.” Lesson 19: Deadpanning. I killed it. After a touching tribute to those we’ve lost in the past year, I left the stage. What a comedown. No longer was I Craig Little, bold orator. I was Craig Little, claims adjuster at Lyle Gustafson’s Family Insurance.
I stepped into the coat check room and there it was. That pine green Alpine with the little feathers and everything. I couldn’t resist. Tomorrow I’ll go check out the dent the Anderson kid put in his dad’s pickup. I’ll find it in the back seat. He won’t get in trouble—youthful indiscretion. And I’ll get to hand-deliver the hat to the Mayor.
I’ll make the front page of the Pine Meadow Times. I can picture the caption under my photo: Craig Little, local hero. No—Craig Little, local celebrity. I might win Person of the Year, although that might conflict with my hosting duties, if they ask me to return. I bet they will.