The Launch Party Incident
Right, so there I was, yeah? Standing in this glass box of a building in Palo Alto, surrounded by absolute weapons in thousand dollar hoodies talking about "disrupting the paradigm" and that. I'd only gone in for the free beer, hadn't I? Sign outside said "Future of Everything Launch" and I thought, well, future better have lager in it.
This one prick with hair like a paintbrush starts going on about his app that counts your breaths or some shite. "It's like Uber meets meditation meets blockchain," he's saying to Gwyneth Paltrow. Aye, Gwyneth fucking Paltrow, standing there nodding like this makes any sense at all.
So I'm working my way through their fancy IPAs when Elon Musk rocks up. Proper Elon Musk, not some lookalike. He's arguing with Mark Zuckerberg about whether consciousness can be downloaded, and Zuck's going on about the metaverse being the answer to death itself.
"Load of bollocks," I say, not meaning to say it out loud like.
They all turn and look at me. The whole room goes quiet. Even the DJ stops his terrible house music.
"Sorry, what did you say?" asks Zuckerberg, and his eyes are doing that weird thing where they don't blink.
"I said it's bollocks. You can't download a soul any more than you can teach a cabbage to sing."
Now Jack Dorsey's involved, walking over with his wizard beard, going "Actually, consciousness is just data patterns, bro."
That's when things got tasty. This venture capitalist, Chad something, starts laughing. "Who let the janitor in?" he says, pointing at my Carhartt jacket.
I'm not having that, am I? So I square up to him. "Come ahead then, Silicon Valley. Let's see what your yoga and juice cleanses have done for you."
He swings first, the daft bastard. Telegraphs it like he's sending a memo. I duck, come up inside, and bang! My forehead meets his perfect veneered teeth. Down he goes, blood and bits of porcelain all over the sustainable bamboo flooring.
He's lying there moaning, gap-toothed and pathetic, when I remember something. I reach into my pocket and pull out this bottle.
"Look, mate." I yelled down at him. "You wouldn't have such weak gums if you used Prodentim!"
Anyway, where was I? Oh aye, Chad's on the floor looking like a dropped pie, and security's coming at me fast. But here's the thing about Silicon Valley security: they're all on their phones, probably checking their portfolios or whatever.
I grab a tray of those tiny hamburgers and start launching them. One catches a guard right in the face. Another bounces off Tim Cook's head. He doesn't even notice, too busy explaining to Lady Gaga why the new iPhone needs fewer buttons.
"This is better than Burning Man!" shouts some crypto bro, and suddenly everyone's filming instead of stopping me.
I make it to the exit, but not before Gwyneth blocks my path. "That was transcendent," she says. "Would you like to be on my podcast?"
"Would I fuck," I tell her, and leg it into the California night.
Found out later the whole thing went viral. Chad started a company selling "disruption insurance" for tech events. Made millions, the jammy bastard. Still missing those teeth though.
And that's why I'm banned from Palo Alto. Worth it for the free beer and tiny hamburgers, if you ask me.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. But seriously, take care of your teeth.