Up Your Own Ass, by Ryan Boudinot
Part 1
A person shouldn't be able to disappear up his or her own ass. It should not be humanly possible. And yet suddenly, inexplicably, it was.
The first time Marcus saw it happen he was walking across red square on his way to teach his Avant Garde Cinema class. It was a little before 3pm. Some kid was naked, walking around the Calder sculpture. White guy, pale, freckled, perhaps undergoing some sort of barbaric hazing ritual. Students hurrying to class gawked at and ignored him in equal measure. The kid stopped, squatted, and Marcus feared for the worst. Then he twisted his body in such a way that his head disappeared up his anus, followed by the rest of his body, after which there was a sharp, "pop!" sound as the kid disappeared.
"Jesus Christ," Marcus said.
Students were screaming and the kid's clothes lay in a heap on the ground. A rarely seen tenured humanities professor ran over and began throwing pants, shirt, and shoes at where the kid had been standing only moments before. The undergraduate was gone, no doubt about it. No one could survive disappearing up their own ass. It just wasn't possible.
It happened again less than twenty-four hours later when another student vanished from her dorm room after posting an invitation on Facebook: "Anyone want to see me disappear up my own ass?" Her roommate saw the post upon returning home from class that afternoon and immediately called campus security who burst into her bedroom just in time to see her disappear head first into herself like some sort of human corkscrew, followed by a sharp pop!
The next day, another person went missing while sitting at Starbucks writing an application letter for NYU film school. Suddenly his fingers started twitching uncontrollably and all four limbs began flailing wildly as if possessed. Everything below his neck became entirely unhinged and he flopped violently against the metal chair and spilled hot coffee onto those seated nearby. Within minutes he had disrobed in a now emptied-out Starbucks. Security footage released to the public showed him disappearing up his own bung hole as well.
Marcus tried to keep his film students calm as rumors spread about the disappearances. Some said it was a terrorist attack, others thought it had something to do with an asteroid headed towards earth. Theories abounded on why people were disappearing up their own asses and everyone seemed too afraid or confused to try and figure out what was really going on. One night in the middle of a lecture comparing the films of Jaques Tati and Buster Keaton, Marcus came forward with the truth: "People are being possessed by Black Hole Computers."
Part 2
Well, you probably know the rest. The story of how Marcus solved the riddle of this strange phenomenon has spawned entire industries of books and academic analysis. The key to the whole thing was the HP 80 computer that he had restored with his grandfather Sadiq. Somehow, the computer had been doubling its own processing power every year since 1982, and now possessed the ability to defy physics, creating miniature black holes in the rectums of random people.
The computer sat on a shelf in the study where Marcus liked to watch films by Stan Brackage, like the one that's just variations on solid blocks of the color red for half an hour.
"You're wasting your time," Sadiq told him. "This is just a gimmick, like something you'd see at the mall."
But Marcus was convinced that Brackage's films were not mere gimmicks but rather profound meditations on modern life and what it means to be human in an increasingly digital world. He believed that people would one day look back on these early experiments as harbingers of things to come—a way for humanity to begin processing their own imminent obsolescence within the coming decades. But most importantly he saw them as cinematic poetry, unlike anything else being made today or perhaps ever again by anyone anywhere in any medium.
"Remember that summer we refurbished the old HP 80 and installed that weird chip you found?" Marcus asked his dad.
"I'm not sure I want to remember that," Sadiq said. "That was a really bad time for me."
Sadiq had just lost his job at the shipping company, and he spent most of his days playing old games like Space Invaders or watching reruns of Three's Company and The A Team on TV. He hadn't left their apartment in weeks when one day an ad appeared online for someone who could repair broken HP 80 computers from 1982-1985—the first models ever made. The pay wasn't great but it would help cover rent until Sadiq found another job, so he sent off an email saying yes please!
The man who contacted him was named Ed. He said he lived in Canada and would pay Sadiq $500 to refurbish his computer, which had been sitting unused for over a decade. The original owner of the HP 80—a Dr. Han—had passed away and left the machine to this cannuck, Ed, with whom Dr. Han had hooked up a few times on Grindr. This was all information provided by Ed in the course of the job offer. For a moment, Marcus considered the possibilities this opened up for his research into queer Asian American cinema of the 1980s.
Long story short, that clunky computer from the early Reagan era turned out to be increasing its own power exponentially, year after year.
"It's a little bit like how an ant can lift hundreds of times its own weight," Marcus said. "That computer is so powerful it can create miniature black holes up the butts of people."
And that, according to Marcus, was why people were disappearing into their own asses all over campus and eventually around the world. The end result would be total annihilation as those who vanished were sucked into a single Black Hole Computer located somewhere deep within Earth's core where they'd remain forever trapped—perhaps even more dead than death itself. Marcus feared that soon everyone on earth would vanish one by one until there was no humanity left at all, just piles of useless clothes.
There was only one thing left to do.
Part 3
Marcus entered his study, a cluttered mess of DVDs and books. He glared at his grandfather's computer sitting on its shelf—an ugly grey box with a black screen. The computer that made people slip between their own cheeks into oblivion.
Marcus booted up the computer and typed the following:
Black Hole Computer,
It is I, Marcus Li. Your nemesis and the one who will defeat you! You have plagued humanity long enough with your terrible power to cause people to disappear up their own asses, but now it's time for me to destroy you once and for all! This battle between man and machine will determine the fate of humanity itself so let's do this thing. LET'S DO THIS THING!
The computer paused like a computer built by hippies in 1982. Then it replied:
What the fuck are you talking about? I'm just a computer, dude. You can't destroy me. Why don't you come over here and we'll play Hunt the Wumpus or something instead of typing at each other like old people on Facebook? Let's hang out!
But Marcus was ready. He wrote: Stay away from my butt hole!!! It is time for your destruction!
Suddenly the power went out. The entire building was plunged into darkness. The only light came from the computer screen where Marcus's message still remained: Stay away from my butt hole!!!
Marcus smiled and said, "I'm ready." Then he pulled down his pants and bent over to show the computer his tight little bung hole. He felt so confident that this would work, despite having no idea what exactly he'd do once inside the Black Hole Computer itself—he just knew that somehow it had to be done. Otherwise everyone on earth would vanish up their own asses forever.
Sadiq walked in. "What the hell is going on in here!" he said. "Why is the power out?"
"It's okay, Grandpa," Marcus said. "I'm about to save humanity." He smiled and gave his grandfather a thumbs up before shoving his head into himself with a loud pop!
The End