The Bad Boy Computer Programmer At Wattpad

BAD BOYS AND MARIONETTES

Opening another window in his browser, he checked the status of his Amazon.com order. Oh good! Toothpaste and deodorant come today. Geez--be more proactive next time, eh? Maybe you should create a spreadsheet to track household items. He scrolled through the order status page on his screen a bit further. Oreos come on Wednesday!

Flipping back to Amanda's blog, Ian continued reading until Mouth's voice made him nearly leap out of his chair. "What is that monstrosity on your monitor?"

Scrambling to line up his cursor over the X to close the window, Ian exited the blog. "I was checking something."

"Membership fees for Barbie's Fan Club?" Mouth chuckled at his joke as he placed a messenger-style bag on his desk. He watched as Ian reposted the tally sheet to his monitor with tape. "Have you made an itinerary for Oregon yet?"

"Yeah. A couple museums. Some hiking. Coding a few side projects."

With his lips pressed in a straight line, Mouth raised his eyebrows and widened his eyes. His expression was one of sarcasm. "Sounds exciting."

"There's also a big ping pong scene I'm going to check out in Portland."

"Stop," Mouth said, plopping in his desk chair. "Or I'll be too jealous to concentrate on work today." After turning on his computer, he added, "You're still gonna see the Goondocks, I hope."

"I'm planning on it."

"As long as the Sacajawea Museum isn't off the hook, I presume?"

Before Ian could respond, Sloth strolled into the room wearing an untucked, printed t-shirt that read: I speak three languages. English. Profanity. Sarcasm. With puffy eyes and hair sticking out in every direction, it appeared as though the potty mouth of Team Goonies had rolled out of bed and came directly to work.

"Did you even shower this morning?" Ian asked, observing Sloth's untamed beard and dirty jeans.

"Late night," Sloth explained. "No way in hell I was gonna let SoccerMom48 out deathmatch me before I went to bed."

Mouth snickered. "Sounds like an ad for Viagra." In a dramatic commercial voice, he said, "When even SoccerMom scores more than you do!" Sloth glared at Mouth.

Ian waited for the last arrival to get situated at his computer, then asked, "Hopefully you didn't forget we're meeting with Aleem today?"

Eyes fixed on the surface of his desk, Sloth released a long, drawn out reply. "Fuuuuuuuuuck." He sat for a moment in silence with his eyes closed. "Tell me we're meeting this afternoon."

"Before lunch," Ian replied. "10."

"Fuuuuuuuuuck," Sloth drawled again, hitting his forehead on the keyboard a couple times. "Someone go get me Tim Hortons before I do something that puts Wattpad on the front page of tomorrow's newspaper."

"You got your ass handed to you by someone named Soccer Mom," Mouth said. "You think a doughnut will help? They're doughnuts not grownuts."

Sloth wadded up a piece of paper and threw it at Mouth, then turned his attention towards Ian. "Why is Aleem meeting with us again?"

"Aleem's asking each department to brainstorm ideas to further Wattpad's mission to make a difference in the world with words and stories."

"She thinks we know?"

"He," Mouth injected.

"Data--can you fix him?" Sloth asked, throwing another paper wad at Mouth.

"Aleem feels collecting perspectives from every angle of the company--technical angle, research angle, user angle--will open up a better understanding of how to move forward."

"Well," Sloth began, "I've already said what I think about this stuff. They can hump the blowup humanitarian doll all they want, but in the end--it's the man behind the technology pulling the strings. And the one pulling the strings controls the value of words and ideas."

"Wouldn't it be the person holding the cash who pulls the strings?" Mouth questioned.

"Oh--," Sloth hollered. "Money can definitely buy a rich guy a puppet show. But at the end of the day--if Daddy Warbucks doesn't understand how the technology works--it's not his money scented fingers touching the strings."

"I don't know why," Mouth began, "but I'm suddenly turned on by marionettes."

"Wrong," Sloth corrected. "You create the technology. It's the marionettes who are turned on by you."

Mouth gave a squeal similar in tone to Pixar's Olaf. "I like this story!"

Sloth wasn't entirely wrong. He had a valid point. If the greatest story ever written was never read, it would have little value. Words unable to pass through the conscious mind of a reader can't change anything about the world--except in the life of the person who wrote them.

"People may have the free will to choose what words and ideas they fill their heads with," Ian said, thinking out loud. "But if someone behind the scenes is deciding what choices are available--then we aren't as free willed as we think we are."

"Data's becoming such a big boy," Sloth teased. "Awakening to the harsh realities of the world."

"I shall now call anyone who's technologically illiterate a--marionette," Mouth announced.

"If it's true," Ian countered. "And it's a big IF. What responsibilities or roles do those that control the technology have in all this?"

Sloth grinned, seemingly entertained by Ian's desperate search to find the moral and ethical high ground in the discussion. "I'm pretty sure it means future bad boy books are going to be flooded with computer programmers in the lead roles. Bro, if you take hot bodies out of the equation--we're the definition of bad boys! We can control a person's choices and his or her power to succeed."

"The shiz. We control the shiz!" Ian and Sloth turned towards Mouth with eyes squinted in confusion. "The shiz? You know--she, he, him, her, his? We control the shiz!"

"Shiz is slag for shit, you idiot."

Mouth grinned. "We control ALL the shit--even pronouns."

There was a slight nod of unforeseen agreement from Sloth before he returned his attention back to Ian. "As I was saying, we're the bad boys now. We control the code so we control people's choices. We control their power to succeed. We can manipulate the virtual world in a way where people will change who they are to get noticed. We decide if a person's words and ideas matter--or not."

Mouth held his hands in front of himself as though reaching out to touch a beautiful goddess. "I can see it now. The Bad Boy Computer Programmers of Wattpad--And Their Swooning Marionettes. Coming to a theater near you."

In an effort to put an abrupt end to the conversation, Ian looked at Sloth and said, "Well--Aleem will be here in less than an hour. You should've worn something besides your pajamas today."

Lowering his forehead to his keyboard, Sloth drawled another, "Fuuuuuuuuck!"