The Chemical Atlas

Digital Dossier 08

The Magnum Opus of Tire Iron Davies

[Incoming Transmission]

[Text Only]

Tire Mutherfucking Iron Davies here with Fist Pump Radio, broadcastin the hypermedia feeds ya got to bleed to believe, and right now, none of y’all gonna believe a fucking word I got to say.

Cause for weeks now, if you turn on your trideo, or you tune into NewsNet, you been watching crazy flix about clone monsters an invasion of the body snatcher shit, and reading about how the big boy corps been cleaning up after bioterrorists like Linda Swift cause they be all responsible like a Big Brother should and on an on. Anybody with two brain cells would’a put them together when the news of Project Wishing Star hit dem streets, but NO! Not You!

You ain’t no clone, you KNOWS it! You fucking mommy knows it, you was there at the Aztec mall with her last week an she remembered cleaning up your diapers and breastfeeding you til you was fucking 27. You ain’t even fucking thought about how SHE might be the clone, or you cousins, or you dad who fucking ate a bullet in the Night-O-Terror before you grew up. Fucking IMPOSSIBIRU, right? RIGHT!?

Naw, man, none uh that shit for you, an besides, cloning is some science fiction shit, right? Right now you is listening to a A FUCKING ELF, MAN! You want some science fiction bullshit, I’m some science fiction bullshit, so there it is. Not only that, your ol pale Tire Iron is a god damn clone hisself.

4 of them, actually.

I got files from some deep places that I was part of Project Gestalt, an initiative to re-breed the exceptional people who walk and rock in the shadows without all that independence shit. They took DNA strains from a well known runner who I refuse to acknowledge up in my shit and turned him into me, or me into him, or whatever. Then they tried to isolate the genes for magic and independence and shit and replace them with those from other people, an I’m living proof of just how much that was not a raging fucking success. Short lived project, and to the best of my knowledge, I was the only one to survive.

Then I went an became a few other people and did some fucked up shit. I gotta get the word out, there is this underground, super radical humanist cult called the Wounds of Odin. They be based out of Atlanta and they want nothing less than the extermination of metahumans. When the Humanis Policlub turned to soft tactics, the hardliners founds themselves without so many skulls to break, and that’s when I found them, and nursed them back into killing machines and shit.

Most of you will never accept it. Some of you know it already. I ain’t got time to waste on those who ain’t on board, man. So fuck you guys.


Some Zuni buddies of mine are helping me move into my new digs way out in the Mojave, where the Mosquito can keep a close eye on me. Whatever happened to me isn’t done happening, and I gotta be far away from everything and everyone until the monster I am is the monster I want to be. So I got one last news update for yous all for a while, so listen the fuck up.

The Juicyfruits are on everyone’s tongue, ifyouknowwhatImean. Shit, I think I even saw some knockoff AR toys of Click from Hong Kong with that face-censor block of his that says “Radio being bad Boogeyman for to be the Easy Listening.” If you was me, I’d get some shit together on that crazy-ass Master Shredder release platform and snag yousself some underground patents. Speaking of which, the new cryptocurrency Quicksilvers is fast replacing the nuyen with the grey bank networks, but if you ask me, I think it’s sketchy as all fuck. I ain’t never gonna touch the shit myself but I ain’t gonna stop this gravy train wherever it leads. Just watch your fucking bank accounts, chummers, cause it’s probably watching you.

Meanwhile, hoity toity circles be talking about Sombra Nevada, the fashion company setting up shop right in the middle of Boxcutter Row, our new favourite corporate ghetto phantasma-fucking-goria. Some big wig, leggy model chick named Arcadia 9 is fronting this surprisingly high class endeavour, and if you ask me, I bet it ain’t been burnt down yet cause it got ties to the handful of Yakuza families spreading their way into Redmond. Either that it’s cause their fronting model is local gang banging heroine wolf shaman Phaede. She got like some kinda cult or some shit over there. Whatever, man, next thing you know they gonna get together in a big fucking kumbaya circle with street gangs and Knight Errant and the Underground and make fucking macaroni art and hug away the fucking hurt. But hey, if you survive the winter, Arcadia, good luck to you, cause a little bird did tell me you is putting some cash into that ghetto, and that’s alright by me.

So buy a fucking t-shirt, motherfuckers!

Witchhammer’s manager, Count Cocoa, being all pissed off they isn’t number one anymore, is planning a big fucking North America Christmas Tour called “Slaybells Ring: The True Meaning of XXXmas.” I hear they is pulling out all the stops on this one, boys and girls, as a benefit gig for Greg the Troll after his wedding plans were fucked up by, uh… me. He’s fine, by the way, I only pumped him full of enough Narcojet to take down Lowfyr, but don’t nobody tell him where I is because I think we cool, but his boyfriend Anthony is gonna fucking rip out my spine. And shit, after all the bullshit I done, I can’t say I don’t blame ‘em. Here’s to the hunt, motherfucker.

Finally, everybody an their uncle be talking about a new MMO being put out by Saedder-Krupp, Realms of Acquisition. I guess they got some cutting edge historical research up in this bitch for the ultimate Tolkien experience or whatever. I ain’t got time for that fantasy crap, but I hear they did get StenchQuest in for some of the soundtrack. These guys are the good orcs and trolls who got themselves a grant from the Seattle Metropolitan Historical Society for original goblin research, which they promptly used to produce their self-titled album and piss off the society. If you log into the game, check out some of the combats for the soothing sounds of tracks like “Troll Wenches Are Surprisingly Easy,” and “I Was a Respectable Pig Farmer but then A Human Stabbed Me a Lot.”

I can’t tell you how much I am gonna miss providing you the news, man, but hey, each and every one of you motherfuckers got all you need to spread the news, so I leave it to the next enterprising son of a bitch to be as charismatic and diplomatic as yours truly.

I’m heading into the desert for a while, man. Until I get back, pump those fists for me, motherfuckers.


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