The highway wound through the rolling green hills.  Trip Advisor thus far was more than correct the drive itself would be worth the trip to the museum. Few however, were willing to travel through Kentucky these days, let alone stay a while.  I passed another abandoned weigh station, a relic of a past long forgotten.

Truckers no longer roamed the highways since they closed down the Nikola factory in Mexico.  Even Mexicans wouldn’t assemble them anymore.  To many they just called it progress, to others it was a life sentence to a prison within your own mind.  No need for real products anymore when such creature comforts could be simulated electrically and coated with a the thick syrup of synthetic dopamine.

But I had to see it for myself.  This was the only place left on Earth where it was available for view by the public.  The Curator promised all who visit could see it, but not touch it.

The road came to an end near a small clearing in the trees at the foot of a ravine overlooking an abandoned quarry.  Filled with brownish-orange colored brine, the trees growing near it were substantially withered.  I made a mental note to ask what was once mined there.  The museum sat unobtrusively as if it were passing for old trading post.  I knew ahead of time the infrastructure to support my vehicle was not ready in Kentucky.  Trip Advisor warned me to have a full tank of lithium hydroxide before I left from Philadelphia.  I walked up to the door and looked around for signs with instructions before entering.  None.  I grew so used to the social signals businesses placed upon entry, it was novel for someone to simply ask nothing to enter.

Inside I could already see a wondrous collection of artifacts.  Things I once saw as a kid that were no longer allowed in polite company.

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*

I heard the faintest sound of a respirator from across the room.

”Welcome”.

Then I saw him.  An old, decaying man lumbered across the foyer where I stood, I tried not to show I was disturbed at what I saw.

”Welcome,” he said again, “to the museum of—

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* —the Museum of Forgotten Things.  I am The Curator of this collection.”

”Thank you.  Is this self guided, or are there tours?”  I asked.

”Fewer museum guests these days, the artifacts too rare we worry they get stolen.  All visits are to receive a guided tour of the museum.”

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*

The man’s implants clearly kept him alive.  He was a mess.  One of his lungs was likely collapsed permanently, the flywheel on the respirator on his chest once spinning almost noiselessly now needed replacement.  The springs now scraping loudly on the brass canister walls, but still free enough to deliver air to his cardiovascular system.  Once polished, the brass showed signs of slight corrosion.  This was a man that had no interest in living long for the sake of doing so.  He was missing an eye, replaced now with a disposable corneal implant.  A fascinating device that allowed diabetics to finally see after years of ruptured capillaries hemorrhaging heavily glycated blood into the retina.  The device attached directly to the optic nerve, via a port in the back of the eye socket.

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*

”Its an older model.  I managed to stock enough of the cleaning kits to last me until 2053.  They took them off the market after a skull fucking fad on social media left large swaths of the country in the clutches of a scabies outbreak.”

”How did you know I was looking at it?”  I asked.

”Half the people visiting just want to skull fuck.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*. “It creates foot traffic.”  He said.  “Also…the damn thing allows me to see you staring at it, dumbass.”

”What did blind diabetics do after that?”  I asked.

“They went into the machine.”  *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “How will you be paying for today’s visit?”

I held up my forearm to show the raised, bruised scar above my identification chip.  “Social credits?”  I asked.

”No.” He shook his head.  “This establishment does not in any way accept payment methods available for oversight by the machine.”

”I don’t think I can pay you then.”

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*. “Nonsense.  Can you tell me your fasting blood sugar level?”

”Maybe?”  I passed my Fossil smartwatch over my chip.  Scrolled to the biomarker screen, and saw it said it was currently at 117.  “117.” I answered.

“Uhhh.”  He noticed the drop of drool released from the corner of his mouth.  He quickly wiped his face with the back of his hand.  Revealing a palm covered in a layer of thin leather, attached to his hand in rows of small, brass rivets.  “What and when was the last thing you ate?”

“An oat milk latte, with a shot of sustainable algal protein powder.  It was available at the lithium hydroxide station when I left Philadelphia.”  I replied.

”Another pre-diabetic fatty.  I will accept payment in the form of fresh DNA.   My mechanical pancreas needs a refill of the stem cells.”  He answered.

”How do I do that?”  I asked.

He opened his coat and revealed a stainless steel knob just below his ribs.  He gave it a twist and pull exposing the 6” steel scraper from within his abdomen.  He then pulled out an old barber’s jar filled with a blue disinfectant.  After dropping it into the jar, he pulled out a clean scraper.

”Open your mouth.”

“Amazing.” I said.  “People stimulated themselves with these?”  The long, black dildo was a sight to behold.  8cm wide and nearly a meter in length.  I would think this be a melee tool before a stimulant.

”Well.  I’ll be honest.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*  “I don’t exactly know the full history of this one.  This was more of a stage prop.”  The Curator explained.

”A prop?”

”Yes.  This was the double sided dildo used” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “in the feature film Requiem for a Dream.  You may be familiar with the “ass to ass” scene?”

”I am afraid not.”

”Jennifer Connelly was too much a prude to do her own stunts.  The movie itself was then considered a dystopian nightmare.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “Cancelled, to be forgotten.  Which is likely why you are unfamiliar with it.”

”I see.”

”Most of the relics here” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “belonged to a person that was cancelled.  This Hello Kitty pocket pussy over there?  Belonged to Justin Beiber, for example.  The taxidermy Yoko Ono over there” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “belonged to Joel Osteen. That one there with three dicks belonged to Will Smith.”

”But you said this was a prop.”

”Correct.  I can in no way confirm if that had even touched Jennifer Connelly’s ass, let alone be inserted into it.  The irony being this one,”he motioned to the dildo, both sides flapping madly in my hands, *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “is the one in the collection with the most requests to be used by my guests—ass to ass of course.”

I dropped the dildo. “Sorry.”

”No worries.  Its a firm, flexible natural rubber.  The newer synthetic ones break down after so many uses.” The Curator explained. *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “I do have it sanitized after each use.”

I wiped my hands a bit on my shirt. “So um…how did you wind up doing this?”

”I told you.  The skull fucking fad brings in a lot of foot traffic, just catering to clientele and they do tend come with real money.”

”No, I mean collecting these items.”

”Ah.  Well.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “Because I was once cancelled.”  The Curator said, flatly.

”Do you mind telling the story?”  I asked.

”Sure, I suppose you aren’t well-fed enough to be a FED.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “Walk with me to the courtyard.  I have displayed a tapestry fashioned by discarded panties.  Granted its mostly a musician named Lizzo, and another named Adele.  I did manage to get Mama Cass.

”You are an artist.  Please.”  I motioned the way out and followed along.

“It was not long ago.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*  “In the midst of the occupational boredom that come with one of my chosen profession I began writing.  Like most writers of the day, the world to me was a rotten oyster sold by a street vendor in Ixtapa.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “Everything you wanted was the tiny morsel of tepid flesh inside, but it had to be sold to right buyer.”  He licked his lips furiously. *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “The internet, the very thing connecting all of our minds today was just a mere window, to everything.  I opened that window.”

”I see.”

”The audience that gravitated to me,” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “were furious with the state of the world.  They chose not to lash out violently, but to instead mock it.  I feasted at the trough of their mockery.”

”What did you say that got you cancelled?” I asked.

”Everything.”  He tapped the flywheel on his respirator, as it was momentarily stuck.  It began spinning back and forth once again. *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*  “When you make fun of those that work within the machine, they respond in kind.  My outlandish work however, Hillary and Huma, Hillary and Diane, Hunter and Kamala, Hunter and Psaki, Huma and Psaki, Mitch McConnell, Fetterman and the Lump, bumbling Joe—the very hat that sat upon Trump’s head.”

“Yes.”  I waited intently, for it was what I had to see.

”I got too close to the truth.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “The trouble was—is, nobody ever told me which of my work was not fiction.”  He opened the double doors to the courtyard.  Sunlight from above the courtyard concentrated to backlight the tapestry magnificently, bathing it in a soft glow.

”Amazing.”

”Meow”

”Oh hello there!” I said to the orange Tabby cat rubbing himself on my leg.  “You have a housecat?  These are nearly extinct.”  I said.

”I have seven.”  The Curator replied.

We left the hall of sexual deviancy and proceeded downstairs to the remaining wings of the museum.  The Curator walked with a slight limp but moved around rather well with a cane.

”So, how did they come for you?”  I asked.

”First it was about the goddamn woodchippers.”  The Curator began. *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “I think around the third or fourth time Trump ran for president he turned into this” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*“…Trumpian version of swamp creature.  My writing became less nihlistic.  It just couldn’t be over the top anymore, turning into news from 3 months in the future.”

”I see.”

”They had to get rid of all of us to hide the truth. A few of us began leaving on their own.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “Some fell into legal trouble.  Others logged into the machine.  They made it so nothing could be processed without first going through the machine, even if it was intended to remain outside.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “So I walked the Earth living effectively as a monk for several years.  Certain things became obvious they would no longer be allowed in society. I began to collect those things.”

We stopped in the hallway on the way to the next exhibit.  A curious set of costumes adorned the wall behind a glass case.  The costumes appeared larger than life.

”We need to keep these things in a place where we can find them.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “One day this ersatz sterility we live in now we will find disappeared.   Only the freaks and those that can tolerate freaks, will survive.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*

”Who were these freaks?”  I asked, pointing to the display.

”Those are the costumes worn by the original members of the band KISS.”

“I vaguely recall that, they were cancelled for being anti-trans?”

”Worse.”  The Curator said ominously. *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “They were Zionists.”

I had not heard that word spoken in a long time.  An awkward silence ensued.

”Meow.”  A black Siamese had joined the orange Tabby.

”Hello there.”  I knelt down to scratch an ear.

”Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiss”

“Oh.  He likes you.”  The Curator said. I could not tell if he was joking. “The exhibit you were looking for is in the next room.”

 

There it was.  The red material had faded.  The bill terribly misshapen.  The lettering was tattered to the point its original message was indiscipherable.  Its bloodshot eyes were now covered in a thick gray sheen.  Cataracts that could never be removed.

It sat lifeless.  Displayed upon the granite pedestal, with a soft white light illuminating it from below.

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*
*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*
*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*
*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*

Then it moved its eyes to look at me.

”Who the fuck is this guy?”  It said to me.

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*
*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*

“Don’t worry about it.” The Curator said from behind me.

Then I felt a sharp pain near my throat.  The last thing I saw was the syringe pulled quickly from under my neck.

I woke up. The room was extremely well-lit, and smelled sterile.  Thirsty. I tried to sit up but I was strapped down.  My right leg wasn’t tied down for some reason. Thirsty.

I lifted my head slightly to see it was missing below the knee.

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “I think this will do.”

The Curator sat on a stool with his pants off.  He had removed an appliance set upon the table next to him.  He was methodically stripping meat off of a bone.

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “I don’t really have a blood type anymore.  But the organs that I have remaining, still need fresh blood to remain vascular.”  He scuttled the muscle tissue and sinew away on the floor with his other foot.  “At some point, the body rejects nearly every appliance, and you simply have to replace the parts as they go bad.

Satisfied the bone was as clean as he was going to get it, he placed the pink tibia into the appliance on the table.

”Where am I?”  I choked out. Thirsty.

”You are at the Museum of Forgotten Things.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “Every museum has a place in the back visitors are not allowed.”

He began turning a brass knob on the appliance, until it made a soft crack.

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “There we go. I am afraid I had to exsanguinate you as well.”

“What does that mean?”  I asked.

”I am draining you of your blood.  I need it as well.  The bone marrow will not produce red blood cells without it.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “A lot of my appliances were outlawed, because they only delayed death on a temporary basis.  People like me eventually needed more parts.”

”Why me?  I loved your museum.”

*whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* ”I have an entire section dedicated  to discarded sex toys.  There’s Yoko Ono’s corpse preserved as a sex toy for a closet necrophiliac on display there.  Do you really think I’d show you all of that for free?”

”You took my DNA.”

”Yeah…I took your pancreas too.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*  He took the appliance off the table and set it upright, revealing it to be his right leg.  He pulled upon a hidden lever to activate it.  “The DNA swab confirmed you were a close enough match.”  He set the appliance on the floor, reattached it to himself, and twisted it into place. *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss*  “Aw yeah that’s the shit.  I might get an erection later.”

“What will you do with me?”  I asked.  Licking my dry lips.

“Well…” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “What really upset me about all of this.  Want to know?  In 2027 they quote unquote perfected meatless meat.”  They first mandated it be used on pet food.  Dogs are trusting creatures, and didn’t give two shits.  They ate it and loved you for giving them that swill.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “But cats?” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “Require real meat.  Their bodies couldn’t handle synthetic.  They became play things for the rich, or returned to their feral nature.  Your lonely aunt? Her fluffy house cat died.”

”You’re going to feed me to your cats.”

”If its any consolation.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “The black Siamese hates your frail, pillowy stature.  You, a pond scum licking hipster.  He will have to eat someone else.” *whooooooooooooooosh* *psssss* “He is always a picky cunt at mealtime.”