The Ghost of Hypocrisy Present

A Holiday Fable for Not A Movement

It was a cold, bitter Yule on Jabs Bad Island, and Dr. Leo Atone had just finished his Substack article. This was a good one, he observed with cool, detached admiration, just like the rest. One of his best. The subject was, “forgiveness”. A wholesome Holiday message.

Laden with platitudes, and dripping with dubious rationalizations, the article was a masterpiece. Dr. Atone knew all about forgiveness. He forgave those bastards who stole his thunder, the upstarts at BioNwreck, who had dared vie for his rightful No-Bell prize.

Well, not really, but no one brought it up anymore. Because it would be awkward.

Leo Atone had made it awkward. He was quite proud of that. Vengeance is close to forgiveness, in the grand gradient of things.

Dr. Atone could forgive a great deal. State-sponsored Pharmacide and Nuremberg-level war crimes were just par for the course, water under the bridge.

But there was absolutely no way this side of Hell he would ever forgive those wretched conspiracy theorists who blamed him for creating the very McRNA he railed against.

Comments started to appear beneath his freshly-minted amnesty piece. What’s this? “So glad to hear you've decided to drop the lawsuit.” Oh, no. Did these fools think he meant these hollow sentiments, like for real?

Useless idiots! He suspected sarcasm. Obviously, these homilies about forgiveness had nothing to do with putting the brakes on the money train. But someone decided to be a smart-ass and misunderstand his intentions.

Punks.

Go slow, Atone, he told himself, as he self-quoted in rebuttal. “Actions must have consequences”, he posted, with an arched eyebrow. There. That should settle it. Damn hypocrisy theorists!

After shoveling horse shit for another half hour, he logged off and went out to clean the stalls, whistling and fantasizing about his day in court. You can get a lot of hay for $25 million. We can hire a stable hand when the lawsuit money comes through, he thought. That would really come in handy. A squire, like knights of old.

He smiled, thinking of it.

Later that night, as he lay in his bed, Dr. Atone was troubled. He should have come up with a better retort. But what? He had no choice. Very bad things had been said about him, and there was no other option than to nuke the transgressors back to the Stone Age.

It’s not about the money, he told himself. It’s about sending a message. Nobody talks smack about Dr. Leo Atone, man of mystery.

No one.

He was the most interesting man in the world, but he’d lost control of his reputation. Even the echo chamber was bubbling with murmurs of mutiny. Why are they against me? What have I ever done to deserve these paranoid conspiracy theorists scrutinizing my resumé?

Never mind, time to get some sleep. It’s Christmas. Have a gig at the mall tomorrow, playing Santa Klaus.

Suddenly, he bolted up in the bed. There was someone in the room with him! Had the bounty hunter penetrated his security? He’d paid extra for the premium package. You get what you pay for with these private dicks, he reflected. Yet still an intruder loomed.

“What do you want?” he hissed at the apparition.

“I want to show you something,” the hazy figure replied. “I’m the Ghost of Abused Advancements Past.”

As the two vaulted through the temporal portal, the ghost slowly spoke in a California hippy drawl. “I know what it feels like to see your discovery turned to nefarious purposes. But I don’t really know what it’s like not to get a Nobel for it.”

“Who sent you?” gasped Dr. Atone. “Why are you threatening me?”

“I told them PCR couldn’t be used to diagnose disease, but they wouldn’t listen. It was a disaster. People had their lives ruined with these tests. People died. And then I did. I’m here to warn you, Leo.”

“Are you…no…you can’t be. You died. Right before the Event. This can’t be real.”

“Look, Leo. I’m trying to help you. It’s like this. The danger to your reputation is coming from inside the house.”

They re-emerged in a dark, cold grave-yard, with ankle-deep fog and wolves howling in the distance. Leo felt a bolt of terror shoot through his spike-compromised heart. “What are you planning to do with me?” he demanded of the ghost.

“With any luck,” the ghost drawled. “I’m trying to enlighten you. Look.”

There were a row of gravestones. Leo bent down to examine the first.

“HERE LIES FREE SPEECH”

Leo looked up at the ghost. “What happened to it? Who killed freedom of speech?”

The ghost lit a joint and blew a thoughtful ring of smoke. “It was the death of a thousand cuts, Leo. Censorship from every angle. Corrupt officials and corporations silencing their critics. But in the end, it was you. You went for the jugular and now nobody can criticize anyone without authorization.”

“But how?” Leo cried.

“It was the lawsuit. It set a precedent. Then, even stronger defamation laws came in. Eventually, all the malcontents were sued into oblivion and no one dares speak evil of anyone who is richer than they are. The lawyers are jubilant.”

Leo looked at the next gravestone.

“HERE LIES TRUTH”

Truth? Truth is also dead? “I don’t understand. The truth is like a lion. How could it be dead?”

The ghost inhaled deeply. “Truth can never be found when people fear to speak. And, just FYI. The truth is not a lion. Truth is a goat. Seriously.”

“But I only sued them for lies!” Dr. Atone protested, tears in his eyes.

“Look, Leo, I like you. But let’s be real. You sued them for their opinions. If you fear to say something false, you’ll also fear to say anything true, either. Without open discussion, any truth can be suppressed.”

“What’s this one say? Wait! No! Not that!”

HERE LIES THE REPUTATION OF DR. LEO ATONE

Reeling in horror, he fell to his knees. That which he loved more than anything else, that feeling of self-importance and public esteem. The beer commercial parodies, the music video cameos, the conference keynotes. This was the worst yet.

“Can anything be done?” Leo begged the ghost.

“Probably not,” the ghost admitted. “You’ve already kind of shown that you prioritize your personal beef ahead of the cause. You’ve still got sycophants, of course, but your trajectory as a flashpoint figure is decidedly bearish from here. The glow’s worn off.”

Leo Atone bolted up in bed again, dripping with nervous sweat. It had been a dream! What a relief. His reputation was intact. Now, all he had to do was figure out how to crush his detractors.

The ghost was still there.

“Leo,” the ghost said. “It wasn’t a dream. You haven’t woken up.”

“What more do you want from me, Mullis?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want anything from you, doc. I’m doing fine. Where I kick it, the surf’s always up and the babes are always down.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“To provide an image of integrity and teach you how to get out of the hole you’re in.”

“How?”

“Stop digging.”