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    Stoneslide Media Announces Program

    With the launch of Fiction Writers for Better Misinformation (FBMisin), Stoneslide Media announces a call for proposals to deliver more useful misinformation to America’s voters. Read the latest updates and submit your own ideas.

    In a presidential election year in the United States, more than 120 million people will consider campaign proposals, scrutinize ideologies and political philosophies, and even sit through thirty second ads during Monday Night Football before casting their votes. In order to make informed decisions, voters need to understand the competing candidates and their platforms. Sadly, misinformation is the new norm in the current state of ruthless partisan competition, breeding frustration and cynicism in the body politic.

    Both parties produce and air ads that are labeled “false,” “deceiving,” and “pants on fire.” That’s not to mention the contributions of shadowy and unaccountable Super PACS, corporations, and unions. How is a voter supposed to find truth amid the storm of competing claims? Can objective reporting and painstaking research help? Consider that four years after the 2008 campaign, 25% of voters believe President Obama was not born in the US, despite the clear evidence of his birth certificate and contemporaneous reports—in other words, what we used to call empirical evidence.

    Empiricism has failed. We can no longer let misinformation be fought with the floppy impotence of “truth.” To bring the American people back to the electoral process, we must seize the stout sword offered to us—misinformation itself—and craft narratives that will make people care about elections again. This is the founding mission of Fiction Writers for Better Misinformation. And who better to do it than writers of fiction?

    We invite all writers, editors, and readers to join us in our endeavor. This announcement serves as a call for proposals. How can misinformation be used to produce a better election? Send us your proposals.

    FBMisin has already launched two pilot programs.

    BETTER MISINFORMATION PROPOSAL #1
    The Problem: Scandal detracts from optimal consideration of policy.
    A candidate whose policy preferences match his or her constituents’ can nonetheless lose an election because of private indiscretions. People focus too much on these salacious stories and end up feeling the political system doesn’t serve their needs.
    The Proposal: FBMisin will hire a team of actors, actresses, special effects artists, Foley technicians, gaffers, and writers to produce sexually explicit videos incriminating all 535 members of Congress and their opponents, so that each and every one will have a scandal hanging over them. This will give equal taint to all of them, and thus prevent scandal from tainting voters’ judgment. [Read more…]

    Better Misinformation Proposal #2

    Fiction Writers for Better Misinformation seeks to use misinformation to get voters more engaged in the electoral process. We welcome proposals for books, movies, propaganda campaigns, reality TV shows.

     

    The Problem: Voters lose interest in policy speeches, debates, white papers, and other such “dry” materials before they fully understand what’s at stake in the election.

    The Proposal: Increase voter attention and engagement by having beautiful naked people reenact stump speeches and debates. It’s obvious that this approach will initially get far more attention than men in stiff suits at a lectern. We’ll create a Naked C-SPAN to be sure the programming is available whenever anyone needs a little look-see. But that is only the beginning of this misinformation proposal. America can be united by the combination of nudity and an unlikely love story.

    In our alternate, nude version of the election, Mitt Romney will be played by a widely admired and handsome actor (we can’t release names yet) and Barack Obama will be played by a famously seductive actress. Through their early stump speeches, it will become clear that these two competitors truly hate each other. Then comes the night of the first debate—the first time they see each other in the flesh, so to speak. [Read more…]

    Triple-Double

    by Douglas W. Milliken

    The plan had been to spend Friday night at Paulie’s and hang out Saturday then go to Saturday practice together in the afternoon but then that morning Coach called—while we faked not being hungover in the buttery morning-bright kitchen, dopey and grinning while Paulie’s mom attacked us mercilessly with motherfucking pancakes—and said there’d be no practice today. He didn’t explain why. Later we’d learn just how fucked Coach was and how much we were each involved in that fucking, but for now, all we knew was that we had a day off. A pack of dogs set free.

    We decided after breakfast to break into Paulie’s brother’s room and eat whatever stash Paulie’s brother’d been saving. Just piled what was there and cut it three ways and gobbled it all down and it was gone. This was Kelly’s first time, but he seemed up for anything. Not like a kid who never gets to hang out, but now is hanging out, so is willing to do anything to impress his new friends. More like the opportunity had just never arisen before. Kelly scooped up all the little reds and yellows and greens and discovered their place inside his body like he’d worked out this puzzle before. He was a natural talent at this game. We wandered out into the winter orchard behind Paulie’s house where a few fat brown apples still clung pointlessly to the trees like the saggy little tits of old maids and spinsters and the sun was so low on the horizon—this time of year it just can’t get high—and then it melted and then it smeared. A glowing yellow wax-stain between the frying-pan clouds and the spikes of distant pines, and our breath hung around us in stupid glowing clouds. The winter apples felt like leather sacks full of sauce. They tasted of booze and sauce. Paulie picked one and threw it against running Kelly’s retreating back where it exploded against his Ray Allen hoodie like a star in slow motion being born, Kelly’s arms flew up like he’d been shot, he’s going down, and I ate another apple off the limb. Teeth tearing the old lady skin. Jacked juice on my chin. Then we marched like soldiers into the wood-lot pine and birch. [Read more…]

    Ian, Washed Up

    by James Mitchell

    Ian had become a wave. This was how it worked: he loved Sandra so much that it had melted his heart, and then melted his body and his limbs to water. The body is roughly two-thirds water, and it does not take a lot for the other third to catch up. He had longed for her so much he thought he would cry, and then before he knew it he was crying. Crying into his pint, and crying into his sink, and crying into his bath. And in the blink of an eye, the bath was full up with Ian.

    Ian did not even notice; he was too busy thinking of the time they’d painted the wall lime green and decided to keep it that way anyway, and the time he’d picked sweet popcorn because she didn’t like salt, and how he had grown to love it. So he was quite taken by surprise when he found himself dribbling through the overflow, down a rusty Whitechapel pipe and into the Thames. He knew it was the Thames because his vision was full of a green shade that no Londoner can mistake. [Read more…]

    A Middle Manager’s Advice to His Son

    When you grow up and work in a busy office, as I do now, always be sure to use the bathroom early, when the cleaning crew has just been there. People do disgusting things during the day. When you see the blue fluid still in the bowl, you know you will be clean and pure. Remember this, my son.

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