Mutually exclusive

“That’s amazing!”

“Be careful, you’re flying close to the sun!”

The office was booming with comments on my latest story. The bonus from the amount of people I was able to convince that McDonald’s makes their chicken McNuggets from pink goo would allow me to take the missus out to a nice dinner. Perhaps nice enough to get her to wear that tiny black dress I like.

“Just wait till your luck runs out. You’ll join us mere mortals.”

- “You mere mortals could learn a thing or two. There’s no story I can’t spin! I can spin with both hands at the same time!”

As I boasted to my colleagues, I saw Mr. Smith leaning against his office door. He had a thoughful smile on his face as he turned around and closed his office door. I had a bad feeling my next assignment was not going to go my way.

…

Two days. Two days I’ve been banging my head against this assignment. How on earth - literally - am I supposed to make people believe that they live on a flat disc, surrounded with empty space… space which doesn’t exist. It’s not that there’s a wall or something else that blocks us in this imaginary disc. It’s just that the whole thing doesn’t exist. I could do one or the other, but formulating a cohesive theory about both at the same time would be impossible. I mean, I would have to reinvent gravity, for gods’ sake.

“Hi Gary. Are you sick? You don’t look so good. Try to get a good night’s sleep so you can finish your assignment.”

Jack was being an asshole. His numbers came in and he was able to convince a number of people that Osama Bin Laden was already dead when special forces raided his compound AND that he was probably still alive. He even got some scientists at San Francisco State University to back his numbers up with their research. Dead and Alive, they called it. Bastard didn’t reveal his secret, though… wants me to sweat and figure it out myself.

…

Three weeks, and I’m no closer to a coherent idea. My previously shining record is getting tarnished, and there’s going to be no dinner out this month. I don’t have one single idea I could start writing up.

*sigh*

I stop looking at the empty Word document and start browsing social media sites. Kittens falling over and babies talking funny. Perhaps I should just quit the bureau if I can’t figure out an idea to convince these idiots… I just need a decent idea. Doesn’t even need to be that good. Just enough to float me to the next assignment.

What did Jack do to manage this?

I close my article and give up on formulating a cohesive story. My nihilistic mood calls for some shittalk. I fire up my dozen or so Twitter accounts and start to type up posts:

"EARTH IS FAKE. SPACE IS FAKE. DON'T LET THE ZIONISTS TELL YOU OTHERWISE. #spaceisfake #flatearth" @m1plus7

"There's no way water conforms to objects. Just take a look yourself, water is always level! #flatearth #spaceisfake" @realmrscientist

"We haven't sent an astronaut to space since 1972. The van allen radiation belt will kill anything trying to get throught it, and the moon is farther than the belt. How is this possible? What happened? Can you spot the lies? #spaceisfake #flatearth" @spaceisfake2

"No matter what NASA tells you, those things are filmed underwater. #flatearth #spaceisfake" @trustyoureyes

My fingers dance around the keyboard as I write more and more posts, the system automatically backdating some by years to make it seem that the idea has been around forever. I post my idiotic things on Twitter and Facebook and head home to get drunk. I’ll ask for a new assignment in the morning.

Next day I come to the office to see that my numbers are way up. I fire up Twitter and see a hundred retweets of my posts and a huge amount of new claims for #spaceisfake and #flatearth. I stare at the screen without comprehension… I didn’t even make up a story… All I did was type in both hashtags in whatever nonsense I could spew out. I don’t undestand…

I look up and see Jack wink at me. Then it hits me, and the realization makes me lose all faith in humanity.

This story was originally posted on Reddit, /r/WritingPrompts, with the instruction:

You’re a professional conspiracy theorist who’s been give your hardest assignment yet: Convince the world of two mutually exclusive theories.

Inspired by #spaceisfake on Twitter.