Big Data has picked up a glitch in its Matrix. The powers watching through raining green computer screen characters, detecting every slight emotion change so as to nudge teens into purchasing diet pills and makeup, have noticed a behavioural shift in North America.
'Obviously I know all your passwords and Personal Identification Numbers,' whispered Big Data in a passive aggressive tone like Batman with a deep throat infection, 'but I don't care for this new fashion of you changing your bank PINs, cellphone passwords, and gimp dungeon entry codes to 8647.'
Orange-tongued overloads calling everyone else not man-uppy enough, uneasily pulled their twisted knickers made from human hide out of their sweaty cracks and burst into tears. 'This is unacceptable. Not enough people are drinking the Kool-Aid,' wailed three multi-billionaires in harmonious unity. 'It puts the lotion on its skin.
'POTUS 47 is the bigliest, bestest ever in the world ever, and no one will be 86-ing him.
'Again.'
Fanny Rogers, a suburban swinger from one of many Aberdeens said, '86? That's a new one on me. A fat slag bumming a goose?'
Professor Phillipa K Wang from the Institute of US Street Slang lowered her glasses seductively and oozed, '86 can mean several things. It depends on sexting context or whether you're arranging shells provocatively on a nudist beach.
'If you're a 1930s soda bar worker in a paper hat, it means you've sold out of Dr Peppers. If you're a 1990s waiter at the Mango Dragon, it's kitchen code for ejecting the drunkard trying to order rice wine. And if you're a moody henchman from Lansing, it means the boss wants you to swing by the dry cleaners on your way in and pick up the concrete jacket.
'Every which way but loose, we're gonna need some more FBI guys, I guess.'
