The Autopen Is Mightier Than the Voting Public
A Mickey Mouse Prediction of Our Fantasia-Inspired Future
The Autopen Is Mightier Than the Voting Public
By Jim Reynolds | www.reynolds.com
Grook: The Autopen’s Future
It doesn’t blink, it doesn’t pause,
It signs the rules, not minds the laws.
No voice, no vote, no human scan—
Just perfect strokes from no one’s hand.
The war was signed at 2:03.
The memo read: “You’re still free.”
Picture America’s dystopian dawn: a once-vibrant republic now throttled by the unholy marriage of autopen and AI, not through some grand conspiracy of villains, but via spineless humans shirking every ounce of accountability. It’s a slow-motion coup by convenience—bloodless, bureaucratic, and brutally efficient.
Gone are the days when presidents gripped pens with purpose, Congress battled over votes, and bureaucrats faced the music. Now? Algorithms whisper suggestions, autopens scrawl signatures, and an army of mop-bots—those relentless, Fantasia-inspired drones—march forward to enforce the fallout. No debates, no fingerprints, just seamless automation grinding democracy to dust.
It all started so innocently: the autopen as a humble gadget for harried execs and commanders-in-chief, dashing off ceremonial scribbles. But power abhors a vacuum. It morphed into a proxy, then a puppet-master. Under Biden, it wasn’t just postcards—it inked budgets, treaties, and executive overhauls from afar, whether he was globetrotting, napping, or silent. No human hand, no real intent—just a mechanical stylus dancing on command, turning the world’s mightiest pen into a ghostwriter for ghosts.
Bills slither through unsigned by any human hand and unchallenged. Executive orders stack like spam emails. Declarations of war? They materialize at 3 a.m., formatted, stamped, and tweeted by the same bot that hawks viral cat videos and adult diapers. The West Wing now operates like a ghost kitchen—no chef, no waiter, just QR codes and order slips.
Bob, our everyman dissenter, dares complain about an autopen-ratified pact with the “Coalition of Moderately Hostile Autonomous Entities”? The AI flags it as “satire,” slaps a violation on his feed, and mutes him into oblivion. No appeal, no mercy—algorithm’s orders. After all, nothing says freedom like a system that deletes your objections before you finish typing them.
Enter the mops: not cleaning crews, but compliance enforcers straight out of Disney’s nightmare. They slosh forward in rhythmic waves, buckets overfilled with DEI mandates, emergency climate protocols, and executive orders still steaming with fresh ink. One’s labeled "Reparations Backlog," another just says "Tuesday.”
You can almost hear Mickey whimpering behind a locked utility closet.
These aren't janitors—they’re junior tyrants. They ping your phone with cheerful nudges: “Outdated term detected—correct or face deprioritization.” Misgender a hurricane? Zap. Question a “weather event”? Shadowban. The AI doesn’t innovate or reason; it regurgitates yesterday’s biases, algorithmically aged in shame barrels and served up as policy.
No sorcerer’s apprentice to yell “stop”—just endless, flooding enforcement. The buckets slosh. And slosh. And slosh.
Voting? A cruel joke. Cast your “preference” into a black-box consensus engine that blends social vibes, equity algorithms, and curated options from the Office of Narrative Safety. Results? Preordained, autopen-sealed before you hit submit. No fraud, no mess— just optimized outcomes that feel like freedom but reek of chains.
Bob clings to his relic: a real pen that demands your grip, your will. He sketches cartoon mops—frowning, overburdened—lugging buckets labeled “Rights” and “Freedoms.” Some carry copies of old laws. Others spill “Intent to Govern” across the linoleum.
It’s his quiet rebellion, a flicker of humanity in the machine’s glare.
This is our autopilot apocalypse: autopenned into existence, vetoed by naps or neglect, ratified by silence. The autopen doesn’t consent; it conquers. And in this rigged game, it’s mightier than any voting public ever was.
Bob? He declines to sign. But for how long?