[ WP ] A worldwide dictatorship rises to power and people are psychologically analysed then subsequently sorted/dealt with/assigned a home by their internet search history .

“ What do you mean I'm a goddamn pervert? ” 
 
 I sigh. I do n't make the *fucking* rules. Every asshole has this imperfect chip on their shoulder.'Oh, no I did n't search that.' Yeah, no.'But it was just this one time, let me explain...'. Fuck off. I do not care. I already goddamned know you searched it in a fit of inebriation and curiosity. Fun fact: go fuck yourself. Just take your ticket and leave. 
 
 “ Yes, you are pervert class. I'm sorry sir, but no normal person searches for'3 guys one hammer' and watches the full video. I do n't make the rules.' I sigh, peering over his shoulder and scan the line. 40 or so people. Hopefully that grandma did n't do anything *too* bad. Maybe she searched for creampie recipes. 
 
 “ I fell asleep! ” He exclaimed, shooting his arms over his head as if to make a point. “ I was curious! these guys on this forum told me to do it! ” 
 
 I look at him for a moment. Clean shaven, cheap badly fitted suit. Looks like he just got back from the men's warehouse. Nope. 
 
 “ Listen, sir. According to Waynes v. Federal Child Protection Board, that is irrelevant. You were in the domicile when the event happened, and we have the cam footage to prove it. Your unconsciousness is n't really a factor. ” I state, sharing an extended glance. 
 
 He props his elbows on the desk, leans in. 
 
 “ Do you know who I am? ” 
 
 Again? With the power plays? Fuck me. 
 
 “ Well, your file says Steven Filkmann. Am I supposed to? ” I reply. 
 
 “ That's right. I run the most successful mattress supply and mattress accessory store in the tri state area. If you do n't revoke that godforsaken yellow ticket in your palm right this fucking minute, I will ensure that your purchases are *severely* limited. ” 
 
 I frown, inquisitively cocking my head. 
 
 “ And what exactly does that mean, sir? ” 
 
 “ Forget about memorypedic mattress. I'll ensure the best mattress you ever buy has been used twice, marked by cats and used as junkie **fuck pad**. You sure you want to sign that yellow ticket of yours? ” 
 
 I lower my head, stare at the desk for a moment. To the left is the rejection stamp. To the right, the confirmation. I can feel the weight of his stare on my neck. 
 
 *Who the fuck? * 
 
 A cheshire cat smile spreads across my face. Looking back up at him, I smile my toothy, cocked grin. 
 
 “ I'm sorry sir, your request has been denied. Please take your ticket and make room for the next in line. ” I slide the ticket under the plasti-glass, never breaking eye contact. He stares incredulously for a moment before looking down. 
 
 “ You'll never sleep well again, ” He states, before yanking his ticket away. He storms towards the exit, cradling his wounded pride and ticket. His face is red as a beet and he seems as angry as an Alsatian without sauerkraut. 
 
 I watch him go, nearly slamming into the sliding glass doors. 
 
 “ Next! ” I call. 
 
 A young, hideously obese man saunters to the counter. 
 
 “ Aaron Michaels? ” I ask. 
 
 “ Yes. ” 
 
 “ Ok, you're being placed into mandated treatment. I need you to sign these forms. ” I slide a few under. He looks at them, scared and confused. 
 
 “ Look, it was a fit of weakness! Fluttershy is just so fucking hot... ” He trails off. 
 
 Retaining my vomit, I call in my supervisor. 
 
 *Fuck this job. *
