Speculative Collectives.
A dimly lit basement. A series of glowing computer screens. The scent of cigarette smoke and French Onion dip.
“Welcome, fellow hackers. Who’s ready to do some real hacking?”
“I’m down to hack. What are we hacking?”
“You’re going to love this hack. Trust me.”
“Uncovering government secrets?”
“Nah.”
“Stealing corporate slush funds?”
“Wrong again. Think bigger.”
“Finding evidence of far-reaching criminal enterprise.”
“Damn, yo. I thought I was talking to real HACKERS here.”
“We give up. What’s the hack?”
“Listen up. We’re going to target a bunch of low-level bureaucrats — I’m talking small towns, I’m talking rural counties, I’m talking assistants to the deputy mayors and a few perennial candidates for Recorder of Deeds.”
“Okay…”
“Then we’re going to open up their social media accounts and post a whole bunch of outrageously racist, misogynist bullshit. Then we sit back and watch the media tear these otherwise innocent clowns completely apart.”
“Wow. That’s cold, dude.”
“When I hack, I hack without mercy. Let’s get started.”
Creative Control 