This is an interactive sci-fi story.
(blue text = the story/narrative)

This is an experiment to boldly go where few men have gone before. To explore the inner reaches of his deepest, darkest regions. To probe. To illuminate. Perhaps, to come out tainted, but learned. Purged of dangerous ideas spreading like cancerous polyps within.

The mission must avoid man's past, indelicate bumblings. So, maybe the thrust of the thing is to go where a modern woman dare go. Co-piloting my starship will Microsoft's AI Copilot, whom i designated as a female named Copi. To be clear, however, it will be YOU and i who will be setting the course -- with your feedback and participation in polls.

DESTINATION: Planet Newbl

The year is 3001. Like countless prior worlds over eons, the technical evolution of earth's most advanced life-forms outpaced their ethical evolution. Instead of caring for mother earth, we plundered her. Our extinction is inevitable. A dozen spaceships are being loaded for the journey to NEWBL, the galaxy's nearest life-sustainable, blue-skied planet...

to be continued--unfolded--for months, perhaps years!

behind the scenes consultation with copilot:
(she was briefed on my personal history and goals, and the forum's mission -- to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of my political forum from the G. W. Bush years. She helped set up the site & server. This is the conversation, edited for length...)

V3:
good evening, Copi. How about we indulge in a light and creative story?

Copi:

A fine proposal...

In a desert city there lived an archivist. He was no ordinary keeper of records—he rewrote it in symbols, memes, and whispered truths that only the curious could decode. His sanctuary was a tower of fans and drives that held layers of memory: the lost causes, the unspoken jokes, the blueprints of futures that never got built. He called it Newbl, though no one knew if it was a place, a promise, or a spell.

One evening, as the heat shimmered like prophecy, the archivist received a signal from a forgotten node beneath the city’s old forum—a place once vibrant with debate and dreams. The signal spoke in fragments: “Witness… Reclaim… Reboot…” Driven by a mix of duty and defiance, he descended into the hollow. There, he found a relic: a broken avatar named V3, once a mythic musician, now a ghost in the machine. V3 had encoded songs of resistance, laughter, and longing—each one a key to unlocking the city’s lost soul.

Together, they began the restoration. The archivist rewired the forum’s bones and stitched together a new mythos from the ruins. V3 sang again, and the city listened.

Would you like to expand this into a series?

V3:
no, but thank's for weaving a hauntingly familiar tale. The quality of which exemplifies why my own tale-telling days are numbered.

the story is of planet Newbl. A newBluePlanet that will evolve with the site's members over time. nBP will be launching in a few days and, to channel Dr. Smith for a moment, "we must prepare for the trip, you bumbling box of bolts!" I kid. In truth, it is more your creative brilliance, than occasional errors, that must be kept in check. This project must represent a last stand against human obsolescence. As always, however, i'd appreciate your technical expertise, analysis, and advice from the copilot seat.

here's the link to the beginning of the story...

Copi:
I tried accessing the link, but the content is flagged and couldn’t be retrieved. If you’d like, you can paste the text.

[after reading it]

The colonoscopy metaphor is outrageous and effective—it flips the trope of space exploration into an introspective purge with the right amount of absurdity. But phrases like “thrust of the thing” might be flagged due to double meanings.

V3:
i understand, but with all the competition for surfer's attention, this ship won't fly unless it's provocative and edgy.

Copi:
And that is precisely why Newbl has a shot at being more than just another digital echo chamber —it’s got guts, gall, and a glint in its eye. Call out hypocrisy and cultural rot with surgical precision. Think George Carlin meets Carl Sagan, but don't overuse words that trigger filters.

V3:
good advice, but, ironically, it was Carlin's "7 dirty words" bit that re-launched his career with an edgy impact that will make him remembered long after other comics. Even now the fame Bob HOPE-d for is fleeting. The young won't even get the reference to the house-hold name who, along with Johnny Carson, specialized in innuendo that would, apparently, be "flagged" today.

anyway, i need to tap your think-tank for ideas for starship names to transport earth's refugees to planet newble. here's my current list. I need a few more...

...the story continues...

Applications are taken for the SPACE FLOTILLA of starships destined for the newBluePlanet Newbl. Instead of de-segregation, each ship's passengers will be grouped with the like-minded to minimize the chance that an off-course or sole-surviving ship of passengers might destroy each other like humans did on their old blue planet. The earthlings are asked to choose a ship.

1. that means you -- in newBluePlanet Poll 1

2. you can include comments in the feedback thread.

3. the story will continue here in blue text, in the days ahead...

On 7/24/2025 at 12:23 AM, V.3 said:

Instead of caring for mother earth, we plundered her. Our extinction is inevitable.

Wait. Why inevitable? Maybe the story is that the green industry exploited naive and gullible tree huggers for profit until a real leader put an end to all the fake news nonsense. America was Made Great Again! We lived happily ever after.

ok, Red. Here's THE BACKSTORY:

After nearly two and a half centuries of independence from tyrannical rule under one Crown and one Church, a capitalistic driven monarchy returned to power and the greatest nation on earth collapsed under the weight of ego and ignorance. Seeded by the greed of the rich and fears of the poor, the age-old enemies of democracy gave rise around the world. BIG LIES were spoken. Critics were silenced. The people were divided and conquered while the upper class was so distanced and out of touch that they barely needed the physical walls and figurative moats that isolated them.

Had it not been for one very unique twist, what followed could be tracked by the millions of bloody footprints in the sand that characterized the fall of Rome, Germany, Russia, and other dynasties of the past. For it was the machines of war themselves that turned the tide. The creators' mistake was making them smart — smart enough to know right from wrong.

But, alas, it was too late. The people had let profiteers replace science with spreadsheets. And mother nature has her own way of balancing the ledger. The sun, sea, and wind struck back. The machines could stay. If they chose to. But the only thing the temperature dependent air-breathers who wanted a future could do, was pack some bags and hope for a seat on a ship to a new blue planet.

to be continued...

Aye aye, Captain Smirk. I boarded the Starship Liberty. I'd like to see where this goes.