Girofotojobs

The dangers of predictive text

Sally stared at the text, choking tea as her nose exploded in snorts of mirth. She read it aloud.

“Shame about the Girofotojobs.”

How was it possible that spellcheck software didn’t know the word hieroglyphics? Even if it were absent from the dictionary, what crazy drunken A.I. would replace it with Girofotojobs?

She typed in the search bar…

“Showing results for ‘Girl Photo Jobs’ - No results found for Girofotojobs”.

Not one – anywhere on the Worldwide Web! The accumulated knowledge of the modern world, the creativity, the intricate details of humanity’s profound mundanity, and nobody, anywhere, ever, had typed Girofotojobs.

So why on Earth would her phone deem it more likely than hieroglyphics? Absent-mindedly, she sent a follow up – “Sorry, hieroglyphics” – so he wouldn’t think she’d lost her mind. She sniffed, wetly. Spluttering hot tea through her nose had played havoc with her sense of smell. She put down her mug. An odour of sour milk permeated the room, rendering the remaining tea unpalatable. She sniffed again – matches and boiled eggs?

Her throat exploded like a bird on a windscreen. The jagged spiny claw tore vertically through her jaw. Eyes wide and glassy, she stared through infinity. A scarlet torrent painted a Pollock on her bedsheets.

Standing over her broken corpse, bristling tendrils writhing pleasurably in the charnel stench, he planted his hooves wide, looming closer. The mortal didn’t look like she’d know how to exploit the True Name of one such as he, but Girofotojobs was taking no chances.