The other night I awoke to a frightening nightmare. I found myself in the Valley, wandering down an empty and void freeway (Was it 101?), around me only silence - a silence reminiscent of a post-Apocalyptic, quake-shaken future, normally only found in Hollywood movies. Any moment, I expected a hairy gorilla riding on a horse and drawing his whip, to come chase after me. Instead, a sudden movement to my left made me freeze. I could not believe my eyes as to the fata morgana opening up in front of me. It was a Googly-looking brain, running on a pair of clumsy-looking legs, wildly gesticulating with its overgrown arms, and an insanely, madly look glistening in its two Googly-eyes. Then I heard a tweedy, chirping voice loudly exclaiming: I tawd I taw a Googly brain.... I turned to the right, and there was indeed that well-known Tweedy-bird (No, not the blue one from Frisco - but the yellow and way more funny one). It was hopping up and down, very excitingly, and pointing down the freeway ahead of me. I gazed on down the freeway, attempting to catch a glimpse of what had Tweet-bird up in a bind. A loud, thunderous cloud of dust was moving up towards us at a speed exceeding that of a viral fake news post on Facecrook. I did, I did taw a tadzillion bad old Googly brains! exclaimed Tweedy, his excitement bursting faster than the biggest man-made dam. And now, I also saw that this fast moving cloud of dust was a gigantic herd of Googly-looking brains, and each and everyone was somehow different from the other. For one, there was a Googly brain riding on a tricycle, impetuously treading the pedals, but the harder it pedaled, the less it moved on its own. The Googly brain had a facial expression situated somewhere between madness and angryness, a type of self-loathing emotion. At the back of the tricycle it was riding, waved a banner exclaiming: Wayless self-driving for Waymo bucks. Then the tricycle-riding Googly brain already passed me by, not due to its own motoric powers, but because it was pushed on by the sheer, never-ending stream of other Googly brains. There were Googly brains holding up newspapers which espoused headlines such as:

1. Googly Docs Translator states: "This french language document is already in English."
2. Googly ASR Bloopers: Manifold and hilarious. Soon to arrive.
3. Googly search: "trump" = "idiot", or just more fake news?
4. Googly Brain: Gone AWOL! Combined deep search efforts by NSA/CIA/MI6/GCHQ/GRU/FSB/Mossad fail to locate it.
5. Googly+: Closed, closing, what now?
6. Googly Security: MIA! Even Googly can't find it.
7. Googly Mail: Your private data, everybody's data!

The vast cloud of Googly brains kept on rolling past me. So, I decided to see where this frightened and insanely-looking horde of Googlies was coming from. Apparently, it was the exit ramp ahead of me which was the origin of the mass exodus. The traffic sign in front of the freeway exit ramp simply stated: Next Exit - Real World Data. Now that the mystery of the origin of this mass extinction was identified, I turned about to move in the direction which the Googly brains had chosen for their escape. Again, they were all exiting onto a freeway ramp just ahead. A few more steps in the direction of their collective flight, and I could glean the words written on the traffic sign up ahead. Next Exit - Googly Brain Play Bin. Oh my, and now I saw it in front of me. An inconceivably vast array of sandboxes was aligned beyond the freeway exit ramp, and each contained complacent, but tranquil Googly brains, playing and seemingly enjoying their simple but protective sandbox-world.

I decided to go a bit further, and after several miles or so, I noticed an old ruin of a building. A broken and badly ram shackled sign read Da House dat Googly built. At the front entrance of the building, I noticed three little ducklings which exposed an eery similarity with Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Except, each wore an unfamiliar t-shirt with a name tag on the back. The first read Alexa, the second Siri, and the third Cortana. The first duckling - Alexa - knocked on the nearly unhinged door, which was promptly opened by a voluminous apparition of a duck. "Unci Donald, can Googly come out to play?", asked Alexa. The mighty duck - no, not the one that quacks in Anaheim, but the one that reigns at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW - wore a big red cap which simply read Big Bwana. Big Bwana, was not amused by this interruption. He jumped up and down in a fit of choleric anger and quacked loudly: "Those darn, no-good, democratic hooligans! Lock'em up!! Lock'em all up!!!" In his hands Big Bwana held a model of an incessantly large and metallic-shiny wall, the type which immediately conjured up images reminiscent of a deja-vu a la Snake Plisken. The wall was equipped with a large 16K-high-resolution display which repeatedly blinked in bloody, red color the following words: No pasar! No entrar!! No bienvenido!!! Esta el pais de Big Bwana et FakeNews. Looking past Big Bwana, I noticed a couch behind which a small Googly brain was hiding, a fearful and somewhat puzzled expression on its face. On the left side of the couch, I recognized the Bear of the East as he was biting chunks off a giant euro-cookie. The middle of the couch was empty. On the right side of the couch, very prominently displayed, was the Porpoise of the Far East, it's left extremity extended and gently touching the Googly brain. The Bear of the East, and the Porpoise of the Far East otherwise appeared to display no facial expression whatsoever, but as I looked more closely, I could discover the faintest smirk of Schadenfreude protruding through their otherwise emotionless expressions, all the while Big Bwana kept up his furious rant.

The Valley of Hype revealed Indeed a transparent Glassdoor by shining light on a very scary Googly nightmare before Christmas.

It seems, not just by a long-shot, the World at large and America in the specific, require the kind of guidance only America's little dreamers can curry up. Today, a quick glance will be cast on three such companjeros. So, without any further ado, let's meet our three contestants.

1. Humpty Dumpty Trumpty
   His ever so big and yet so far out of reach dream, is to build the Great W(M)all of America, but the many loonies encircling his sphere of influence, just won't let him.
2. Elon from Musk Till Dawn
   Elon wishes nothing more than to turn into Buck Musk in the 21. Century. To achieve this lofty goal, he will need to become The First Elon on Mars.
3. Mark I wish I only knew how to hack Suckerberg
   Mark has always been fantasizing of being taken serious as a hacker, and not just some run of the mill script-kiddie. Since he works at 1 Hacker Way, he can hardly afford to rename the address to Googly's Other Play Bin, which would be more befitting.

So, here's the grand plan on how each and everyone can pitch in to help America's Little Dreamers realize their tech and real estate dreams:

Our three seekers will need to embark on a journey to Mars with Elon from Musk Till Dawn's Star-ship Busted. Once on Mars, Humpty Dumpty Trumpty can with all the blood, sweat, and tears he can muster up, build the Great Wall of Mars - once encircling the entire equator, and once more Mars's poles. To get a head start on realizing this endeavor, requires to hack a very special device leading ultimately to acquiring an even more fantastic device.

The gizmo our tres amigos are seeking, is Jeff Bozos' very magical 4-D printing machine, which upon successful completion, indubitably elevates N(M)ile-Hype to commercial product printing world domination. Not only can this wondrous device print anything you desire in the common three spatial dimensions, but it also has a special 4-D temporal mode. Simply punch in a negative value for the t-axis, and before you even started having the thought to print something, it will already be printed. The incorporated technology is based on absolutely serious alt-fact science - that old familiar Einsteiny, time dilation thingy only in reverse - which also forms the basis of much of LaLa Valley's tech AI prowess. But be forewarned, due to some flaky firmware obtained from the rotting Apple-bye-bye iClone Labs, by means of Commie Ma's Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, there is a serious cloning glitch. This bug manifests itself in such a manner, that a single false data entry can lead to the 4-D printing machine cloning itself ad infinitum. Of course, this faux pas is further compounded by the 4-D printing feature, which can inadvertently lead to the entire universe being populated with clones of Jeff Bozos's very magical 4-D printing machine - even before a single button is pressed.

Now, enough of the prologue. Here's what needs to follow next, for this story to further progress.

Every morning, Jeff Bozos follows the same basic procedure, by entering the bathroom, and immediately consulting his vanity mirror, which is a very special edition of the Googly Personal AI Assistant Vanity Mirror GOO666. He will always check his vanity by asking: "Goggly, Googly on the wall, who is the least AI-inspired of them all?". And, in all familiar fashion the Googly mirror will respond: "Why it's of course me, my dick Bozos!". At this point, dick Bozos will be most pleased, since he is quite certain that he is neither a clown, nor is his first name Dick. Does this odd behavior not prove beyond a doubt, the Googly mirror is not only gaga, but even more mad, bonkers, and off the hat? This is where Mark I wish I only knew how to hack Suckerberg comes into play, by creating a profound but necessary distraction. He will need to hack the Googly mirror in such a manner, that it will display dick Bozos' dick and instead utter the following words: "Why it's of course Alexa, my dick Bozos!". At this point, dick Bozos will fall into a Big Bwana-style ravenous rant, and burst the Googly mirror with one of the many unsold N(M)ile-hype tech gadgets he owns. Next, realizing his folly, he will pull his N(M)ile-hype Prime card, and order by contact-less pay - just with a facsimile of his dick Bozos' dick counterfeit - a new Googly mirror. Once Mark has dick Bozos' secret card code, he will have completed the first part of his hacking assignment. The next step though will be a cliffhanger for Mark I wish I only knew how to hack Suckerberg. He will need to convince Humpty Dumpty Trumpty and the Ye Olde Nay Sayers on the Hill, that it is perfectly OK to hack dick Bozos' N(M)ile-hype card, order a copy of his very magical 4-D printing machine, and have it delivered via N(M)ile-hype's drone delivery service. This insatiable feat can be accomplished by cleverly pointing out that it has always been, and still is best practice in LaLa Valley to flaunt others' creations. In fact, taking dick Bozos very magical 4-D printing machine, is covered under the universal Great Wall of China Intellectual Property License Agreement¹, the very same that numerous tech establishments still very effectively operate under today.

Now, that a clear and shiny path forward has been established for realizing the dreams of our dreamers, let's take a look through the looking glass for some insights into alt-facts emerging on the event horizon.

• As Americas 3 little dreamers finally touch down on Mars, the news of their successful endeavor already has long reached Earth, all thanks to dick Bozos's very magical 4-D printing machine. As the Second Roman Empire rumbles and crumbles, there are nations emerging which are suffering from an acute case of Merkelitis, displaying ever growing signs of Macronverdruß, or exhibiting the first sprouting spuds of a francoesque future. In these faltering nations, one can already hear a first joyous response to the martian events: Scharen von Gelbwesten torkeln durch die dunklen Gassen, dabei verkünden Sie lallend und gröllend "Auf der Hundeinsel Morgens um halb vier, da steh ick gern rum und sauf meen Bier." Le ‘gilets jaunes‘ marche dans la rue de La Grande Nation et dictées "Sacre bleu! C'est ci sont le Grande Bwana. Increíble! Ecoutez, ecoutez le Grande Bwana arrivez." Los ‘chalecos amarillos’ de Andalucía, España exclamar "Mi Vox es su Vox".
• Under the watchful eyes of Humpty Dumpty Trumpty, at the martian pinnacle, a giant, masonic, graphene-colored monolith is being assembled by sheer legions of autonomous, self-organizing, and self-flying Lego-blocks. The American Home Alone kid steps up to the shiny dark monolith, ever so close, stares down the abyss of Humpty Dumpty Trumpty's legacy, and then in old-familiar fashion suddenly drapes his hands over the sides of his face, and loudly exclaims: "Great Scott, it’s full of lies!"
• Will Negative Nancy run roughshod over Humpty Dumpty Trumpty, or will Big Bwana, in the nick of time, pull a trump out of his sleeve for an all redeeming full house?
• Will the An-alphabet clowns finally figure out what the meaning of the letter G - like in G(oogly) - is, or ever discern what letters will follow: W(ayless), L(oonatic)?
• Will Elon from Musk Till Dawn finally be elevated from lowly space cadet to Buck Musk in the 21. Century and lead as supreme commander Humpty Dumpty Trumpty's fledgling Space Force, to counter The Bear of the East's nouveaux Avantgarde?
• Will the dud's finally embark on the path of the yellow brick road, or will The Bear of the East and the The Porpoise of the Far East shape the World in their own image?
• Will the Flag of Righteousness continue to turn any which way the wind blows, or will an all devouring wave of oblivion clean the land?

How this story will pan out, only time and I will tell.

In this brief scientific abstract we would like to draw attention to recent developments involving three of our patients, and the strange synchronicities that have emerged in their delusions. In order to protect the innocent, we will name all involved parties by their first names only.

Our first patient is Mr. Donald, who's delusions center primarily around his belief that he is the rightful heir to the throne of this here nation. Mr. Donald is further convinced that he has been replaced by an impostor clone who is now reigning, whereas he has been placed under house arrest at this institution. He, - as well as the other two patients - keeps mentioning a place only known to us as LaLa Valley and which they need to reach together. Our patient exhibits multiple split personalities each of which appear to surface at regular, nearly predictable times. We will briefly mention the more frequent and intense episodes and their manifestations, except for one mentioned at the end of the following list.

• On specific days, Mr. Donald would hide behind the door of the main storage room. Every time when nurse Hillary would pass by, he would storm out of the room, grab the poor woman and drag her into the closet. Next, he would secure the door by placing a chair below the door handle, and pin a piece of paper to the door. The paper contains only a single word written in red crayon color and in all capitals: JAIL. Since this odd and to us completely inexplicable behavior is only observed with nurse Hillary passing by the storage room, we have instructed her to avoid this locality all together.


• Another very strong delusion Mr. Donald exhibits, is his fear of an imminent tortilla-dumpling invasion which he believes is threatening this nation. Whenever the institutes' cafeteria serves ethnic foods, Mr. Donald would erect a wall consisting of tables and chairs in front of the entrance door to said cafeteria. This odd and repetetive barricading behavior can be observed exclusively on our Fiesta Mexicana and Chop Suey nights.


• On some occasions, Mr. Donald can be found in the recreational area of the institute and draw up RSV P’s. These would always be directed to the same 4 entities: Rocket man, Prophet M., The Bear, and The Porpoise. We spent a substantial amount of time trying to elucidate the true identities of these entities. We did try to call Sir Elton, and actually got through to him, but our phone conversation was abruptly interrupted as Mr. Donald's name was mentioned. All subsequent attempts to reach Sir Elton failed. With regard to the mysterious Prophet M. we did search in the Muslim world and elsewhere for a rapper by this name, but were, much to our chagrin, unsuccessful. Finally, we visited with Mr. Donald the LA Zoo, and spent lengthy periods at the bear and porpoise exhibits. But none of these actions elicited any reaction from Mr. Donald.


• The final delusion Mr. Donald lives out, occurs extremely infrequently. It only coincides with the day on which the board of directors appears for a long in advance announced surprise inspection visit. On this particular day, all members of the board arrive in their exclusively black painted BMW's, Audi's, and Porsche's. Whenever this highly rare event of quality inspection of our facilities occurs, Mr. Donald, only equipped with a broomstick, would charge at the arriving cars, in a manner which has earned him the nickname of Don Quixote de Tinsel-town. Much like his tragic namesake, he would loudly exclaim: "No more Gaudi by Audi.", or "Beamers are not for dreamers.", or "Buy Ford or commit Mord.". At this point, we need to mention that Mr. Donald is of German ancestry and appears to have picked-up a few words when sitting on his daddy's lap. It also seems that Mr. Donald's granddaddy was kicked out of his ancestral homeland for lewd activities.

The second patient whose delusions we would like to briefly discuss is Mr. Mark. Mr. Mark is a longtime resident of our institution and has developed a number of interesting persona’s.

• Quite often Mr. Mark can be found cowering in a cardboard box, which he refers to as his sleep box. When inside this box we can only hear him babbling about having to perform the hack of the millennium. This hack obviously involves hacking some credit card so that he can order a sort of magical printing machine, which can only be found in LaLa Valley. Once this hack is successfully completed, Mr. Mark and the other two will go on a lengthy trip to help Mr. Donald to achieve his promised goals.


• Another highly synchronized delusion is exhibited whenever Mr. Donald barricades the cafeteria. At exactly this point in time, Mr. Mark would - only equipped with a makeshift meat cleaver (Just a toothbrush with a fork attached to it.) - charge after the life stock which is kept in the back of the institute. He would chase after the chickens and the goats. When asked to explain this strange behavior, he would say a real man hunts for his own food. We have not attempted to subterfuge this behavioral pattern, since Mr. Mark is of poor physical health and his lack of dexterity, has never led him to get near the animals. What we do find troubling is that he keeps referring to a a close pal of his: Mr. Horsey. At first, we thought this was just another figment of his imagination, but it appears now, that Mr. Mark is talking of a real person: Mr. Horsey of Blue Bird. As we have learned from one of our contacts to the Lord's of the Dark World, Mr. Hersey’s platform Blue Bird has been fingered a number of times in the past as an avid playground for paedophiles. The idea of Mr. Mark riding on Mr. Horsey has put us on alert, and we will monitor the situation closely. The county sheriff has already been notified of this incident.


• Finally, Mr. Mark also displays very strong bouts of bipolar schizophrenic behavior. On several occasions he would be observed, first running through the institute's corridors and singing Don't fence me in! Moments later, he would be cowering in some corner of the isolation room, begging the wardens to put him into a straight-jacket - as a prophylactic measure, of course, to guarantee his own safety and that of others around him. He also keeps asking that Mr. Elon join him.

Our final patient is Mr. Elon. Mr. Elon is the mother of all split personalities and the amount of space required to discuss them would require writing a book. Instead we will focus on only a few of them as they pertain to the other two patients.

• On those occasions where Mr. Donald barricades the cafeteria to keep out the tortilla-dumpling invasion, and Mr. Mark chases our livestock with his improvised meat cleaver, Mr. Elon would be found outside not far away from Mr. Mark. He would frantically - kneeling on the ground - dig with two spoons a hole into the ground. When interviewed to explain his behavior, he would simply state he was under contractual pressure to complete Mr. Donald's trans-Atlantic escape tunnel. Even after we explained to him that we were located next to the Pacific ocean, he would continue to insist that the tunnel had to be dug beneath the Atlantic. After-all, Mr. Donald had a date in Sweden for some Karaoke-bash.


• At other times he would sit in a corner and wildly gesticulate with his hands. When asked what he was doing he would simply state: "I am preparing my Starship for our journey to Mars. I need to be there first before dick Bozos' dick beats me to it.


• A final third synchronized delusion occurs when Mr. Donald equipped with a broomstick, charges those German Fuehrer-less board of directors' cars. He would be observed trying to hail one of the arriving cars. His explanation: he needed to secure one of the tadzillion robot taxis which he owns in order to drive to his otherwise busted starship.

Due to the high degree of synchronicity in the delusions of these three patients, we are recommending a concerted effort to confront them. We are hereby proposing to send all three on a trip across this nation in an autonomous driving robot taxi. Of course, we are well aware that none of this can actually be realized, but we are considering the option of creating a fake environment. This fake would be realistic enough to make our three patients believe that they are actually taking a cross-country trip to find this modern-day technology Xanadu - LaLa Valley. At first, we looked at using a AR/VR solution, but the Institute has enacted a strict no Microshaft and Facecrook policy, due to the high degree of hype and flaky products being peddled by these companies. Since Googly and N(M)ile Hype are clear no shows in this technology area, we abandoned the idea altogether. On a side note, it should also be mentioned that the prolonged wearing of these VR helmets (more than 30 minutes), would represent an undue strain to the health of our patients.

The second option we looked at, involved renting an autonomous vehicle, but our insurance made it very clear, they would not cover such a hazardous endeavour, due to the high probability of possibly occurring accidents. Our lawyers also advised us to forgo this option, since they expected the crushing litigation costs would pummel us.

We finally decided to use a low-to-no tech solution. Our approach involves modifying the back seat of a golf cart so that all three patients can be securely fixated during the ride. The maximum speed at which the cart would operate is limited to no more than 25 mph. To further illicit the illusion of a self-driving car, we decided to invoke a remote control system similar to the one used in drones. We did toy with the idea of utilizing autonomous drone technology, but rejected it altogether. This decision was made after learning that Googly's drone went AWOL Down Under, and Mr. Jeff of N(M)ile Hype got lost in space by taking a wrong turn on a routine trip to N(M)ile Hype's Lunar vacation resort. Instead, we opted to install a simple remote control and always have at least one human navigator control the golf cart. We did try to recruit the Ye Olde Nay Sayers on the Hill to help us take turns controlling the golf cart, and moving the props around which would be positioned along the path of the imaginary road trip. At first, the responses we got were less than encouraging. Most of the Ye Olde Nay Sayers cited lack of time as a reason to help us out, since they had trouble keeping up with their personal messaging systems all due to an unexpected increase in Googly speech transcription errors. All this changed, once we told them that Mr. Donald would be riding in the back of the golf cart. At that point, we received a flood of requests to help. Since we now have a plan of action, we hope to send our three patients on their long hoped for journey to find LaLa Valley. We shall report on the progress of this experiment in a follow up.

Addendum

Now, can you spot how 124C41 let's Mr. Mark and Mr. Elon conspire to help - by a single thread - Mr. Donald not only escape his prison but to become heir apparent to the throne of this here nation?