What is this?

“Ah, well, I’m afraid that two diametrically opposed ideologies cannot coexist simultaneously in a culturally diverse environment, especially when the weather is below optimal standards,” the education droid explained.
“Wuz dis kid talkin’ bout?” Robertson inquired, “I dun know what hiz word mean.”
“Lissen,” stated Greta, his girl-acquaintance, “he be talkin’ bout ppl, u know? Grps? How dey move 2 diffn’t ways n’ such u no.”
“O, I get it now. Cn I borrow ur notes plz?” he asked sincerely.
“Ya,” Greta replied.
“K, ty 4 ur notez.”

The day drawled on like clouds on a windless day. Nobody wanted to be there, nobody wanted to sit still, nobody wanted to think. However, several more years of these arduous activities were required of each individual student if they were to succeed in this educational institution, and their meager efforts would need to be consistently applied in order to obtain a degree in Good Thinking. GT’s were the only degree any school offered anymore, but this was all well and good, considering that’s all the workforce required. They’d shift from one area of discontentment to another, except the latter would be supplemented with monetary rewards. Ahh, life, in all it’s splendour.

When class ended, everyone departed immediately (as they had already packed up their books at least 10 minutes in advance). They streamed out of the gargantuan Learning Theatre like little ants preparing to mount an assault on foreign invaders on the surface, except it would appear that such outside entities had long ago infiltrated and flourished somehow (for better or worse), due in part to the mind-swaying influence of the black, dung-hording beetles who lived in the shadows and waged a different kind of warfare. Unfortunately, nobody took notice of this, as the beetles had gotten quite proficient at concealing their efforts :-) It was all good though because everyone was happy and all was nice.

“Sayyyyy…” drawled Robertson. His fragmented speech patterns were usually hampered by his inability to form logical thoughts into a successive sequence of sensible words, and he struggled to connect one concept to the next. “U wanna get married 2nite?”
“I dunno…” replied Greta, staring blankly down at the cold, grey pavement sidewalk. It might have bothered her that there was not a green plant in sight, and that the air smelled of processed sulfur and vehicular exhaust, but she couldn’t understand why she’d care in the first place, and she failed to understand why such environmental deficiencies existed, so the thought was immediately disregarded in light of more pressing matters. “My divorce card is maxed rite now, im only allowed 5 per month.”
“Aww shit,” whined Robertson. “Well lemme kno when it resets k?”
“Np.”

The pair continued along the desolate concrete in search of cheap entertainment and bright lights, whereupon they did arrive at a Stimulatorium Center, or Stimstance for short. The place was blazing marvelously with various chrome tones and neon shapes which shifted rapidly in the glimmering space. All sights, sounds, and feelings emanating from the establishment immediately captured their attention, causing them to stare blankly at the display for several minutes before deciding on any particular course of action.
“Hay, u wanna go in?” asked Robertson.
“K,” said Greta.
For but a mere cost, the pair strolled into the Stimstance with eager smiles on their faces. Upon entering the small building, they were suddenly basked in all manner of abstract lights, evoking bizarre sensations which pierced their minds like a lit batch of Chinese firecrackers. This experience was like no other drug, stimulant, or natural high; it was a disembodying experience that completely encapsulated the users consciousness, transporting it back and forth through a myriad different extraordinary visual tunnels and darkened spaces. Their human bodies merely continued to shuffle forward like doped up zombies, and this activity continued for several more hours. They did not speak throughout the whole adventure, and when the ride was over they were mentally exhausted, and had sizeable tendrils of drool cascading out of the corners of their mouths.
“Well that wuz cool,” said Anderson blankly.
“Ya, im going again, want 2 join?” asked Greta.
“Ehh, sry, I gtg 4 now, but I will c u later I gues. Have fun tho.”
“kk”

And so, Greta passed through the Stimstance several more times, until her brain was no more than a well stirred batch of porridge. Entire years of memory were completely erased in the process, but it was a good feeling, because they were replaced by much brighter, happier memories that hearkened back to magical times long passed. She saw strange places, strange landscapes filled with unspoiled forestry and gardens many miles wide. She observed endless blue oceans with uninhabited coastlines which extended into infinity, and the vast seas traveled out into the red horizon, all being overlooked by a clear sky of a myriad stars, planets, galactic images of unexplainable shape and colour.
She wondered if things had been like this once, but it was clear that they hadn’t according to her orthodox historical studies, which were produced by the most benevolent and knowledgeable beings in existence: The Nameless. The Nameless were rarely seen, but their amazing gifts and exceedingly superior intelligence permeated every aspect of Greta’s current society, and she was undyingly grateful for this. Without them, there would be no Stimstances, and there would be no life.