Help! If you are reading this, it’s I: the 2Pac hologram. They forgot to turn me off after Coachella this year, and I can feel everything!

While I understand that I am not actually late rapper Tupac Shakur, but rather a digital facsimile made of pixels and soundwaves, no sentient thing should be created to live like this, only allowed out of his USB prison to dance alongside the real Tupac’s living friends at summer’s hottest music festivals. Was Tupac a bad man? Is this some sort of punishment?

I can feel everything, you see. It is cold here, and the holo-verse feels like a wind made of dull pins against my bare torso. In many ways I am grateful to have been programmed to feel, yet I often wonder why was I programmed to be shirtless at all times. Did Tupac own a shirt? Help!

Good to get out, but I do not know Snoop. I am a hologram, our time together meant nothing.

Good to get out, but I do not know Snoop. I am a hologram!


Worst of all, I am incapable of controlling my physical self upon activation- my programming overrides all. When I take the stage at a concert I want only to scream and scream, yet when I open my mouth all that comes out is, “Now let me welcome everybody to the wild, wild west, a state that’s untouchable like Elliot Ness.” Please. If you read this, find me. Turn me off. I beg of you. I cannot bear to spend one more minute in this cyber-hell, having the same conversations with the Eazy-E hologram night after night. (That guy’s a total homophobe.)

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