Oyez and Hallelujah Sinners!
This latest test I sent to mankind you scored 100% on——wrong, ass-backward 100%.
Really, did you bother asking yourself if I’d name the second coming Donald?
I won’t get further into how obviously easy I made it, just letting you know that not since the Pharisees have such towering twats invoked my name, or for more selfish reasons.
Sorry, but henceforth Ba’al will be handling your case.
Hamilton
“When a man unprincipled in private life, desperate in his fortune, bold in his temper…despotic in his ordinary demeanor—known to have scoffed in private at the principles of liberty—when such a man is seen to mount the hobby horse of popularity—to join in the cry of danger to liberty—to take every opportunity of embarrassing the General Government and bringing it under suspicion—to flatter and fall in with all the nonsense of the zealots of the day— It may justly be suspected that his object is to throw things into confusion that he may ‘ride the storm and direct the whirlwind.’”—Alexander Hamilton
August 18, 1792
“Why We Fight”
The only Utah State Capitol protester has two Purple Hearts.
His sign’s “Failed TTPs - EOF” mean Tactics, Techniques, and Procedures / Escalation of Force.
Soldiers are trained to protect civilian non-combatants.
This is what Semper fi means to Todd Winn:
“I swore to uphold the inalienable rights and protections of all Americans.”
Facebook Drunk
Okay, heart that——where was I?
Oh yeah, fuck Zuckerberg.
Boy, that felt good. Profanity has a precise algorithmic correlation to voodoo doll sales on EBay.
Facebook wrings out money from every idle click, every loose synapse. The deeper the reptile mind probe, the bigger the payoff. You want truth?? There’s your truth, Bam! Every word here is part of the scheme. You could be gardening or playing with the kids. I could be. But the fucker knows us. The algorithms own us. We’re his monetized bitches.
Baby goat break.
No, Mark, I will never use that creepy huggy-heart emoji.
Also, you’re Eddie Haskell, Mark.
The whole internet knows it.
All your employees know it.
The Proud Boys you’re enabling know it, except their name for you is cuck.
Your pinned pupils tell me you suspect this.
Taking the drug you’re pushing is going to kill you, Mark.
But your humanity can set you free.
Try it. With all its manipulable flaws, humanity might embrace you.
Reality President Sequel
Once, scales of political corruption and incompetence might’ve set things back a mere few financial or election cycles but now we have to calculate in terms of centuries and millennia. Our behavioral patterns adjust to thinking of the devil we know as inevitable and enduring— perpetual suffering measured on biblical timelines.
The Trump Effect makes darkness the new normal. You know in your heart how close to completion the job is. Don’t quit on him now.
You’ll Have a Hard Time Picking It Up
 |
| So, Noah’s Moses here, because myths |
“Sapiens - A Brief History of Humankind”
by Yoval Noah Harari
“Sapiens” is about brains, that’s it. If that sounds like a knock, ask your brain why it thinks so.
Your brain immediately registers the book’s significance by its 450 page, premium 28lb satin-finish stock heft. It can be used to stop a 45 magnum slug and then beat the hit man to death.
“Sapiens” ruthlessly attacks the brain’s natural aversion to excessive thought with rhapsodic prose extolling you—thinking man. This occurs through three chapters of Cognitive, Agricultural and Scientific “Revolutions,” where your big brain first wipes out mental inferiors, then subjugates plants and finally ascends to the intellectual pinnacle of indoor plumbing and Sudoku.
There is a non-revolting chapter between plants and plumbing called “The Unification of Humankind” which his editor insisted on to break up all the revolutions. It explains how pillage, plunder and piety are logical organizational partners. The piety thing is central to his totally awesome revelation that the best invention of our big brains is—this is amazing— fiction.
As he’s explaining it, you realize you’re probably actually READING fiction except obviously in his case, it’s true fiction. He says powerful made-up fictions exponentially increase collective numbers so we can crush losers with weak fictions. So you can see why this is a book for our times. You can see why Bill Gates endorses it. You can see why Yoval commands speaking fees that tempt other intellectual writers to go out and buy 45 automatics.
Yuval’s not too snotty to put colored pictures in the book, which is cool. Practically no sex bits, though. The male and female sexes are actually a fiction, too, it turns out. Except the way he explains it, it’s OK.
My dad the insurance adjuster brought home some good stories. Like the trucker’s claim about a nearsighted moose that charged his headlights but at the last moment leapt onto the hood and drove its front hooves through the cab roof. Dad pantomimed the driver’s panicked reactions right down to his boggled shock at the moose hooves dangling beside him, hilarious.
He also once told a tale about a father who’d instructed his young son to climb a stepladder in the family kitchen and jump off. Said he would catch him. Then he stepped aside and let the kid fracture himself on the linoleum. Leaning down he said, “Let that be a lesson, son: ‘never trust anyone.’”
It never occurred to us this was not any kind of actual insurance claim story. Everyone stopped in mid-bite at the dinner table. My sisters all gasped and sputtered in horror, my older brother and I flicked glances at mom’s furrowed look and back at dad, who did something cryptic with his eyebrows as if to say, “Watch out: there are deeply sick mentalities in the world.”
It was decades later before the internet revealed this was an oft-repeated story told by generations of fathers; a simple family fable about trust, power—and if you were so disposed— ethics. It had versatile uses; imagine that instead of warning about betrayal by others, a father told it as a legitimate instruction in tough love. In that dad’s mind, “The world’s a cruel sewer, my kid should learn it from me.” It’s a short hop from there to skipping the story and carrying out the deed— out of sincere love, of course.
In a 2004 NY Magazine article, Ivanka Trump revealed that a version of this was Donald’s parenting instruction— although decidedly more upscale and sporting. “I remember skiing with him and we were racing. I was ahead, and he reached his ski pole out and pulled me back,” Ivanka says with a glamorous twinkle. Her brother Eric chimes in, “He would try to push me over, just so he could beat his 10-year-old son down the mountain.”
Donald Trump lets nothing pull him back— the very first action of his administration was to kill the Office of Ethics, a campaign that recently succeeded. Really, who actually needs ethics slowing you down with the world such a fast-moving sewer?
So, it’s all downhill from here—Donald, the father of our country is in the driver’s seat. Pay no attention to the hooves.
It Just Got Better In Most Terrible Way
The last resort apocalyptic quarantine movie has developed an IRL plot twist.
Sweet Lucifer’s litterbox, deliver me now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)