“And next up on EVERYTHING IS AWESOME News, Molly Typhoid’s Art – a cornucopia of vulvic delights, or a step too far?”

EIA News – Coming to a future near you

Fucking shoot me in the face like a rabid dog before I explode into a bloody mush in a hail of expletives, bile, rotten liver and a fine spray of fermented testicle juice.
Too late.
The farce with which our corporate and government controlled media feeds us with digital imagery and newsfeeds designed to “inform“, entertain and pacify us while fucking our psyches from behind like a once nostalgic BBC personality at a children’s party is truly astonishing. Just as the manga cartoon-ish and friendly sign for CCTV cameras at the local train station reads – For Your Tranquility – while the spying device ejaculates fluorescent tear gas into your eyes; blinding you to the fact that any evidence for its contribution to our protection is sorely lacking. It probably doesn’t even contain film.
The illusion of “choice” between media muppets and trends is a goddamned insult. And we fall for it. We forget that they are merely the grotesque clowns of a status quo that is getting increasingly obvious in its contempt of all those deemed beneath them, especially those neo-proles among us with new ideas above our ignorant station of a diet of fast food and even faster staff turnover. Real choice is sacrificed over the smokeless non-carbon emitting barbecue of consumerism.
The propaganda wing of those engineers of society wants to control our opinions and means of expression, and do it through ideological advertising. Thought is controlled by linguistic expression, and language is being manipulated with meanings far beyond its dictionary definitions and the facts of history. If you think that a single race, class, political view or gender has perpetuated the most abhorrent crimes down the annals of time, well, Bud, I guess you have never left the comfort of your square mile radius for anything other than the daily commute to the nuclear plant and seeing your sister giving birth to your own irradiated cyclopean mutant offspring. If you think that our jungle need for territory, power and a tribe is going to vanish in a puff of dry-ice at a rave, then you are running into the bouncy wall of an asylum for the disappointed. Conformity is the new rebellion, ain’t you heard, you positive-self-image-mouth-breathing mofo?
Art. Capitalist. Spiritual. Misogynist. Racist. Clickbait. Nazi. Anarchist. Zen. Obese. Socialist. Hate. Fascist. Homophobe. Love. Transphobe. Libertarian. Lifestyle. Democracy.
Some of these are incendiary words, verbal Molotov Cocktails, politically designed to work on the emotional centres of the brain and silence any rational debate, turning formerly intelligent people into hair pulling, wedgie giving brats shouting that anyone who disagrees with them has pooed in their social networking pants and should be sent straight to the gulag; the others are pacifiers to make you feel snug as you bury your head deep inside your recently bought Norwegian llama haired duvet while paying for your overpriced rented hovel. A society full of exulted, yet permanently offended, victims wallowing in their special snowflake status while picking on easy targets for offhand comments to get cheap morality points in a game gone horribly wrong. I envision a day where we can do nothing but LIKE, our hate buried deep down inside, forced to express itself in moments of extreme random violence while our cretinous laughter tumbles from our strangled mouths to the whooping doubleplusgood sound of LOL, LOL, LOL …
Take the word, “Democracy“.
How far from its origins has this word been debased?
Why is every attempt and technology to restore or modernise that original system, as imperfect as it may be, seen as a national or international threat?
The only reason I can see that so-called democracy still flourishes in the West is not out of idealism, nor practicality, but that someone somewhere is still raking in a serious quick buck. Once that someone, or group of somebodies, stops receiving their funnel of cash, it is only a matter of time until a militarised police force, drone assassinations and situations like Ferguson happen right outside our windows. Maybe they already are; bad times lurking like the seventies gangs of New York in The Warriors, all super hold gelled up hair and tazers; waiting for their moment to come out and play from the shadows.
It just takes one more nudge of a financial system hanging by its fingernails over the edge of an abyss, mesmerised by a plastic solar powered daisy dancing in the autumnal sunlight while repeating the mantra of “Recovery, recovery, recovery …
Time to stop ranting, scrape my-bloody-ballsed-self off the fake pine floor and remember …
“Have an AWESOME day, y’all. Now over to Macy for the weather and might I say that the future’s lookin’ just swell.”


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