Sermon for St. Buzz Aldrin’s day (Beastification pending)
December 20, 2012 § Leave a comment
IT IS WRITTEN:
Oh, no you don’t Buzz. Don’t you come at me with those sad old man eyes of yours. There’s some hard truths lined up for you, which you had best take heed of. But hold on to those tears. Made-for-TV Disney movies are distilled from such. Lots of money in that. Lots of money.
Yeah, They promised us Mars Colonies. But hey, this the Con. The Con says lots of things. The Con’s gifts may seem slackful, but they are always poisoned, full of FALSE SLACK. If the Con had given us our Mars Colonies, they wouldn’t have been like this:
Instead the Con Mars Colony would be a bunch of jocks with radiation poisoning farting in a tin can, living off cock-flavoured tofu while trying to figure out if Mars dust could be used to give Terrorists cancer. This is not a story of “us” trying to solve big problems. It’s a story of THEM failing to solve THEIR problems by fucking US over.
I don’t blame you, Buzz. You took the lowercase-s slack you were offered. We all did. And in your case, what a magnificent slice of slack it was. “Wanna go to the moon”? Not a thing you can say no to and live. But the IN-FUCKING-CREDIBLE, unbelievable, species-historymaking moonslack came with a little flag, and a little plaque, and little old men making stupid noises like “The Moon is Americun now”. Also a lot of rocks, a lot of politics, and not a single Dobbsdamned SCIENTIST coming with you until the very end. You didn’t even get to have a knife fight over who would go first. What we really, REALLY wanted, all of us, was the crystal palaces, the flying cars and the Big Fucking Lasers.
Instead they gave us Facebook. You’re disappointed with teh faceboog? Yeah, so are we all, deep down, in between the clicktrances and the dramaraging and the personal data hellbuttfuckings. But facebutt, well, it’s the cock-flavoured tofu version of the internets. We did have a glimpse of the awesome jetpacks going WOOSH there, for a moment – something strange and wonderful still lurks in the Web, but the Con caught on, panicked – as big dumb beasts are wont to – and now this guy:
wants to look at all of the pages on the internet before you can load them in case they contain nipples. Hi Alexander. No subversive Nuclear Anonymous Obama Sex chaining child porn codes here.
Because that is what the Con and its little pink handmaidens DO. That is what they ARE. They take wondeful things and magnificent mutants too weird to EXIST and turn them into poo just by touching them.
We have all been touched by the Con’s pooey fingers of false slack. Some of us it destroyed. Some of us bit them OFF and chewed them UP and spat them OUT and became even WEIRDER in the process. But however strong we are, however resistant to the charms of the blathering ninnies and false harlots of the Conspiracy, we are all in dire need of some true Slack, untainted by the stink of the Con. That is where Our Prophit, J.R. “Bob” Dobbs comes in. Because HE WANTS TO SELL YOU THAT SLACK! He’ll even sell it to you OVER AND OVER AGAIN if you like! Unto him is given the salesmanship! He can turn shit into champagne, guts into gold, he can dig into the shivering pile of pink jelly the Conspiracy has made of you and with his mighty fist of salvation HAUL out the raging yeti inside. Accept his Words into your wallets and internal organs and you SHALL NOT WANT, for his is the Slack and the Excuse and the Guaranteed Complete absence of Guilt Demons within fourteen days or so!
Come, let us prey.