The Rights of Man
June 14, 2013 § Leave a comment
IT IS WRITTEN:
When you have to draw a line, things can be pretty difficult, emotionally. Unless you believe we should not draw a line, it will always be like this – where we draw the line there will be some people on both sides, some inside, some outside.
Okay, I’ll admit it. We’re at a bit of a standoff here. An Imp-asse. In just a few short weeks, what we have all waited for will come to pass. The alien love gods from Planet X will arrive. They will proceed to do terrible and destructive things to the Planet Earth.
None of us have much of a problem with this. It clearly needed doing. But it has become evident that some elements of the Church harbour certain irreconcilable differences regarding the fate of the humans of Planet Earth.
Without the Con to sustain them, any surviving hivemonkeys will be in serious trouble. Extinction seems certain. Leaving the X-ists and revengertainment-bent SubGenii to mop up the screaming remnants and finish the job seems pretty much like a kindness.
And yet, some us still have sentimental feelings with regard to total human extinction and the dismantling of the planet’s outer crust for recycling.
We all carry a little list in our pockets, or in our hearts, enumerating the pink scum who will need to suffer our wrath, possibly repeatedly. For that reason alone, we can’t just find a SubGenius stupid enough to let every leftover human onto its personal pleasure saucer – for one thing, it would be shot down right away by the vengeful hordes of yetis denied their rightful carnage. Also, some breeds and unique specimens are in particular demand. I mean, how thin can you possibly slice Donald Trump before there’s nothing useful or entertaining left?
It’s likely that massive cloning will take place, mixed in with some pretty radical alterations to integrate the humans into their new environment as pets for a race of godlike intergalactic marauder-hedonists. But all this won’t mean much to those billions who will be left behind to die.
And obviously, most Yetis have pets, cherished companions and various toys they’ll want to bring with them (the Holocaustal schism being the most prominent exception). So what about the rest?
We think it’s morally important that the humans are made to understand how things are, before the end. They need to know and accept that this was their fate all along, and that there was nothing they could have done differently.
Being human, it’s obvious that not all of them can live. All humans die in the end anyway. We don’t know anyone who thinks they can all just stay here. Only those useful to us, or so intensely hated that their usefulness consists of being consigned to an eternity of complicated deaths and sudden, traumatizing resurrections, can be kept on after the Rupture.
As the teleporter beams demolish their roofs and pigmonkey servants carve out their souls for bottling and sale to the Yacatisma painsmiths, their first instinct should be to nod their heads sagely in acceptance of the inevitable. When our hunting guitars sound and the Ozzie clones start howling for prey, they should give us a good run and then fall over from exhaustion in a sporting manner. And when the time comes to rip up their home country’s bedrock, they should be thankful they weren’t scraped off first.
But how to achieve this? We all know that humans are rather dense. Therefore, we here at the Exploding St. Judas Ministries have devised a scheme in which carefully selected human hives are surgically vapourized by orbital kinetic missiles. The missiles will strike seemingly at random, without warning. This will function as an example to the others, discouraging them from wanting to live too much, and teaching them to accept that death may come at any moment.
It has been suggested that we be more selective in our approach. And, yes, that might be mighty fun to do. But we must insist on restraint, in the form of complete disregard for any sentiment and iron adherence to the semi-randomness of the selection process. If the humans begin to see a pattern, they would try to exploit it, by sucking up to known SubGenii, found one of those ghastly cargo cults, turning pixie, hipster or mentally ill, and so on and so forth – you all know the kind of filthy stuff they’ll get up to given half a chance and a sandwich.
It is inevitable that every time a Target is declared, some clench somewhere will go “oh no, not THEM”. We all have our favourites – usually those closest to us, those whose big, wet, tasty baby seal eyes will most often trick us into imprinting on them. That’s why we will soon publish a complicated and impenetrable set of arbitrary rules, the violation of which qualifies a human and everyone around it for Examplehood, thus completely justifying the carnage.