Well, it’s June at last, and it looks like Mother Nature is finally ready to comply with my desire to once again wander the grand outdoors half-naked, without fear of freezing my balls off if a brazen cloud decides to position itself unceremoniously in front of the blazing-ball-of-warmth-in-the-sky that I love and admire so much.
As I geared up for a morning run, I realized shorts and a t-shirt would be more than adequate to face the elements. Fuck yeah! But a few quick stretches revealed some tenderness in my stumpy legs… perhaps I pushed a little too hard to squeeze in a 10K jaunt yesterday. A 24-hour rest session would have been a more practical decision, but it was too nice out to pass up a tour strolling through the little parkette just north of my parents’ house, so I said fuck it, let’s rock!
As I hit the streets, my body told me in the first 30 seconds the plan for a 5K run was a piss-poor idea. It said, “Look jackass, today ain’t the day for this. I need some healing time. If you’re hellbent on being outside this morning, go for a walk. If you want to run, you’ll regret it.”
As the waves of pain quickly inundated my left calf and right ass cheek, I immediately retorted to my body, “Look dude, we’ve been through this before! You’ll relax, ease into the zone, and before we both know it, we’ll be skippin’ past the duckies swimming in the river, lovin’ every second of the experience, pain forgotten!”
A kilometre and a half later though, nothin’ felt right, sparking the thought: Why the fuck do I always feel the need to push myself when my body says no? What the fuck am I trying to prove here?
In that instant, a bird swooped laterally across my running direction.
I’m familiar with this sight. It happens dozens of times when I’m driving recklessly in my car down the country backroads, and always think, “Fuck dude, you were almost feathers mangled in my grill! If you can fly, just do it 10 feet over the highway. Or a hundred, or a thousand. Why do you airborne critters insist on tempting fate?”
So as the cacophony of self-generated dialogue incessantly rolled through my muddled brain, a new pain arose… one I was completely unprepared for…
Have you ever had a dream where your dentist was really fucking drunk, and started drilling into your head instead of your teeth?
Have you ever had a nightmare where eagle talons and beaks punched holes into your skull because you were a disgusting filthy orc, unworthy of travelling through the sacred realm of Gandalf’s high road?
Never happened to me either.
But now I know what that pain feels like in the real world.
After the fly-by flash of black wings marked with single red spots, my next memory was a skull on fire.
“Christ, what the fuck!” I yelled out.
I was under attack from the sky.
Shadows swooped and shadows pecked. Shadows clawed and shadows gnawed. My slow run quickly became a hundred-metre dash that would have put Ben Johnson and performance-enhancing drugs to shame.
I’m guessing I jogged by a covert nest, but whatever winged creature I pissed off was in no mood to negotiate my ignorant trespass. I was being blitzkrieged by claws and peckers, and the pain in my calf quickly became irrelevant to the newfound inflictions flaming the top of my skull.
With the playground finally open once again, after the latest iteration of this province’s fake virus lockdown, I can’t say for sure who witnessed my bird attack spectacle, but my cries of “FUCK OFF! STOP IT! I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING! WHY, FUCKER, WHY?” easily echoed into the distance of the last 3K I hoped to run.
As my pace quickened, every ornithoid shape my eyes could detect became a potential threat. The fuckers were swimming, the fuckers were waddling about on the ground, and thousands (well, maybe dozens) were gliding effortlessly in the sky, ready to rain down pain at any moment. From a survival standpoint, I was totally fucked.
Eventually I calmed down, and made it back to safe shelter. But in the writing of this piece, I haven’t felt a moment’s security each time I hear a tweet, chirp, or whistle. Fucking geese are flying en-masse right now in strategical formations somewhere over my fucking head!
When I told my dad about the excruciating pain of the unwarranted bird attack, he only had one concern:
I’m not sure when common sense and critical thinking ceased to be defining traits of the human-animal, but each time I venture into public these days, it’s clear to me those once useful skills now exist in the land of the dodo.
But instead of getting myself riled up thinking about stupid motherfuckers cruising alone in their cookie-cutter SUV’s wearing face-nappies, or the endless stream of jagoffs slathering their hands in chemicals each time they feel the need to paw something new, our time today will be much better spent sharing perspective — perspective concerning the ludicrous spin, bullshit, and outright lies our trusted “information providers” inundate us with on a daily basis.
Let’s consider the biggest elephant in the room for example…
Technology is sold to us under the guise of improving our lives. Each new generation of electronic gadgets touts faster service, fancier graphics, sleeker and more compact designs, and a grander chance of getting you laid when showing off whatever piece-of-shit-de-jour you just spent your hard-earned slave-dollars acquiring.
But guess what, chief?
It’s all a fucking lie.
Smartphones, internet, Wi-Fi, laptops, tablets, and all things related, exist for one reason:
To control your feeble fucking brain.
Instant “information” at our fingertips has never been less informational. “Truth” has never been so full of lies. To believe you can tap a few keywords into a google search, and confidently “learn” facts about the things that keep you healthy, safe, and secure, is complete fucking folly.
From the first advertisements spoken on vacuum-tube radios, to the headlines-of-the-day automatically pinging your iPhone, the soulless motherfuckers controlling our tech have always had only one thing in mind:
That’s right, controlling your feeble fucking brain.
Consider how absurd it is to sit down and watch an infomercial — knowing the host, audience, and airtime have all been paid for by the asswads hawking their worthless, “made-in-china-by-slaves” shit — yet find yourself pulling out your credit card at the end of the session, to buy a 2-for-1 deal that’ll expire in less than 10 minutes if you “DON’T ACT NOW!”
But, in fairness, who can pass up a free Sham-Wow?
The infomercial format is, of course, the extended version of the 30-second snippets laced strategically throughout your favourite fucking piece-of-shit weekly program on the Telescreen (the show you lovingly define as “my program”), and they exist for the exact same reason — because some ass-diddling CEO authorized paying top-dollar to showcase toxic, humanity-destroying garbage, in hopes of procuring a golden parachute to float safely into Hell without snapping an ankle.
Free speech no longer exists. It’s owned by the highest bidder.
Have you ever seen a SuperBowl ad featuring, say, an indigenous group — people desperately trying to bring to light their enslavement at the hands of European oppressors who systematically took over their land, raped and murdered their families in the name of God, and forced their red-skinned asses into shitty little concentration camps?
Cuz the injuns can’t afford a million-dollar time-slot between grown men brutalizing one another as they play with a ball. And even if the true natives of this land amassed their funds through some gay fucking Go-Fund-Me campaign, I’m willing to bet a scrote-sucking media mogul would kindly thank them for their interest, but declare their message too controversial for public consumption, opting to run a minute-long abomination featuring CGI dancing cans of Bud Light swarming the erect nipples of a bikini-clad, 18-year-old blonde dancing shamelessly on a Floridian beach.
TV ain’t about sharing truth. TV don’t giveth a fuck about knowledge, wisdom, nor enlightenment, and it will never be a forum for the oppressed, mistreated, or abused. The telescreen, and all its variants, exist for one specific reason:
Yeah, you remember, to control your feeble fucking brain… to make you feel like it’s the most natural thing in the world to high-five your buddy at the bar while shouting out:
“Did you see the titties on that bitch! Fuck yeah! Let’s get another pitcher of Bud, the Packers are soooo gonna win this game…”
The media is owned by psycho-fuck monsters, who only care about how many numbers exist in their bank accounts, how many 8-year-old boys they can fuck, and the quality of their cocaine.
The worst, and scariest thing about the genocidal, dickwad sociopaths running this planet is that they’re fucking patient — calm, cool, and collected. Whatever hints they’ve leaked about future agendas to “conspiratorial” nut-jobs like myself, are only more systems of control, subtly directing fringe-thinkers into boxes intentionally built for their radical minds.
While the motherfuckers running this show don’t think twice to wait out 10, 20, a hundred, or a thousand years to further their agenda, they’ve cleverly instilled within us the exact opposite of their tactic — as sheeple, if we don’t have immediate gratification, reward, or access to whatever we want when we want it, we’re unhappy, unfulfilled, stressed, anxious, and miserable.
Although this goofball author has been completely suckered by fictitious and insidious manipulations many times over, he’s learned much. Yes, he’s still a junkie, doing his best to play out his shitty little ego-game on Planet Earth, but the nuggets of truth he’s uncovered over the years can’t be unlearned and can’t be ignored by burying his head in the sand, like most of humanity loves to do.
So let’s get to the crux of this post…
I can’t speak experientially about the Black Plague. I can’t speak experientially about Spanish Flu. I can’t speak experientially about Polio, Smallpox, Measles, or any other micro-organisms that we’ve been told have maliciously wiped out droves of humans doing their best to tend farms, bake bread, and raise their kiddies.
But I can speak experientially about H1N1. I can speak experientially about Ebola. I can speak experientially about SARS, ZIKA, AIDS, Swine Flu, and fucking CAPS. Not because I contracted any of these so-called “diseases,” but because I was heavily entrenched in all the up-to-date, cutting edge, “information” that the media pumped out each time a new, invisible death-sentence reared its ugly head.
You wanna know what I know about viruses, germs, and plagues?
They’re fucking bullshit.
Each iteration of the latest “killer virus” I’ve witnessed over the last 30 years has been utter fucking nonsense, much like the ever-morphing Influeza bug — another demon that requires yearly vaccinations to keep you safe from mutating strains that the best medical experts on this planet predict with the accuracy of an Alzheimer’s patient smoking crack.
Each campaign is nothing more than media-fear-mongering-bullshit, meant to keep the denizens of this world forever unbalanced, stressed, and supportive of authority figures who wouldn’t think twice about pissing on freshly murdered proles dumped into a shallow, Arizonian sandpit.
Each campaign has been orchestrated patiently and intentionally, to slowly condition our brains to the scenario we now have before us:
Put a mask on, or people will die.
Don’t travel, or people will die.
Don’t socialize, or people will die.
Stay six feet apart, or people will die.
Sequester yourself from family, friends, and loved ones, in never-ending 14-day stretches, cuz if you don’t, there’s a good chance they’ll die.
Wear a mask, gloves, and condom when you fuck, or people will die.
And if you’re a corrupt, puerile, power-mad cop, insecure about the size of your penis, kill as many people as you want, just don’t fuck with the dark-skinned. Their lives matter most.
Technology has paved the way for the insanity we’re unquestioningly accepting as the “new normal.” And I don’t foresee anything getting better until we collectively wake the fuck up, and stop kowtowing to the absurdity of what our “news” describes as reality.
The media’s message is always a variation of the same shit:
Let us think for you! It’s easier than doing it for yourself, or attempting to engage in futile critical thinking. The information we provide will keep you safe! Follow our rules, and you’ll never again have to fear crazy Arabs, armed with laughable box-cutters, expertly flying into steel-structures that collapse like playing-card pyramids constructed by a five-year-old. Acquiescence is what true freedom is all about!
People die all the time. But it ain’t from fake fucking plagues, epidemics, or a sequence of RNA discovered by plugging a bunch of genetic shit into a supercomputer. They die from toxic shit dumped into their water supply. They die from chemical-laden shit sold to them at the supermarket disguised as “food.” They die from industry-poisoned air, medically-poisoned drugs, and emotionally-poisoned information.
And sometimes they just die ’cause they’re fucking old — has nothing to do with a “novel” strain of frilly-haired cells that exist within their bodies when a doctor declares their time of death.
So here’s your wakeup call.
There’s no Flu. There’s no Ebola. No AIDS, no SARS, no fucking COVID. They’re all red herrings to keep you in the dark about the real reasons people get ill.
And what are those reasons?
Living in environments and states of mind that go against every natural instinct instilled within our animal-bodies — instincts screaming out from our guts:
“Hey, this ain’t fucking right! Why the fuck am I doing this? Why am I living like this? Why am I accepting this bullshit? Why the fuck am I worried about following whatever the herd does, instead of living the life I imagine?”
Evolve on whatever timetable suits you, and I’ll do my best to support your madness, but I’ve drawn my personal line in the sand.
A line that says NO FUCKING MORE!
I will never put on a mask.
I will not conform. I will not obey. I will not sacrifice morals, ethics, common sense, or critical thinking because of an artist-rendered image of a sphere covered in red fluffy tassels, plastered on the telescreen, that justifies the social decimation of the very nature that makes us human.
If businesses choose to refuse my patronage because of it, then fuck them. I won’t support assholes hellbent on blindly following the orders of morons and psychopaths.
Oppressors aren’t overthrown by acts of violence. They’re not swayed by protests or demonstrations. They’re beaten by non-compliance. They’re rendered impotent when the masses stop giving in to their lies and deceits, and stand together, united by love, empathy, and respect for one another.
You want to inspire your fellow man?
Lead by example.
Take off your fucking mask, and go give someone a big hug. And maybe the people standing 6 feet away from you will feel a little less ashamed to do the exact same thing somewhere down the road. If enough of us do it, we’ll realize that the pitiful groups of bullies carrying guns will never be able to stand against us, contain us, or force us into submission.
How horrible would it be to one day find out your beloved personality quirks irritated the hell out of 98% of the people around you?
Pretty crushing, I’m sure.
No need to fret. The following test has been scientifically formulated to put you on the right path of social normality — simultaneously determining the 2 major factors that currently affect your life the most:
A. Am I Respectful, CoronaSmart Human?
B. Am I a Fucking Douchebag?
Go grab a pen and paper.
Read the following questions, and add 2 strokes each time you answer Yes/Correct. If you respond with Nay/Erroneous, only stroke once.
If you stroke more than 108 times during this quiz, you likely have a masturbation problem.
1. Do I wear a top-of-the-line surgical mask and disposable gloves when I drive in my car, all by my lonesome, to pick up a half-priced treadmill waiting for me at the Canadian Tire curbside pickup, committed to shed the 30 pounds I’ve gained during lockdown while watching Netflix and boredom-eating?
2. Do I feel guilty walking 2 feet down a supermarket aisle to grab a jar of Mushroom Ragu, knowing I’m in clear violation of a decaying one-way sticker on the floor?
3. When someone sneezes, is my go-to comment: “Ooh, COVID, hahaha!”
4. Do I elbow-bump people instead of shaking hands?
5. Do I apply hand-sanitizer after masturbating in the shower?
6. Do I routinely purchase meat products that contain mechanically-separated pork, chicken, or turkey?
7. Do I step off the sidewalk curb to avoid being within 6 feet of some diseased douchebag motherfucker gleefully walking their yappy, piece-of-shit micro-dog?
8. Have I ever referred to Game of Thrones as GOT?
9. Have I ever refused a family member to visit my domicile because a guinea pig might count as the 5th in my household?
10. Have I ever said to anyone: “Hey dude, wanna binge-watch season two of Felicity?”
11. Have I ever gone down a playground slide in the dark, possibly while drunk, and suffered near decapitation because some COVID-fearing-fuckface wrapped a piece of orange fencing around the middle of the apparatus to deter public usage?
12. Have I ever been hit with a bag of bread because I encroached within 6 feet of a ninety-year-old fossil at Giant Tiger who was bulk-buying toilet paper, pasta, and slices of Wonder?
13. Do I realize “no-contact pick-up” doesn’t mean jack-shit if a 48-year-old cook in the kitchen rubs his balls religiously before slapping each burger on the grill?
14. Do I wear a cloth mask all day at work because I fear germs, then go home and suck my husband’s cock?
15. Am I secretly aroused by the smell of hand-sanitizer?
16. Have I wiped my bum in the last 3 months with toilet paper I bought because it was “on sale?”
16. Have I refused to go back to work because I fear “unsafe” conditions, knowing I make waaaay better money on CERB kickbacks?
17. Have I been part of a recent demonstration to show the world Black Lives Matter, while ignoring my previous mantra of, “Staying Home Saves Lives?”
18. Do I feel homophobic when my girlfriend sticks a finger up my ass?
19. Do I have a sign on my front lawn saying “I support front-line workers,” ignorant of the fact nurses are being laid off in droves because hospitals are empty?
20. Did I secretly hang a noose in Bubba Wallace’s garage?
Okay, nice work. Your test is now complete.
Determining Your Score
Spend a moment to tally your strokes, then click here to uncover your status: