It's so fucking dystopian, this modern life shit. You cannot turn your head without looking at an ad. Even as we slip into dust bowly depression, they want not only all of the threadbare cash in our pockets, but all of the space in our minds too. We scurry about like ants, our annetenae buried in our iPhones, or our laptops, doing every fucking thing online. Me and Common Law were attempting something banal last night, finding directions or some shit. 'The internet is deadly, huh?' I said, not for the first time. Deadly meaning really good, Yanks. But of course it's deadly too. I'm dying inside as I type. Dying from a need for stuff I don't need.
And yes, Big Brother is watching and we don't give a fuck and if we do give a fuck, Big Brother doesn't give a fuck that we give a fuck, because there's fuck all we can do. Or so it would seem.
I call for revolution. Revolution, I call!
Put down the mouse. Step away from the screen. Look around you. You're going to need something heavy. You might want to grab that kitchen knife too. March, now. March on whatever comes to mind. Folks, we're going to do us a little revolutioning. Well, you are. I'm going to nod off listening to some deadly science fiction on BBC iPlayer.
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