"They," the Conspiracy, want you to buy all their crap, work hard all day at a mindless slave-task to pay for more machines to play their indoctrination programs on, to fill your home with pseudo-collectables in a limited numbered edition of a goddamn zillion. YOU KNOW ALL THAT!! We've told you and told you all that and if you don't believe it by now there's NO HOPE FOR YOU AT ALL and you might as well climb back over the fence and roll in the mud with the rest of the slavish porkers, right?? So you say to yourself, "Okay, I know what the Conspiracy wants from me, I know how they work, and what they do, and I'm NOT BUYING IT!! By gabbs, I'm gonna NOT do what they tell me to! I'm THROWIN' AWAY MY TEEVEE, smashing my porcelain thimble collection, frisbeeing my CDs off lover's leap and joining the radical anti-government party to learn how to make bombs!! I'm shaving my head and burning my house down and the more they tell me not to the more I'll LAUGH in their faces and echo the noble sentiments of whoever it was that said FREE AT LAST FREE AT LAST THANK BLOB ALMIGHTY I'M FREE AT LAST!!" Right?
You think they didn't plan for that? You think they'll be surprised, huddling around their long mahogany table, appalled that one tenth of one percent of the population has "caught on" and won't go up the slaughterhouse ramp like good little lambies?? Har dee har har. Listen, they know they can't dupe everyone with the same turd-brain programming system. They know there are going to be a few who are just sharp enough to shake themselves awake and look around to see that the green pastures and still waters they were lying down by are actually a clanking conveyor belt carrying them relentlessly toward The Whirling Blades. They had that worked out a long time ago! They LOVE it when the ones who see the horror of the conspiracy program "go public" with their ghastly revelations or join radical anarchist communes or otherwise render themselves ENTIRELY UNBELIEVABLE!! Who do you think INVENTED hippies, punk rock, anarchism, youth gangs, "grafitti art," rock and roll, hallucinogenic drugs, the New Age Movement, Christianity, cult films, alternative what-have-you?? Sure, it was some lone radical disillusioned soul at first, for about six months, but by the time WE heard about it, it was already a pre-packaged Official Conspiracy Product!!
Oh, but the Church of the SubGenius is different, right? It's neither a Conspiracy Mediocretin Brainwashing Program nor a Dead-end Escapee Trap! "Bob" isn't just a cheap product or just a mind-numbing neuronic whip or a gaily-painted prison cell of one sort or another to confine drooling videots or raving reactionaries, right? Right right right???
HAW HAW WRONG AGAIN! Look, why don't you just give up trying to think at all, little Ms. and Mr. Einstein Jr., and pay attention. The Con has got all the bases covered, it owns the ball and the ballpark. Everything you can or will think or decide, it has already got classified by numerical designation on big spinning spools of half-inch magnetic tape. You sitting here reading this right now, thinking what you're thinking, wearing those clothes in that environment, tasting that particular taste in your mouth and hearing that particular tinny whine in your ear, the one you don't always notice but which is always there, THEY GOT A NUMBER FOR IT. Believe me, they got it all figured, dissected, classified and stuck in little boxes.
So, what do I do, you may ask. You just can't win, you can't outsmart Them, you can't think or do anything that they haven't already decided you will probably think or do, you can't find a chink in their armor, NOT EVEN "BOB" BECAUSE HE'S JUST ANOTHER PART OF IT ALL! So it's time to pack it in, just give up and shoot yourself in the head like you've been threatening to do just to get attention and sympathy but this time you really will do it. And that, too, is just what They want you to do.
There really is no way out. All that "Smash the Con" stuff is fun and amusing, but putting your head under the machine's enormous clattering treads isn't going to slow it one tiny bit. It's utterly utterly hopeless. Just stop fighting it. Give up, you're only making things harder for everyone. All that kicking and screaming is only disturbing the peaceful slumbers of the rest of us.
Oh, I'm not saying you should simply get in line and walk under the hammer, but if you can't do anything else, you might as well try to see something positive about it. Sure, the Conspiracy program is cruel and demeaning, the cage is cramped and ugly and smells bad, but you can't get out and if you did get out you'd just want right back in again because the thing that is making the situation intolerable isn't in the situation, it's in your head.
The scariest part of the Con's lulling lies is that they are all true. Not the ones about the products and how bad you need them, I mean the ones about how life can be beautiful, it's easier to go with the flow, things are better than they've ever been. They know how True they are, so they do anything they can to make those True truths look stupid and childish. They make "don't worry, be happy" into an insulting song, ugly t-shirts, plastic hats, moronic coffee mugs so when someone says it to you it makes you want to smash them in the face, but you can't, so you go buy a three dollar shot of Bar Gin instead. And worry miserably.
They make you want to KILL "Have a Nice Day," and then sell you the T-Shirt with a shot and bleeding smiley-face on it. They make you HATE LOVE and LOVE HATE, mock sincerity and honesty, and sneer at genuine emotion. Then they sell you two-hundred-dollar leather jacket so you can prove you "aren't a Conspiracy Zombie" like all those poor schmucks who don't have skulls on their t-shirts. Or if you can't identify with either extreme of the haircut spectrum, if they can't get you any other way, if you're a little too smart to be dumb and a little too dumb to be smart, and you're just about to fall through the cracks, along comes "Bob." Then you read about all those REAL weirdos, who even if they do wear uniforms and spout mottos wear intentionally self-mocking uniforms and spout irrelevant, confusing and meaningless mottos, Ma'am! At last, you think to yourself, or tell your uncomprehending friend, at last there is a tiny spot in this big cold world where I can feel at home. At last I've found a philosophy that agrees to a certain degree with the one I never really knew I had, at last I can just be honest with myself and be who I really am, publicly and unafraid.
So you send lots of money to "Bob," buy T-Shirts and buttons and tapes, put on a devival, have a radio show, get a boy-or-girlfriend at last, have the time of your life, and never feel it when the hammer finally does come down on your head.
Way to go.
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