Biden administration, MSM confirm government-media fusion in first openly collaborative effort

Playing another game of "I should have ended this years ago" and picking an appropriate historical date

Last Tuesday, a spokesperson for the White House named Ian Sams sent a letter to media organizations telling them how to cover the Joe Biden, Junior impeachment investigation. The letter instructed its recipients to treat evidence of Biden’s corruption as non-evidence and the impeachment itself as a petty Republican-led sham.

Those media organizations then dutifully ran stories conforming to these instructions, in many instances following them so closely these outlets seemed to be competing for an unannounced prize for untrammeled obeisance. In some cases, these stories even reported on Sams’ letter itself and linked to its contents.

Suppose I got an e-mail from Pfizer promising me one million dollars in exchange for writing a post retracting everything I have said about the jabs, and admitting as part of this retraction that I got some decimal points wrong in my calculations, the same issue that nearly sunk the righteous and ultimately unscathed embezzlers in Office Space. Imagine if I responded to this e-mail by publishing a post titled “Pfizer bribes me to change my tune” that contained the text of Pfizer’s e-mail up top and was followed by an explanation that I’d botched all of my claims about the jabs, attributing some of these errors specifically to getting some decimal points wrong.

You would learn two undeniable things from this scenario: That I was completely and irreversibly bent, and that I wanted you all to know it.

This move by the White House both amazing and part of an inevitable progression toward state-run media. People should be stunned by it, and should be calling for the ouster of both Biden and “vice president” Kamala Harris and the heads of all of these media outlets. But too many of us have either become battered into treating these kinds of authoritarian gambits as normal or have brained that have been turned to useless mush by retardisanship and allegiance to these same media outlets.

These outlets have been propaganda streams for years. But this is next-level escalation. It’s a sign of an absolute plan to install, not “run,” whoever replaces Biden as the Democratic “nominee” next year.

A lot of people will be screwed if Biden is impeached and anyone actually pays attention to the hearings. Biden himself will be dead soon, and hopefully everyone in his family—his cock-gobbling, boozed-up, fat-assed strumpet of a wife; his ridiculous and disposable drug-addict of a whoremongering son; his other son, thankfully dead already and surely subhuman filth as well; any slutty daughters or stepchildren in the mix; and whatever other misbred losers these incest-driven mongoloids have secretly sired, fondled, bitch-reamed, fisted, or eagerly sucked off in shower stalls will follow old Joe, Junior immediately into the grave. But Biden’s handlers still seek to maintain the farce that he’s not a monster, just getting a little too feeble for the job.

Perhaps the most macabrely ostentatious touch is Sams repeatedly labeling CNN, MSNBC, and other recipients of these orders—which explicitly did not include Fox News—“independent media.” The Washington Post was among the many outlets that demonstrated its independence by not only distributing the lies Sams requested but also using exact phrases from Sams’ “memo.”

Meanwhile, the government continues to fight for its legal right to break the law and censor people. On July 4, a U.S. Fifth Circuit Court judge found in favor of plaintiffs who had argued that the Biden administration and a wealth of federal agencies had been violating Americans’ First Amendment rights by in effect ordering social-media companies to censor users and certain content, often true content. The government, being bent on authoritarianism, immediately appealed, granting a stay and allowing the government to continue breaking the law.

On September 8, an appellate court upheld parts of the decision while still leaving an “in the event of national security” escape-clause in place for the government. This escape clause did not satisfy the criminal American government, which appealed this decision, pushing matters toward the U.S. Supreme Court. In the meantime, Supreme Court justice Samuel Alito—who for a host of reasons should have been sodomized to death by a sizable four-legged farm animal on national television many years ago—ordered another temporary stay on the injunction, which will remain in place until Friday. This means that nothing has actually been done yet to keep the American government from breaking the law and censoring people.

The sum of these actions—blatant state-provided propaganda in the corporate media and an equally blatant campaign to overturn the U.S. Constitution—spell out very clearly where Americans are now. This isn’t going to get better. Digital currency is coming soon, a nice way to prevent overly free users of the First Amendment. jabs-decliners, and other rightly thinking people from living normal, healthy lives in the future. Ridiculous covid stories remain the norm instead.

The country has been completely ruined, and I would rather not live in it. And since there are probably no better options, and I have no further use for consciousness anyway, I don’t want to live anywhere. Being awake and having perceptions sucks. Having eyes that come to rest on human faces, especially the ones around here, is irritating.

I considered killing myself in the fall of 2016, and I should have, but I stupidly quit drinking instead. If nothing else, this allowed me to live like an uncontroversial, somewhat content human for the next few years. I worked, saved money, ran a few road races (with dismal results, but hey, at least I threw some of that money back into an industry I despise, filled with drooling cretins I despise) and took in a wonderful dog. Yay for me! But, having sadly survived my excesses of 2016 and earlier, I would have preferred my life end in an accident or by some other sudden means in February 2020.

I simply did not need to experience a single moment of existence after the onset of covid or the official unfurling of Wokism at around the same time. I hate all of it, and I forgive people less and less for playing along with any it.

Pre-2020, I always assumed that I would have a creative niche or two as I got older and not have to worry about either supporting myself or becoming overly despairing owing to forgoing the things normal people do like getting married and (especially) having kids, which no matter how it all turns out—and for me, it would have resulted in ugly, despicable, neurotic kids no matter who the unfortunate and indiscriminate mother was—creates automatic deep anchors in the world, and with these a need to engage in denial about how ugly that world can be.

Science-writing jobs are gone because genuine science itself is a no-no. In fact, content-creation gigs of all sorts have been turned over to functionally illiterate liars, racists, and eggplant-shaped depressives whose every thesis traces to the neuroses of being eggplant-shaped.

At the same time, the world would be an unappealing place to stick around in even if I still had worthwhile employment opportunities. This is one disgusting monkey, not so much stupid and willing to check its thinking at the door in favor of raw, full-throated, baboon-level, knuckle-dragging tribalism. I loathe most people, and I now assume the ones who approve of me only do so because we all happen to be worthless and broken ourselves in the same basic ways.

I could be handed $150 million right now, and I would either give it away or convert it to cash and then start burning it in bundles of $100s and uploading videos of myself doing this. Soon, faggots from the Secret Service would arrive, and I would try blow up at least a half-dozen with haphazardly laid explosives before taking myself out. I hope someone fires a missile into the U.S. Department of the Treasury, anyway. I hope someone puts a bullet directly into Janet Yellen’s ugly face personally.

I say this mainly because artistic creativity itself, perhaps the greatest uniquely human achievement, is being stifled. Even after I gave up on writing fiction before actually trying to get any of it published, I used to want to finish the novel I started years ago just to say I finished it and have something to share with a few people, anyway. Now, when I so much look at this project, not only do I see shoddy work anyway, I also see writing that scolds would disapprove of even if none of the themes are riven with “-isms.”

If I could be a pure hedonist, I could kind of laugh it all off. I don't have kids. so schools aren't my problem. I don't care to make a lot of money and don't need all that much, so losing access to the low-grade “work” I once did is . Basically anything that would be taken is already gone, and my ambition is flagging greatly anyway.

Yet for some reason I fume over all these losses, and the disappearance of the illusion of a free United States, far more than most people who theoretically are ten times the stakeholders in life that I am.

I don’t want the responsibility of a dog anymore, as wonderful as she is. That way, I can simply leave. Fifty years was already far too many. I have had enough of experience—smells, tastes, thoughts, drives, emotions—and would probably feel the same way in a more-or-less-normal America, because I really just don’t appreciate the state of being alive at all as some people are programmed to do. I have shoved all the same kind of gross foods into my face I ever will, and have shat and pissed and ejaculated out the same basic foul results; I would be bored with this repetitive process even if I wanted to be around people.

I never had any interest in taking up space in old age, feeble and unable to the few things I enjoy and, by express design, with no one in my life. Now I have a rabid interest in avoiding old age, as in 55. Based on suicide rates and the wise people carrying this out, I have lots of company.

But I can’t drop Rosie off at a shelter; she’s spent too much time at those places. I got the idea of finding her a family with kids and a nice big yard for her to play in, so I can just get on with stopping my thoughts and not feel undue guilt at the end. But any decent candidates for this adoption would be able to figure out pretty quickly what I was up to, so this won’t work either.

So I’ll last a while longer, but nothing is going to change my mind about this decision and people should (and, to their credit, mostly do) accept this as a rational rejection of pain, anger, hopelessness, probable inbreeding, and no prospects for contentment whatsoever. Or maybe I’m 100 percent of the problem—that wouldn’t matter, either. I’m utterly sick of waking up and getting a single piece of input about human society from any angle. Humans are disgusting to me, far more than being prone “to err,” and I despise being one. There is only one way to get away from everyone, and thankfully it requires almost no resources and no brainpower. God in the end really does provide, especially for those of us who reject religious beliefs as well.

I’m hoping to be dead before the election happens. This will take either a change in personal standards or the emergence of events I don’t necessarily want, but still. I detest and resent almost every waking moment of every day, to the point where my own paralysis over supposedly important things is almost funny. I’m now sorry I ever even had a conversation longer than five minutes with anyone. It was probably all bullshit, and it was certainly all mutually forgettable.

Bring on the void.