The hapless human monkey, confident its technology spells immortality rather than doom, is masturbating to the death-spasms of civilization

Bleak yet robust humor abounds in the dismantling of useful society, e.g., creatures powered by natural stupidity naming one of their toys "artificial intelligence"

If I choose to engage the dynamic Internet upon arising, or whenever I decide to push buttons on a PC or smartphone, the first thing I see is either a barrage of state- and media-certified bullshit or, more likely now thanks to my surfing patterns, a few independent content creators scrambling frantically to counter this bullshit. The anti-bullshitters are locked in an ongoing rhetorical dance to avoid being banned from whatever government-controlled platform they're usually using for the sin of debunking Fauci, Inc. or any other narratives required by the "American" uniparty puppet-government.

I always know that at the end of any day, and in the middle, and all points between, the bullshitters are winning. Even Reddit, that longtime bastion of unrestrained conspiratorial screeching, has reportedly fallen into the hands of the certified bullshitters. 

The high priests of bullshitting, the mullah-tycoons and their spies in every jizzy crack and crevice, will ultimately bend civilization to their will even when a sufficient mass of humanity has become enlightened or at least wary, because by then they'll do it entirely by force. Not by military or police force; not at first. Physical force will be reserved for those unfazed by the casual draining of their fully digitized and Fed-roured bank accounts for speaking ill of the wrong war, the wrong religious tribe, the wrong Hollywood alcohol-soaked nepo-baby Wokzilla.

I have never been accommodating toward the average person's lack of intellectual curiosity, a trait that by itself ensures a modicum of chronic dissatisfaction even  among successful perfectionists, let alone failed perfectionists. But it is an ongoing shock to behold how well the most insane propaganda turns out to work on huge numbers of seemingly conscious-enough people. I just never considered the obvious connection between mass ignorance and mass gullibility, because I never foresaw an undisguised dismantling of the First Amendment coupled to relentless lying from every official source.

Someone was just convicted of a felony in Brooklyn by a jury for a fucking Twitter meme. Contemporaneously, some freak slays another few kids at a school with a long gun, and the media's top priority in the aftermath is either not misgendering the murderer or declaring the episode a war: The Trannies against The Christians. (I suspect Tucker Carlson knows this, but transgenderism and the other toxic tricks in the diversity-equity-inclusion fun-bag are attacks on everything, not just on established, competing religions. At least Christianity has moderates and legitimate humanists hiding amid the clamor from Pastor Cletus types.) 

Meanwhile, the country's demented and internationally compromised president, allegedly a Catholic, snickered about the shooting on camera. Totally normal! I continue to wonder why anyone is introducing newborns into this horror show of shrinking choices, expanding crime, and worthless, groomer-infested (this is a fact) public schools.

The publishing sphere is now littered with "sensitivity editors"—eggplant-shaped, middle-aged virgins to a cackling, miserable soul, I'd wager—tasked with torching celebrated literary works. The medical and educational systems, both of which are hard to avoid altogether, are as irreparably ruined as the media, all of these having been sodomized into oblivion by forced diversity and perversity scams. 

I can't touch the people wrecking the entire world with their rogue microbes and lethal "cures" and nonstop lying and theft. But I also can't remotely pretend to adapt to censorship, bullshit, and widespread demands to conform to self-evidently destructive policies. And I refuse to try to pad the blows in the usual ways lonely guys my age do by inviting anyone into my space, or myself into theirs, and using them mostly to unload on in multiple ways. I cannot imagine myself at 70, or even 60; not can any honest person who knows me.

I don't know just when "it" got "this bad," but everyone I know who agrees with the general course of my grievances, even the other committed loners, is at least clinging to something. I can't, or won't, do the same. I just see ridiculous filth and unfixable stupidity everywhere instead of the occasional WTF, with a sea of slack-jawed, often masked faces shuffling dumbly yet proudly through it all. Everyone, everywhere. lies and clamors for attention in the most juvenile ways imaginable in every niche, a carnival of self-stroking ding-a-lings whose only skills are trading falsehoods on social media and further defacing their already dilapidated physical vessels.

I'm not inviting anyone to see the world like I do. It's great that others are able to forge on. But ever since the start of covid and the unofficial onset of the diversity circus arrives in a one-two 2020 punch, thanks to a combination of practical personal losses and the equally salient degradation of everyone and everything, nothing has been remotely the same for me. Like many people throughout history, I have concluded that, as a political pundit would put it, I have no path toward a workable future. And like all of those people, I have my reasons for this conviction, solidifying by the week.

Chief for me is that whatever remaining talents I possess—and I can be honest about having amassed an unimpressive resume—would be wasted on this deranged, blind, ungrateful, and corrupt society. I don't hate people, but they deeply and at this stage irrevocably disappoint me.

That doesn't mean I think people still striving are wasting their energy. And I do have wonderful friends. But I am basically a bag of meat that does nothing besides run and walk with a dog and rant with a computer. This, while witless wonders forever angry they were smashed at birth with the Hammer of Fugly have tens of thousands of people paying for their resentful squawking. Or the value of being a properly masked and boosted sack of wine-bloated, pronoun-sporting waste who trumpets DNC talking points at other eager consumers of whatever Gates Foundation tripe is playing in The Atlantic. Somehow, they think or pretend to think very highly of this boilerplate, dazed, asshole-fisting output; as I’ve said, I almost envy the capacity to breathe deep of the smell of vomit and smell only the rarest perfume.

I want to kick a wall down every time my traitorous stomach growls and insists I fill up on Tootsie Rolls or Ritz crackers again. Fill up and sustain myself for what? Hate and more hate. 

At a certain point, as spirituality uplifting as these explorations and exposes tend to be, I have to acknowledge that few people are listening—not to people with massive platforms, never mind this shit—and that nothing i consider worthwhile or good is likely to happen for as long as I dubiously exist. Waterheads and drones outnumber capable thinkers by a hundred to one or more. I might as well be living in a movie where 95 percent of the population has a history of traumatic brain injury. The option of walking out of the theater instead of awaiting the film's guaranteed dismal slide toward a bleak ending is obviously appealing.

Actually, I do have goals. These are really just watching different movies from the one I'm in—short features, maybe even previews of exciting full-length features to come, or go straight to Rumble thanks to National Security Concerns. In one of these flicks,  Bill Gates is hoisted aloft by his ankles by a large man, and then, after a perfectly timed comic pause, pile-drives Gates' sociopathic neck-zit into the concrete, exploding his skull and its contemptible contents in a 360-degree spray of liquefied evil reaching 50 meters outward in a perfectly circular spray pattern. In the 1990s, someone got close enough to Gates to smash a bona fide pie in his face.

Most sequel films are a bad idea—just pure moneymakers, like Bill Gates himself—but this time, The People need entertainment, and the list of supporting cast members is long enough for a whole franchise.

I may take a few days off. Who knows. I should, even if time itself isn’t one of those good and trusted pals anymore, just another thing to reject wholesale.