Bs Life

Their agenda feels washed out and hallow, like fading echoes and pixelated memes in the periphery of 'human' hearing and sight. Its like that feeling you get when you open a frozen Popsicle and scrape your teeth on its cold, white-frosted solidness. Their ideals, droned out across populations of millions, repeat forever. Their ideas of creation, backed by bad science, are slowly diffused and absorbed by the host population through various means. At the head of the cultural programming is a doe-eyed man with a silly grin, twisty beard, and a sideways look. He is fascinated by death, money, and human excrement, and has designed increasingly complex levels of structural inequality in his playgrounds of human test subjects. His human operators, rendered immobile from gluttony and filth, sit there staring at 2D representations of human civilization. They seek out 'loose ends' in the system and try to tie them up by absorbing and digesting the life process of the host and repeating it back in countersignals. When successful, the grin on their faces and looks in their eyes are the same as when you get up after taking a dump. The reward centers in their brains have been hardwired by a deeply rooted culture of celebratory sphincter-spasms spewing out a litany of false-imitation repackaged and pushed out through the toilet-seat of chaos-infinity.