Category: Status Quo

Your sheep-like patterns observed.

Surfin' USA

Our right to privacy extends only as far as our ability to protect it since technological advancement and the government have joined hands against us. The right to privacy will be as void for humanity as the right to a fair trial was to the Guantanamo Bay detainees. We’re basically doomed to an existence carried out under the filtration of the all-seeing eyes behind the various agencies every ISP node is fed into via the NSA supercomputer. All information is monitored, all the time, regardless of how you choose to protect your ‘physical data’. This is not just possible. It is more than probable, considering the unsupervised structure of our the internet everyone knows and understands (or doesn’t understand) today. No one escapes it…

Until now!

Now introducing, from ElfWax Research & Labratories, the Modern-Day Information Doomwave SURFIN’ SET!

Our set includes:

-1 supersurfin’ keyboard that uses lasers instead of keys. Now you can surf the net like the 1337 hack proz0r5 do – with an unwarranted sense of entitlement. Act as though you’re experienced by dealing with something sensitive like key information by using equipment which can’t be fingerprinted. Catch the wave AND get away with it!*

-A Hand-Held Hate Speaker with a backlit clock. This 4-inch radio is armed with 400+ hours of recorded religious lecture by various extremist groups and terrorits. Also, hear the Beach Boys as you’ve never heard them before!

-1 vacuum-packed hard drive containing a super computer virus that actually turns your computer’s insides into liquid shit. Using TNTech brand research and advancements in pyrotechnics technology, you can ensure that all data within a 24-block radius is destroyed permanently with a high-profile electromagnetic pulse emitted by forcing a power surge through your home’s own electrical system.**

-A single-use flash-drive bullet which can be safely (but assertively) put to your throat and discharged using a GUI (graphical user interface) to send a digital signal to the USB drive, which plunges the hot metal deep into your brain stem. When uncle sam is listening to your muffled cries through your LAN connection AND from outside the door to your back porch, let them know you just went out in style, the American way!***

*You will not get away with it
**subsequent chemotherapy bills are the sole responsibility of the consumer, but it doesn’t matter anyway because your ass belongs to Uncle Sam (oh shit they control the after-life, too!) now get down on your knees and pray for the Sun God to blow up the Sun.
***All of our bullets are made in China and may not contain actual lead or any other hard material, and may dissolve in humidity, becoming a mild toxin poisonous to infants.

Tags bullet, freedom, george orwell, information age, kit, love, police brutality, surfing, usb, yelling

Editorial Society Special Interest Status Quo

Cogito ergo Cogito

A Christian once asked me what my fundamental source for ultimate truth was. The answer might be unsatisfying, but it should be there with a little explanation. In logic, truth is defined as that which can be proven not false in every case. This applies well enough in mathematics and computer programming, but how about for reality? The problem with truth is that every case can never be accounted for. Quantum physics specifically denies it.

Consider a particle in your body, and all the aspects of it. It has among other properties energy and location. Upon measuring this particle’s location, accuracy is lost in measuring its energy. This is the uncertainty principle, and it is an observable phenomenon that Einstein could not disprove. For some reason, this lack of truth is built into the very nature of the universe. I could measure the energy of that same particle, but if I wanted to know the location, I would again lose accuracy. If I wanted to know both the momentum and the location of a particle the best I’d be able to do is estimate. I would still be left with a version of the truth based on two separate measurements that have a mutually exclusive precision. So I’m left with a measurable amount of precision, but not the truth.

So, am I saying that truth doesn’t exist? This is aesthetically painful to the human mind, but it is the strongest possibility. Surely a particle has a location, and a certain momentum, but I won’t be able to figure that out because of an aspect of the universe that is not currently understood. So what is my foundation of ultimate truth, if I cannot know the truth of a solitary particle?

This is a universe of measurable precision. When the human mind decides to believe in truth, there’s an amount of error that cannot be escaped. Truth absolutely must exist, and it may be glimpsed by humanity, but it is impossible to see from all sides without distortion.

Tags universe

Editorial News Politics Society Status Quo World

A land called the Soviet Union

Post author By Hatesec
Post date January 7, 2009
1 Comment on A land called the Soviet Union

I started with “jerk off into a cup” – a natural launching point.

Holy dicks, what fucking day is it? Is it time for another? Yes it is.

I spent the day dealing with some very friendly people about a very unfriendly bill that has been sent to collections by way of some unpaid tuition at my money-grubbing University. Those bastards think they’re going to get $2,000 out of me, well they’ve got another thing coming. I’ll give them at least $12,000 more by the time I’m done with them! Those bastards will be swimming so deep in my hard-earned cash they won’t know what hit ’em. They’ll drown in US currency. They’ll have to buy up some more ghetto just to make room for the new cash I want to give them for a degree next year.

That’s where I’m at now – it’s time to buy my degree. I’ve worked at papers and written and photographed and traveled and interviewed and even kissed Jane Fonda’s ass, as every reporter does at some time, or must do on their deathbed, lest they enter the gates of Heaven unscathed by a tired old clash of grandfatherly ideals. So now I’m paying for it, because you see it’s not your experience the industry wants; it’s not your carisma, or your talent or your motivation or even your childish enthusiasm they’re after. No, they want to know that you, too, shelled out an amount of dough greater than or equal to the worth of their own degrees before they’ll even open a god damn portfolio. So be it. I’ll buy the fucking thing and I’ll do it the honest way: by taking money for my sperm downtown.

Sure, I can jerk off into a cup. Have I ever done it before? Not in a cup, no. In a receptacle, maybe, and into a cup indirectly, but never “squirt in the cup, put a lid on it, enjoy your James ma’am.” Five, ten, fifteen years down the road, there could be me: child to a lesbian couple, or perhaps a hardline feminist with filed-down teeth and big gums who wears heavy red flannel and treks out to middle-school-age little league games where she is a stranger. That’s what I want for myself, right now. That’s my goal.

Really, it’d be nice to get all doped up and go to the dentist. My teeth are holier than the bulletproof Pope-mobile. I’m more sensitive to them, too. You can’t see the Pope in his little squad-wagon anymore. They don’t show him. I wish they would. As a child I used to love witnessing the Pope-mobile. It was hilarious. That was before I knew how to jerk off, much less into a cup. And that brings me back to it. Would the pope jerk off into a cup (assuming he had the capacity to engage in a sexually taxing activity like physical masturbation) to save a dying woman’s legacy? How about his own?

I hear we are winning in Iraq so now we’re moving to Afghanistan. Hopefully we will see the same success over there and we can even replicate it in Iran. The UN Chief would like to see that. Sooner or later we’re going to have to go dick against balls with Russia and it’s going to be gritty and you will not see a fear more sinister, more urgent than that which will be pumped out of live television, radio and telegraph broadcasts in our lifetimes on that fateful day when Russian bombers imposing over our inland suburbs like chicken-hawks. The pilots have to use the bathroom, too. “Is that frozen piss-sleet hitting the roof, honey, or is that napalm? I’ll check it this time, you went out last time…”