Here’s Why You Should All Fucking Panic
You’ll Overlook My Use of Fuck in These Titles Once You Read This
I am deep undercover. So deep it’s the “You forget you’re pretending” kinda deep. You let your guard down, and wake up one morning happy, it makes you forget. And we all know the double top secret saying in Langley, start to believe. Then it’s so fun, this life you don’t deserve because none of the people in it know you’re lying (but neither do you because you’ve been so happy so long you forgot!)
When you lie yourself into a perfectly peaceful suburban existence, when you lie yourself into a 30 year marriage where the sex is even hotter now that you’ve gotten divorced and started fucking as ex’s and in that best sex of your lives discovered you were soul mates from before your alien shell split atop planet Earth preceding the days you were each born (his half of the spirit split from the alien shell touched down in Massachusetts 10 months ahead of my spirit, in the verdant hills of New Jersey.)
I went undercover — what? Oh, sure, good idea. Let’s be coy, we’ll call it the Pee Pee I.A. How’s that? The P.P.I.A. sent me deep undercover to research pharmacological weaponry. They selected me after themselves going undercover at Phish shows (they harvested as much data as they could in the 70s and 80s at Dead shows). Agent Coyne made sure to fuck me first in the back of a suspiciously new airstream. He was able to put on the report, “Needed to be sure she was real” and get away with it. Ah, the 90's.
They funded my touring. They funded my drugs. Anything I wanted. I was allowed to distribute them to whomever I wanted. The best shit went to my closest mates. The problem, though, was I had to collect data on all of it. Since I was tripping balls alongside them, I had to video tape. I thought my knowledge of which tape reflected what drugs would be my protective ticket for the rest of my days. But then again who DID see the Internet coming? Not me. I had no idea they were downloading all of my films centrally. I had no idea there was a small group of nerds in California who got top secret access to the depths of the government’s darkest code (the extent of human horrors).
We have psychologically studied (manipulated against their will) our population since before we won the first war (Revolution). In fact, if you didn’t know the PsyOps tactics of Revolutionary Way, well. That’s a whole tale in itself.
And if you don’t know, now you know.
We’re not fucked because of any one thing.
We’re so deeply fucked because of three horrific realities descending upon our society.
(1) The government fucks with people, but, themselves, are simply fucked up people we have conducting the fucking to feed their (trending evil) egos
(2) The propaganda against marijuana for the last 5 decades, yes, FIVE decades now, has grown an entire crop of citizens who are CLUEless about mental health or the mind. As one of the big British newspapers phrased it: “There is a tsunami of mental breakdowns descending upon the United States”
(3) Similar to our Trust in the government to be, well, um, competent and trustworthy (we’ve known for quite a while that they aren’t but we’ve never gotten off our asses to fix it because they keep plying us with “free money”, we fall for it every time) our trust in Wall Street was completely misguided. Why is it elderly are so miserable? They’re confused. They get to “the promised land” of retirement and realize — Fuuuuuuuuuuuck I played this whole game wrong HOW DID THAT HAPPEN?
The looming collapse of Wall Street, I am talking traumatic crash unlike anything ever experienced in the USA (tsunami 1)
PLUS the release of documents (tsunami 2) by the Jesus of Reporting herself detailing the horrors of mental torture (remember that shit in Iraq prison that we all forgot about? that shit happens to citizens ALL. THE. TIME.)
PLUS the tsunami of mental breakdowns (tsunami 3) that the Brits are watching with keen interest from afar and no one in the States much cares to discuss. Remember all the “mental health” issues from Covid? Weed. Fucking pot, y’all.
Tsunami 1 + Tsunami 2 + Tsunami 3 = Fucking Panic.
