It's like a ship, you see? On the maiden voyage, it's pristine. Beautiful. Fast, very fast. Just like a child, but more seaworthy. Because children are the same. They are born, and grow into their own as powerful difference engines. They have so much potential, so much promise. But like our friend the ship, they attract refuse. Barnacles. Decay and cancerous growth begins to plague the form. And as the years pass, it's more garbage than person. Or ship.
But where the ship eventually sinks, and is retaken with dignity, there is no such recompense for humanity. They become one giant barnacle, spewing oatmeal everywhere. OATMEAL. IT'S ALL FUCKING OATMEAL. WHAT THEY EAT. WHAT THEY SAY. WHAT THEY THINK. WHAT THEY DREAM. Tasteless, boring, unappealing, grotesque, lazy filth that consistently spews from one barnacle's maw into another. The same garbage is recycled, and fed to them again. THEY ARE EATING THEIR OWN WASTE GODDAMN IT. AND THEY LOVE IT. THEY REVEL IN THEIR WASTE. THEY LOVE CONFORMING TO THE IDEAS, THE MEMES, SUCH FILTHY VIRII. These pitiful creatures are so fearful, terrified of their environment, of HAVING TO THINK ON THEIR OWN, WITH NO THOUGHTFORM TO SUPPORT THEM. FREE OF OUTSIDE PORRIDGE AND BARNACLES, THEY ARE HORRIFIED TO STAND ON THEIR OWN. They cower. They hide.
And boy are these people proud.
"classy. classy classy. klassy. CLASSSY. WE HAVE CLASS. ILY. YOLO."
CLASS? IS THAT WHAT YOU HAVE YOU DEGENERATE FILTH? THE ONLY CLASS YOU ARE A PART OF IS A TAXONOMY OF SCUM, SO LOW AS TO BE A CONSISTENT DRAW ON THE REST OF HUMANITY. You, merely by existing, have made all other members of you species worse-off. You plague us, you steal our food, you steal our friends, you steal our safety. BECAUSE THERE IS NO SAFETY, NO HIDING FROM YOUR DAMN OATMEAL. YOU THROW IT IN OUR FACE. YOU SPEW IT UP AND DOWN OUR FORMS, UNTIL WE ARE DRIPPING WITH YOUR GRUEL. YOU TRY TO INFECT US WITH SUCH FILTH. AND THE WORST PART
THE GODDAMN WORST PART IS THAT IT'S WORKING. BECAUSE YOU ARE LEGION, AND WE ARE FEW. AND WHEN WE ARE WEAK, WHEN WE ARE BROKEN, THAT IS WHEN YOU POUNCE. INJECT US WITH POISON AND SELL US A CURE. WE NEED IT.
Until you got here, we were broken, fragile girls and boys. And we still are. But how long until you infect me? Have you infected me? You probably have, and it was very sweet of you. You see, I'm just a higher level of barnacle, equipped with upgraded oatmeal (it has salt!) and doing my own infections. And there comes a time at the end of every day, where I just get fed up, in my OATMEAL. In your OATMEAL. In our OATMEAL.
And I just wonder, what is the fucking point? To serve as a vector for nothing more than a higher level of oatmeal?
IT'S ALL FUCKING OATMEAL.
But where the ship eventually sinks, and is retaken with dignity, there is no such recompense for humanity. They become one giant barnacle, spewing oatmeal everywhere. OATMEAL. IT'S ALL FUCKING OATMEAL. WHAT THEY EAT. WHAT THEY SAY. WHAT THEY THINK. WHAT THEY DREAM. Tasteless, boring, unappealing, grotesque, lazy filth that consistently spews from one barnacle's maw into another. The same garbage is recycled, and fed to them again. THEY ARE EATING THEIR OWN WASTE GODDAMN IT. AND THEY LOVE IT. THEY REVEL IN THEIR WASTE. THEY LOVE CONFORMING TO THE IDEAS, THE MEMES, SUCH FILTHY VIRII. These pitiful creatures are so fearful, terrified of their environment, of HAVING TO THINK ON THEIR OWN, WITH NO THOUGHTFORM TO SUPPORT THEM. FREE OF OUTSIDE PORRIDGE AND BARNACLES, THEY ARE HORRIFIED TO STAND ON THEIR OWN. They cower. They hide.
And boy are these people proud.
"classy. classy classy. klassy. CLASSSY. WE HAVE CLASS. ILY. YOLO."
CLASS? IS THAT WHAT YOU HAVE YOU DEGENERATE FILTH? THE ONLY CLASS YOU ARE A PART OF IS A TAXONOMY OF SCUM, SO LOW AS TO BE A CONSISTENT DRAW ON THE REST OF HUMANITY. You, merely by existing, have made all other members of you species worse-off. You plague us, you steal our food, you steal our friends, you steal our safety. BECAUSE THERE IS NO SAFETY, NO HIDING FROM YOUR DAMN OATMEAL. YOU THROW IT IN OUR FACE. YOU SPEW IT UP AND DOWN OUR FORMS, UNTIL WE ARE DRIPPING WITH YOUR GRUEL. YOU TRY TO INFECT US WITH SUCH FILTH. AND THE WORST PART
THE GODDAMN WORST PART IS THAT IT'S WORKING. BECAUSE YOU ARE LEGION, AND WE ARE FEW. AND WHEN WE ARE WEAK, WHEN WE ARE BROKEN, THAT IS WHEN YOU POUNCE. INJECT US WITH POISON AND SELL US A CURE. WE NEED IT.
Until you got here, we were broken, fragile girls and boys. And we still are. But how long until you infect me? Have you infected me? You probably have, and it was very sweet of you. You see, I'm just a higher level of barnacle, equipped with upgraded oatmeal (it has salt!) and doing my own infections. And there comes a time at the end of every day, where I just get fed up, in my OATMEAL. In your OATMEAL. In our OATMEAL.
And I just wonder, what is the fucking point? To serve as a vector for nothing more than a higher level of oatmeal?
IT'S ALL FUCKING OATMEAL.