I really want to assimilate.

[tyrannosaurus vex]

Fighting the Man™ is hard work. It's thirsty work, too, and my liver has had enough abuse, thank you very much. It's time-consuming. And these days, who the hell has time to stand out? Work, food, sleep, work, food, sleep, it goes on and on. It's hard enough to find time for Slack, let alone fighting the power. I'm busy. I'm old. I'm tired. I just want to fade out and blend in, man. I tuned in. I dropped out. I built a wall between me and everything I could reach. And I want back in, God dammit. I just want to go with the flow.

There's just one problem.

I CAN'T FUCKING STAND THESE APES. I'm talking to you, you ignorant fuck who holds your cell phone like it's a walkie-talkie. FUCK YOU. That isn't how you use that overpriced piece of modern convenience. It's a fucking phone. Hold it like one.

And wipe that dumb-shit grin off your face, you smarmy modern-age snake-oil pushing fuckbucket. Stop calling me a "healthcare consumer." I am not in the healthcare market looking for deals, you ass. I'm a human being with hypertension and I deserve pills, because I'm a fucking time bomb, and you're not helping with your corporate-speak growing all over my language.

The same goes for all those chimps trying to sell me absolutely nothing at all, and calling it a "product." Even athletes call their performance "our product." Fuck you. A product is a thing. It fits in a box, and it's on sale through next Thursday. What YOU sell is entertainment, or maybe financial chicanery. Not products. Products are built by people, and then they get sold, and then they last a while. They can even be resold, sometimes for a profit.

I wish I could quiet down and sit in my spot like a good monkey. I really, really want to. I don't want to fight. But you knobs aren't making that very easy, are you? No. You're not. There's a fundamental disconnect between me and you. I'm incompatible with the operating system your fucked up society is running. I'm like a Commodore 64 game trying to fit into your CD-ROM. I don't compute for you, and you don't compute for me.

So I have no choice, do I? And that's ironic, given that our modern age is defined by nothing, if not the appearance of ten thousand choices competing for my attention. It's even more ironic given that all I ever wanted was one thing: A quiet life, free from assholes. And wouldn't you know, that's the one thing I never see a fucking commercial for.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Awesome, dammit!

[Aucoq]

Fighting the Man™ is hard work. It's thirsty work, too, and my liver has had enough abuse, thank you very much. It's time-consuming. And these days, who the hell has time to stand out? Work, food, sleep, work, food, sleep, it goes on and on. It's hard enough to find time for Slack, let alone fighting the power. I'm busy. I'm old. I'm tired. I just want to fade out and blend in, man. I tuned in. I dropped out. I built a wall between me and everything I could reach. And I want back in, God dammit. I just want to go with the flow.

There's just one problem.

I CAN'T FUCKING STAND THESE APES. I'm talking to you, you ignorant fuck who holds your cell phone like it's a walkie-talkie. FUCK YOU. That isn't how you use that overpriced piece of modern convenience. It's a fucking phone. Hold it like one.

And wipe that dumb-shit grin off your face, you smarmy modern-age snake-oil pushing fuckbucket. Stop calling me a "healthcare consumer." I am not in the healthcare market looking for deals, you ass. I'm a human being with hypertension and I deserve pills, because I'm a fucking time bomb, and you're not helping with your corporate-speak growing all over my language.

The same goes for all those chimps trying to sell me absolutely nothing at all, and calling it a "product." Even athletes call their performance "our product." Fuck you. A product is a thing. It fits in a box, and it's on sale through next Thursday. What YOU sell is entertainment, or maybe financial chicanery. Not products. Products are built by people, and then they get sold, and then they last a while. They can even be resold, sometimes for a profit.

I wish I could quiet down and sit in my spot like a good monkey. I really, really want to. I don't want to fight. But you knobs aren't making that very easy, are you? No. You're not. There's a fundamental disconnect between me and you. I'm incompatible with the operating system your fucked up society is running. I'm like a Commodore 64 game trying to fit into your CD-ROM. I don't compute for you, and you don't compute for me.

So I have no choice, do I? And that's ironic, given that our modern age is defined by nothing, if not the appearance of ten thousand choices competing for my attention. It's even more ironic given that all I ever wanted was one thing: A quiet life, free from assholes. And wouldn't you know, that's the one thing I never see a fucking commercial for.

Awesome stuff, V3X!  I love it, especially how corporate-speak is being integrated into our language to dehumanize people and topics.