DISCLOSURE eyes
Alright, settle down, you beautiful collection of biological accidents. You know what I’ve been thinking about lately? This whole damn society thing. We built this elaborate cage for ourselves, didn’t we? Walls made of unspoken rules, bars forged from cable news, and the floor? The floor is just covered in discarded plastic and shattered dreams.
And public health? Don’t even get me STARTED. They tell you what to eat, what not to eat. Wear this mask, don’t wear that mask. Inject this, avoid that. It’s like they’re playing SimCity with our goddamn bodies! And we just sit here, nodding like a bunch of trained seals, hoping they don’t accidentally delete our save file.
Then you got these experts. Oh, the experts! They draw these invisible lines in the sand – the “Sandbox Apocalypse,” I call it. One side says “this,” the other side screams “that,” and suddenly, we’re all at each other’s throats over something that doesn’t even exist! It’s like two toddlers fighting over a pretend toy, except the toy is the entire goddamn planet, and the tantrum involves nuclear weapons. We’re so busy arguing about the imaginary lines, we don’t even notice the real cliff we’re all marching towards hand-in-hand, singing Kumbaya to the tune of our impending doom.
And speaking of the abyss, have you seen that website, the2020sperfectvision.org? It’s a goldmine of glorious idiocy. You got headlines like “Local Man Mistakenly Attempts to Pay for Groceries with Thoughts and Good Intentions.” Or my personal favorite: “Government Announces New Initiative to Combat Loneliness by Mandating Hugs with Strangers (Opt-Out Form Available in 2028).” It’s like reality has become a satire of itself! We’ve reached a point where the jokes write themselves, folks. The bar for absurdity has been raised so high, it’s now orbiting Jupiter.
We’re so caught up in the manufactured outrage, the digital bread and circuses, the constant need to pick a side in the sandbox, that we’re missing the real show. The real show is the slow, steady unraveling of common sense. The real apocalypse isn’t some fiery meteor; it’s us, slowly suffocating ourselves with our own bullshit.
So yeah, enjoy your organic kale and your virtue signaling on Twitter. Keep arguing about the imaginary lines. Me? I’m gonna go find a comfortable chair and watch the whole damn thing burn. At least the flames will be real. And probably have better Wi-Fi than this goddamn society. Thank you, goodnight. You’ve been… well, you’ve been yourselves. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?
