World Domination Update

vol II, iss i

I had hoped to have this out BEFORE the Super Bowl, but with FireSkunk sniffing around down here I was understandably distracted…

Professional sports are one of the most insidious—and effective—cons that the Brain Police have ever yoked us with.

In theory, sports seem innocent enough: healthy exercise that encourages teamwork and strategy.

In practice, it ends up being just another metaphor for your domination. Sports foster a herd mentality with you at the low end of the totem (ever notice someone else on your team is always calling the shots?)  And let’s not forget that constant of all sports: break the rules and you will be penalized.

Sports is big business, designed to attract your money and your mind away from more productive enterprises.  Professional sports players have become high-salary celebrities solely because they have above average hand-eye coordination.  Worse, these monkeys are being marketed—and adopted!—as role models, just because they have good reflexes and lots of money!  The smell of bullshit becomes overpowering when you realize this fact: for what a professional baseball player makes in one year you could hire at least one teacher for life.  The only rationale I can justify it with is to analog it to royalties.  These people make the big bucks because there are enough idiots out there who eagerly pay for the privilege of sports addiction.

And it’s they—the “average” fan—that concerns me most, and offers the best proof that professional sports is bogus brainwashing. Remember, “fan” is short for “fanatic”, so sports fans by definition are not stable but fanatical extremists.

First of all, if you so, insecure about yourself that you have to adopt a sports star or team for a sense of identity, then your life sucks.

Most people don’t even PLAY sports, they just SPECTATE from the side.  Not only are they devoting lots of money to sports—paying for their own enslavement—they are also giving it entirely too much of their attention.  That’s the REAL problem.

There are people that can name the starting quarterbacks of every Superbowl team but cannot name the Presidents.  Others can tell you Dennis Rodman’s yearly rebound statistics but do not know the voting record of their own congressmen.  And while some can name the most important play of any World Series and tell you why it won the game, they cannot tell you the most important battle of any war and tell you why it won the war. More people know about The People vs. O.J. Simpson than they do about Tennessee vs. Scopes or Miranda vs. Arizona (and don’t forget: if OJ had been a farmer or a scholar instead of a football star, he’d be doing life and no one would care.)

Professional sports are orchestrated by the Brain Police with this specific intention: they’re trying to take your attention off of what’s REALLY going on.  Turn on the nightly news, and sports gets at least five minutes of time.  CNN even runs a ticker-tape of scores at the bottom of the screen—during the national and world news segments!  Sports have become important because we are told they are important.

Do you know what the most-watched television event was?  The ’94 Winter Olympics.  Tonya Harding got more coverage than Bill Clinton.

Some of the sports that they’re televising are dead give-aways that they are on solely to numb your mind to sleep.  Golf is the classic American example, cricket is the British.  And why the hell is bowling on tv? Ever actually watch it?  The commentary is like,

“So what do you think he’s going to do here, Dave?”

“Well, Bob, I think he’s going to try for the 7 - 10 spare.”

No one can deny the opiate effect sports is having on society: I believe it becomes exponentially numbing and addictive.  And as communications capabilities increase, so does sports exposure—and enslavement.

So what do we do?

The obvious solution is to outlaw professional sports and cattle-car all the fans who CAN’T get a life off to “special” camps with “special” shower facilities.  And when Branch Floridianism has a large-enough foothold in world infra-structure that is undoubtedly what should—nay, must—be done.

IN THE MEANTIME, it occurs to me that the end results of the lobotomies Sports Worship has inflicted might be used to an end.

Sports are physical metaphors for war.  In football, for instance, you use a combined air and ground offensive to drive into the enemy’s territory, overcoming their defenses until you can conquer the end-zone.  I say we take all the sports fans, and put them in a special branch of the armed forces. Instead of Generals, they have Coaches.  Everyone gets snazzy warm-up suits and uniforms.  Train them like mad, and then use the bastards as cannon-fodder in the next NWO dress rehearsal televised for our distraction.

It is the only humane thing to do.

Shade’s Peshar:

In a similar vein with the above, we should round up all the vidiots and computurds that can get straight 100%s on Doom II but can’t actually program a computer (let alone their vcr.)  I’m sure everyone noticed the carefully controlled media presentation of the Gulf War: lots of video that looked like black-and-white versions of old Atari or arcade games, all very dehumanized.  Half of warfare is high-tech, and someone’s got to guide those 1 mil-apiece laser bombs.  We could put the vidiots in charge of that aspect before we send in the sports fodder for the physical end.

I think it would work out quite nicely.

Hollywood is home to both pro and con Brain Police factions, and both camps put out propaganda to either awaken or anesthetize the audience-at-large.  Frequently these attempts are within the same movie.  Here is a brief, and obviously by no means inclusive, list of important Celluloid Continuity Clues.

Hope this is of some help.  Feel free to , as I am sure many of you are aware of some that I’m not.  I’ll post collective updates in future Updates.

It was my black Clockwork Orange and while waiting for the wench to fetch me my powdered Bavarian, one of the customers noticed it.  He was this old Black guy sitting at the counter, having a cup of coffee and a doughnut with a friend.  I’d put the man in his sixties; eyes like jet set in ivory, wrinkled jowls with white five o’clock stubble, long cracked nails stained with nicotine.  You just knew this guy blew a mean harmonica.

So he points at my shirt and throatily drawls, “Hey, I know that movie; thazza phuqed up movie, man.”

“Yeah,” I reply, nodding zestfully.

“Yeah, I saw it when it came out, oh, twenny years ago.  That thing was,,, it was phuqed up, man.”

“Oh, I love it,” I reply, “it’s one of my favorite movies.”

“I kinda liked it too, but it was, it was phuqed up, man.”

“What, the story, or the way it was filmed?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know, I think it was really ahead of its time, predicting a police state and youth gangs and all.  And the little things, like them talking about us putting ‘men on the moon and men spinning around the Earth’.”

At this, his friend snorts condescendingly. He was old, too, and wearing a black felt hat and sunglasses; kinda reminded me of John Lee Hooker.

“We didn’ lan’ on no phuqin’ mooooon, maaan."”

The first guy laughs.  “Oh yeah, tell him ‘bout that.”  He prods his friend encouragingly.

The friend launched into this deep raspy monologue, gesticulating extravagantly.  “Al’right, you got Channel 8, which is like two miles from my house, right? Now when I turn on my tv, I can’t get shit fo’ reception.  It’s all snowy and nasty, and that’s from a transmitter two miles from my house.  Now when they landed on the mooooon, the pictures they sent back were crystal clear.  An’ the mooooon is five hunnerd thousand miles in the sky.  So what I wanna know: how can you get crystal clear reception from somethin’ five hunnerd thousand miles in the sky when I can’t get shit from somethin’ two miles from my house?!?”

Think about it.

By the way, ever notice that no stars are visible in the backgrounds of any of the moon shots—just that big fake-looking cut-out half earth?

AND FINALLY,

another quiz/contest

I’m not happy with the limitations of e-mail, specifically losing my fonts, formats, and colors when it gets converted to ascii for general dissemination.  Recipients on AOL get some of them, but I’m not happy (or trustful) of America In-Line, and will gladly get out of it when I reach the Mojave.  In the meantime, has everyone been suckered by Bill Gates into getting Windows 95?  If so, I can start doing WDUs in Word, or maybe Adobe Acrobat and send it as an e-mail attachment.  They’d look a lot nicer. Let me know.  Then again, if and when I get my own website, I can just post them there, and you all can browse at your own convenience.

I’ve been doing a lot of research on the Brain Police and their evil minions/machinations over the years, and am puzzled by a recurring reference to them. Obviously the term Brain Police is my own designation (appropriated from Zappa,) but other terms have been used throughout the ages. The most common I’ve encountered is THEY, as in “THEY are out to get me.” Obviously this is code, though I am not sure how to decipher it.  I strongly suspect they are initials, though I am unclear what they stand for.  I am further confused by a frequent variant, THEM.  These could be the same groups, or different but equal factions in the BP hierarchy.  Any thoughts on what THEY stands for?  .

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