Destroying the Perfect World in order to live in this one

Emma Smith was stepped on, her foot maintaining it’s form only due to the underlying bone. She had just been rejected, if we would call it that, in her latest attempt to enter the world.

Emma Smith was not wealthy. If she was she could move to the other side of the world where fat lazy rich people gazed. Or vain six-pack abs people. Or creatures born of plastic surgery. The same thing. Emma was glad she wasn’t wealthy.

Cloud Strife has shit to do. He always is doing important work. Saving the fucking WORLD, as usual. He didn’t notice his awesome self crushing the foot of something. It wasn’t Tifa, or someone who mattered.

The Producer had taken one look at Emma and never gave a second one. Normal, boring breasts, a personality which has no place in the various stereotyped roles. She might as well not exist. That is to say, she doesn’t.

Cloud could be purchased for $60. Three entities exist in this scenario – the buyer, Cloud, and the producer who makes it happen.

Emma is none of these things. Emma is normal, one of the mere billions of people. Many of these people die of starvation, or murder themselves in despair, or are blown to bits in a war. This is unacceptable to Emma. Unacceptable as a destiny for herself, and for the billions of regular people she is similar to.

So Emma, too, has shit to do.

Meanwhile, Cloud went to get his hair styled. Saving the world isn’t possible with boring hair, one of the many lessons our media teaches us. Cloud spends hours every week on his hair. His hair is his six-pack abs, his carefully shaped breasts.

Cloud gave a shoutout to Superman and his six-pack abs, just coming out of a gym where he spends hours per day maintaining his physique. Sometimes he has time to help someone else. He’s fucking SUPERMAN though, and you’re not, so who cares?

The Producer smiled. He was building the Perfect World, and Cloud and Superman were tools in the construction. Noone ever blamed him, he gives them just what they want, and the large gate that surrounds his community and his home keeps the rest of the little people away.

The best way to destroy the world is to pretend to save it. So while the American State protects the civilized world from Islamic barbarism and insane terrorism while murdering millions and causing massive incidental misery, Cloud and Superman pretend to save the world while distracting people away from actually saving the world.

Emma knows this, and Emma is pissed. Emma is joining her local occupy movement.

Addiction 2.0

Crackhead Willie, already high for the day with pipe in hand, went to see his friend Brian.

“Hey Willie, Skyrim is almost here!”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Skyrim! It’s a huge digital world with lush grass, swords and magic and dragons!”

Willie, concerned for his friend’s well-being, peered into his eyes and noted the crazed mania gamers carefully dismiss as “enthusiasm”.

“When is Skyrim going to be here?”

“7 days! It’s just 7 days away!”

Willie realized he was a dinosaur. He looked down at his limp crack pipe, only able to get him high in the present. His friend could get high long before the drug actually entered his system.

“How many people are high on Skyrim right now?”

“Oh Willie, Willie, Willie, Skyrim is completely healthy! Noone gets hurt! It’s not like crack! It’s merely an entirely artificial world that I can get lost in for 200 hours!”

“There are hundreds of thousands of people high on Skyrim right now! Some moderately high, others insanely so.”

“Fuck, man, what the hell am I doing with crack? How long does this high last?”

“A Skyrim high? Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve been high nonstop for the past 6 months. Some people have been high on Skyrim for the past 2 years!”

By this time Willie’s hardened addict-heart had been broken, and with tears gushing from him he hugged his friend in consolation.

“It’s ok, Willie. You can play Skyrim too!”