"Ringing the Bell One Last Time" (OR: "LOOK AT ME!!!")
The NSA has occupied the abandoned house next door. But fuck those guys; you stole the stereo out of their SUV and left behind the half-million dollars in surveillance equipment just to pass the message along. You're snoozing on the job, you pussies. (Let's rassle in the wading pool before it gets too cold.) There aren't enough of you to begin to stop us. On the off chance that Das Imperium has an exigency card in its dwindling deck, remember that the last perfect fastball pitched over the imperfect pentagon of teleological personal space will be batted out of the park on a Dionysian trajectory, not an Aresian one. The odds might still seem out, but the stochastic academic theoretic orgasmic roll of the lardaceous American dice will fall on the side of love over fear every time. Ask a million polyhedron-tossing hedonist gamer nerds if it doesn't always come out this way. You'll see. (Then imagine those assholes next door while you're coming up with this shit. One doesn't know for whom to feel sorrier. The Ego trumps the Id in the eternal card game whose loser is banished and whose winner is imprisoned. Sigil magick is the means and ends of solipsism, after all.) These are the death throes of capitalism, the thanatological rattle of eschatological fundamentalism. Despite all this, you plan to die quietly, to go out with a whimper not a bang the fat man in the corner sucking his thumbscrew watertight ideas wrapped in enough bacon to sustain you through the zombie apocalypse, the revelation that we're all just meat and fermenting sugar and the same boring thing as everything else. As above, so below, so between the greasy palms of fiat-monetarily sustaining fatheads sucking at the spigot of murky melanoid fornicato-gratificationist carbohydrates sustaining the addictions of the multitudinous masses of pink breathing automatons reaching for something better but disillusioned with everything and drowning in an ocean of liquid feces that reflects the true situation: the beauty around you seems somehow off limits. A real man would have blown that SUV to pieces (after appropriating the best pieces of technological loot). A real feline would have at least pissed all over the tires. A real mammal would have stopped pretending to be enlightened a long time ago. Not even the prose excels; it's quite humiliating to be outdone by the novel of your smartest cat. Yeah sure, you taught him everything he knows.