ungrateful and unworthy.
The puppet people are to be made ignorant by
incorporation of contradictions over an infinitely
expanding intake of a shape-shifting alien
apocalyptic threat. To journey into the wastelands
of the Great Australian Dream as a seed cast on
dry sand is to go clothed with shame and with
songs of rejoicing from dry, parched lips of sin.
Free-market forces clearly reveal the same old
barbarians as they quietly slide us downwards
towards collapse. Changes and war are against us.
This, ladies and mindless gargoyles, is the cost
of capital. O that thou wouldest hide me in the
grave.
Let us turn to the Howardman of raw filth. The
clods of the valley shall be sweet unto him, and
every man shall crawl after him, going the extra
mile across the years of darkness. From his mouth
shall spill the fiendish unripe fruit of
self-congratulating drones even as demonic agents
of prosperity spring horribly upon their victim's
crotch. And fire shall consume the tabernacles of
the market pundit fraudsters and all the whores of
the earth in the hour of our affliction.
The Sodomites now drink from a fountain of
recycled black filth. They shelter in the shadow
of hostile omens, and are playthings of tactile
impressions and the cult of the Howardman.
Miserable comforters are ye that toucheth the
corpse of consumerism, that religion of hideous
blasphemy and ineffectual nervous twitches of the
mind.
The green slime of market forces has dribbled
betwixt us, as surely as recycled sewage flows in
the black sewers of human abnormality and makes us
eager to consume abomination. Yet shalt thou
plunge me in the dark ditch of bipartisan politics
and deepening idiocy.
Should a wise man utter vain knowledge, And fill
his belly with the degraded proteins of the
devilish enterprise culture?
Seek not unto the Howardman, Depart from us; For
we desire not the knowledge of thy ways.
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