At the dawn of time, man first lived in vaginas. Then, as man grew more confident and developed machines, he began to live in penises. That is the history of architecture -- to which all other history and DNA are just vapid footnotes.1

2. Did Jesus Crucify Herself Yet?

Once man existed and began living and working in penises, he was now free to become obsessed with the central question of existence: Did Jesus Crucify Herself?

To this end, man developed quantum physics and the Bible skip code method of re-predicting the past again.

Then, experiments conducted by recursive application of the Heisenberg uncertainty principle showed conclusively how Christ had actually committed suicide by hauling her black ass up some cross, cutting down the remnants of the old crucified body still hanging there, piercing her wrists, sliding them onto the nails left by the former crucifixee, and then just kicking back and letting crucifiction go, girl.

3. Dreams

The purpose of dreams is to fill in for the Nobel Prizes you deserve but clearly will never win -- because of politics.

Conversely, the purpose of nightmares is to give back the Nobel Prizes you DID win (because of religion and culture), but clearly DIDN'T deserve.

Of course, by default, the purpose of so-called "waking reality" is to be the theater in which, boringly, you win all the Nobel Prizes you DO deserve -- but (and this is why they call it "reality") you only deserve them because everybody else on earth deserves them so fucking much less than you.

4. The Golden Ruse

Fortunately self-organized systems are by definition selfish because recursive algorithms only survive if their recursion is perfect all the way to infinity, and perfect honesty in the application of selfishness means not wasting a drop of it on anybody else, which means no selfishness ever escapes into the world outside those who prosper from and thrive on it (i.e. the self) and, thus, fortunately again, the golden rule, as delicate as the constancy of the speed of light, has already been embraced by the only law of time.

Footnotes

1. Uhhh, this footnote has no actual content and exists only to justify the existence of the in-text superscript which refers to it. That superscript, in turn, exists only to, you know, make zee leetle joke.

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It has recently come to our humble, backward, impoverished, 3rd world attention that your overworked and stressed-out population is finding it harder and harder to waste its valuable and limited time anymore worrying about issues, thinking about candidates and then actually getting off their X-treme enormous asses and going to the polls and voting for the vapid worthless slimy scumbag who for the next N years will strut around claiming that when the sun rises every morning its because he got up 2 minutes before and crowed his ass off.

Since, as a fellow nation of the world, we feel great sympathy for your plight and for your overworked stressed-out masses (yearning to be free) and since we have all kinds of highly educated, highly intelligent people just lazing around here with nothing to do and gladly willing to be conned into working their asses off for just enough money to get shit-faced once a week and beat the crap out of their spouses, we would like to offer their services to you in order to take the heavy useless burden of voting off your dislocated and under-chiropracted American backs once and for all.

To put it in terms you can understand:

Isn't it time you finally got rid of that tired, worn-out old electorate of yours. you know, the one that doesn't know its proverbial ass from the proverbial hole in the ground?

Well, now you can!!

That's right! We now offer one-stop shopping for all your electoral out-sourcing needs.

So NOW, with the help of our highly-trained associates, and our automated electoral support package, you can take your whole stupid ignorant motherfucking worthless piece of shit American electorate and toss 'em in the shit can of history where they belong, without sacrificing one stinking iota of the precious freedom that your democratic capitalist fanatical right-wing Christian form of government provides.

We can take the ENTIRE tedious burden of voting and elections totally off your backs, freeing you to do the far more important things that your religious deities have chosen you Americans to do -- like eating repulsive bugs, and watching other people eating repulsive bugs, and degrading talentless people who've bought into the possessive delusion you call "the dream", and going "wild" enough to flash boobs and butt cracks for the camera.... (oh you Americans, you sure do know how to make the most of being the richest, most powerful, most successful and most consistently wonderful fabulous and awesome nation ever to exist in the history of the world, as well as the best dancer (and could blow your head clean off)).

And not only that, but we can provide you with far far better electoral results than any election you've ever had in your entire national history except maybe the first. Certainly far better than you'll get from that crapped out old electorate you've got now.

How can we do this? Simple. we have gathered together a dedicated workforce of hundreds of thousands of impoverished but literate 3rd, 4th and 5th world peasants who have never known democracy never voted before in their lives and have always assumed their fates lay in the self-serving hands of elite wealthy aristocratic others beyond their control.

These people are therefore bursting at the seams over the opportunity to vote, to have their voices heard, regardless of who or what for and even if it's not for their OWN elections.

These people are utterly thrilled at the thought of being paid to listen to the ignorant boring dishonest speeches and vapid promises of your slimeball candidates, and will even be enthusiastic enough to do some of the research necessary (we provide them with powerful computers and internet connections) to learn which of your lying worthless piece of shit candidates is lying better and stronger than the other, and who is better at being a scumbag.

Then, when your election day finally comes around, they will vote -- all 100% of them -- for the candidate who they, after long and very serious and careful study and long deliberation, have deemed the best man to be president of you utter buncha boring vapid ignorant worthless piece of shit American people.

Sincerely,

N_______, president
For A Better Electorate, Ltd.,
Metro Manila

PS. You may be wondering how we construct a shadow representation of your own electorate that will be statistically accurate.

To do this we use advanced computer models of populations and their desires which have been designed by one of the top population desire consulting firms in the world, Joeseph Goebbels and Associates.

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They head towards the sound of the water at the docks. On either side of the wide deserted darkened street, tiny spots of silver in the huge roll-up warehouse doors capture and reflect the few rare photons and are therefore virtually the only things seen so it's like walking through a sparse field of stars towards the sound of waves.

Of course, it is so deserted and so dark, and the flat cold metal walls and doors of the fucking warehouses shut tight, offer no recourse or hope, and so anyone could do absolutely anything he wanted or didn't want here and no one would know, including himself. And, of course, the home-court advantage here far exceeded any advantage ever provided any home team by any court in any sport anywhere in history.

"Pretty fuckin' spooky, Adolph," Christ said to Hitler, looking slowly from side to side. "Are you sure this is really where we wanna be right now? Maybe we should have brought Ghandi along to use as a shield or bargaining chip."

"Relax, Jesus. I've got my luger in case anybody jumps out of the fucking shadows."

"Hitler, man, those fucking aren't shadows, you asshole."

The shadows moved and even Hitler cold see they were people.

"Whoooooaaaaa!" said Hitler, having seen too many Keanu Reeves movies, even the ones where Keanu Reeves is trying hard not to look like the kinda guy who's free enough to be honest enough in the face of unique or uniquely stupid human experience to just let it all go and be like all whoooooa!!, "Whooooa! we're walking down a dark deserted street through a sea of people we can't even see. And they're all just standing around motionless and silent and no one looks like he's even THINKING of making his move. Why isn't anyone making his move!!?"

"Don't look at me," said Christ, "I just work here."

Hitler finally got up the courage to ask one of the shadow persons who he could only dimly make out in the darkness, "How come nobody's making his move? He could score big, and anybody could get away with anything right here right now."

The guy didn't wait to answer -- like he'd heard this one before a thousand times.

"We're busy," he said. "We have bigger fish to fry and right now, we're busy frying them."

"But you're all just standing around in the dark, hardly moving. What's that about?" Christ said.

"There are all kinds of perfect masters who wanna come on our show," another only dimly moving shadow said. "We wouldn't have time for you even if we wanted to."

"That's cool said Christ, we just came down here to get away from our obligations. We wanted to go someplace where we'd be scared shitless and then look off the edge of a pier in the dark. Maybe have the rotting wood collapsing under our feet as we walked, so we're hanging halfway in water till the wharf paramedics show."

"And then we wanted to hunker down," said Hitler. "We just wanted to be flies on the wall where we've just shat up the place, and now the couple that lives there are returning home from 2 weeks in Buenos Aires -- where they've gone so his parents could meet the wealthy refined though a bit twee Americano bitch their son has just scored.

But it's 1 AM so they have to tiptoe in really quiet because some weirdo friends of their roommates and partly of theirs are sleeping on the living room sofa -- and it's only in dim light and hushed voices that they discover their place has been totally shat up and now, though they're totally fatigued and jet-lagged on their ass, before they can go to sleep they have to clean it all up -- but they have to clean it all up really really quietly and really gently cause the people who are probably responsible for shitting it all up in the first place, Hitler and Christ, are quietly sleeping (or more likely hunkered down under their blankets pretending to be sleeping beyond all return but in reality holding back, not always successfully, reams of laughing their sick world historical figures asses off) and shouldn't be disturbed."

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So, 5 years from today, even if they survive today, the people of today can no longer walk, or sit, or talk and soon thereafter, they die. Thank you for your service. This has been the world.

And though, in the final version of their days, back-projected behind them will be the future, things will be happening much too fast for anyone to notice how that back-projection really isn't the fucking future at all, but is really just what we have today, set to only slightly different music, implying what everybody already knows but everybody has to keep telling each other anyway, that you can not fully LIVE, if you have not first destroyed yourself completely, many times over.

At least, that's what they kept telling Christ and Hitler, but obviously C & H weren't listening.

"We need a new mix of advisors," Christ told Hitler in secret, with only our documentary cameras present to record their duplicity for posterity.

"Galileo has nothing more to tell us," Hitler said, subtly. And they both looked at each other and smiled and despite having lived in cultures 1900 human years and millions of light years apart, and despite having never met or spoken prior to this week, and never having read the slightest dossier on the other, and having heard not one descriptive word from anyone about the nature or character of the other, they both simultaneously knew, and knew that each other knew, that the only replacement for Galileo was Robin Lane and the Chartbusters. And simultaneous with Christ speaking the name, Altman-style, Hitler wistfully admonished whoever not to wait till tomorrow.

They returned to the conference room where all their advisors were sitting around talking quietly among themselves and collaborating on weighty philosophical tracts by candlelight, after a hard day plowing the fields -- anything, to avoid the masses who are the robots of these tribes in their extermination battles against each other.

"Galileo wants to spend more time with his family," Hitler announced, when they had everyone's attention again. "He's suggested Robin Lane and the Chartbusters as his replacement," said Christ.

Fine said Sandy Koufax, but then let's have the Drop 19s too. I mean, let's just get the fucking CURE up here and get it over with. There isn't anything THEY can't fix.

Koufax paused and calmed himself down through internal mediation. "I'm sorry," he said, "I always get a little edgy around Yom Kippur."

Christ smiled and nodded recognition. Hitler frowned, but then caught himself. "Yom Kippur, already. Shit. I'll have to go out and buy some Matzos," he said, looking around for someone who wanted to come along to the deli and help carry back the gefilte fish.

"Jesus, Hitler, Matzoth's for Passover, not Yom Kippur! Don't be such a fucking Goy!" Ghandi blurted out impatiently.

All eyes turned to him.

"Who invited YOU?" Einstein said to Ghandi, expressing pretty much the sentiment of all assembled except maybe a few members of Sunny Day Real Estate, who didn't seem to care either way.

Ghandi's assistant showed a printout of an email he'd received saying the group was in trouble and desperately needed his assistance.

"That's obviously a forgery -- but it's too hot to argue," Hitler said and he embraced Ghandi who didn't embrace him back but only, he told Hitler, because he was saving himself for all those 14-year-old girls he had to sleep with but not fuck in order to show his purity and maintain his legend.

Christ explained the story to Ghandi: OK, so there's this guy out there who's trying to exterminate the cosmos, but he's so fucking lazy that he wrote a program to do it for him and so it's out there now, searching, searching, and integrating everything it finds, and then it tries things and fucks up and tries again and refines future tries based on results. And many copies of this program are now running in parallel, hosted unwittingly on hijacked machines around the world -- so eventually they will succeed in finding a cutesy way to exterminate the universe. Our job is to find some offer we can make to this fucking lunatic to get him to stop.

"Why not just kill him," Ghandi said, "That's what I'd do. 'Specially if I caught him messin' with any o my bitches."

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"It's different when you get to know someone face to face," said Hitler. "All the group hatred melts away and you see he's just like you -- so OK, maybe he comes from a race of people that listens to shitty music and has bad haircuts, but blood and guts and sinews and bile and fear and flesh and gristle and hard throbbing cocks and mucus and smegma trump music and hair any day."

He put his arm around Christ and Christ reciprocated.

But that was just the photo op before they got down to the serious business of saving the world, saving humanity, from the greatest threat it had ever known: me.

"We both wanted a better world," Christ said to Hitler once they were alone together with their aides Einstein, Da Vinci, Galileo, Sandy Koufax, Sunny Day Real Estate, Velocity Girl, Napoleon, Tim Berners-Lee, Marvin Minsky and Kurt Schwitters.

"We just had different ways of going about it based on our different native temperaments and our differing early childhood experiences," Hitler finished Christ's thought, as he would often do with Christ and vice versa during the 2 weeks we spent living with them and their assistants and their high-tech equipment, making this documentary.

Bangladesh had fronted the millions for the state of the art conference room they were meeting in -- the 360 degree surround-vision video walls could be split into 4096 million different individual views of anything or any combination of things anywhere anytime at any scale from infra-nano to ultra-cosmic, and images could be individually arranged into any conceptual structure known to man -- like the binary branching tree structure or the uhhh, uhhhh, the uhhh, you know, all those other structures that man is always putting things into in order to pretend cognition works when we all know it's just a fucking lie -- in fact, the FIRST fucking lie.

Whatever. The point is that Hitler and Christ had all existence and all knowledge at their fingertips to aid them in figuring out how to stop the most profound threat to man and cosmos in all human history, me.

"I'm not into all this video whiz-bang technology crap," said Christ.

"Neither am I," said Hitler. "It's just a cover for man's true ignorance."

"And a side track," said Christ. "Nobody solves problems. Instead, they build a TOOL to solve the problem and then nobody uses it."

"Or they use it for the opposite of what it was intended for," said Hitler. "But let's get down to business. We may have only a few weeks before this guy figures it all out."

But for all their great and powerful hearts, they didn't realize I was in there with them as part of the crew making this documentary.

I had written a program that searched the internet and peoples' hard drives looking for an optimal way to exterminate the universe.

When it came up with an idea -- any idea -- it immediately tried to implement it -- by doing massive email bombing or devising online ad campaigns designed to either directly force the idea into physical being, or bring in people who could.

Using online commerce and online payment systems, the program was able to set up meetings and conferences all over the world on its own, and book travel for well-credentialed participants. It could rent factory space and set up and pay a work force to build complex devices it designed with off-the-shelf CAD-CAM software based on the assimilation and correlation of voluminous scientific data, facts and theory off the Princeton, MIT, and MTV websites.

And as each idea failed miserably to achieve not only its OWN ends, but ANY fucking ends whatsoever, the program modified it ever so slightly and sent it back out to try again -- even as it was generating newer, more off-the-wall, more drug-crazed psychotic ideas and implementing them each femtosecond.

As a result, I had lots of free time and so could afford to be here watching Christ and Hitler and writing this on the side, while my purpose bored effortlessly ceaselessly forward on its own, tearing a near-infinite number of paths through the sphinctral substrate of universal computation, communication and memory.

And in my position as assistant sound man I knew that, purely as a rote function of my trade, I would be unresistably mandated, sooner or later, to point an index finger to the sky above and say: "Uhhh, could you hold that thought a second, Adolph -- I've gotta change the tape."

to be continued....

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It must be because we have chosen this universe where we all know what scumbags we all are and since we are all the same person, we know what scumbags everybody else is too and so how can we not, out of the purest most righteous righteousness, want to kill them in the most brutal fashion imaginable? Not to mention loving and forgiving them unconditionally when they come to kill US, because we know what scumbags they know we are too.

See, last year, we finally had our fucking revolution, but all the revolution queens had already been hanging out here for years in advance. So what do you do when you're a revolution queen and the revolution hasn't happened yet and you're just sitting around, day after day, waiting for it to catch fire?

Well, that's what being a revolution queen is REALLY all about: getting there early and hanging out often. Being, on a fundamental level, a political, social, technological tail-gater who's more there for the party in the parking lot before the slaughter starts, than for the actual slaughter itself. Because, at this point in history, everybody already knows that the fucking revolution, when it finally fucking HAPPENS, is over in an instant and then things just get real stupid again and real ugly again, real fast.

So one day, I think it was during the foreplay of the computer revolution, or the internet revolution, or the one that came after, the no-more-physics-as-we-once-knew-it revolution, everybody was just sitting around at revolutionary ground zero-to-be, all like, yeah, shit, so when are we gonna have our damn fucking revolution already? Those pigs are keeping us down, man! The time is now! motherfuckers! And shit like that.

But that only filled up a few minutes in the late morning and the party wasn't till late at night, so what are they gonna do in the meantime?

When the revolution happens, it happens because things have finally reached the singular point where catch-22 is momentarily suspended (as is allowed under quantum physics, which is really just the codification of the infinite number of catches and the ontological OK for their temporary suspension). Until then, the revolutionary, the revolutionary wannabe, the revolution groupie, the revolution queen, the revolution collateral damage wannabe, the revolutionary innocent bystander, must all practice opting out at all levels of being -- from the enzymatic and sub-cellular, to the social and global economic.

This means re-parsing the body on a cell-by-cell basis and specifically opting out of all conditions that had been automatically (by default) opted INTO at (before) birth.

At the end of this process, by definition, all bullshit will have been opted out of and a fire wall will have been erected against all future attempts at unauthorized opt-INS. Of course it has to be done fresh each day, which is fine, since it helps fill in the time.

And then, finally, if you live in California, you start going through the deathly motions of partying at around midnight, so everybody's peaking in their sickness unto death together at about 4:45AM, when CSPAN's Washington Journal's first guest is wired up and sat down across from the host.

The sound is off and the bottom third of the screen has been covered over with duct tape so no one knows who or what the guest is or what the fuck he's talking about. The revolution groupies queens and wannabes gather round the set. "Right wing think tank academic douche," one person shouts out.

"Former right wing journalist but now writes for left-leaning online website," another says.

"Lusts after a certain student," another revolution industry good ole boy calls out, "but is, in reality, fucking a student he doesn't wanna fuck one tenth as much as he wants to fuck the student he really wants to fuck -- but what the fuck."

"And his wife knows and doesn't give a shit," a revolution switch-hitter adds, "cause she hates his guts."

"No wait," the voice of reason intervenes. "He's really just the communications director for a small, not well-known NGO that is getting a lot of play lately because of specific world events which could not have been foreseen and so everybody was taken by surprise and had to scramble, and they wound up calling this fucking guy because he was the only one anyone had in their rolodex that was close enough to the context of the situation (if not the situation itself) to hopefully not sound like a total douche. But they were wrong."

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But though all 50 of them live together in a medium-size city, still, their no-story is the only story in town.

So everybody's always talking about them and pointing them out at Wal-Marts and JC Penney's.

Soon everybody's story becomes what they're gonna do about these motherfuckers that don't HAVE a story, and who, if you pointed your .44 magnum at them and said this is the most powerful handgun in the world and could blow your head clean off, would probably just smirk back at you and say stories?!! stories?!! we don't NEED no steeenking stories!!

Whole economies emerged, centered around what to do about these people without a story, whole academic disciplines, whole industries sprang up, books were published, songs and poetry written, awards and prizes given and received, honorary degrees created, chairs endowed, and medals for outstanding achievement in pursuit of what the fuck these people without a fucking story are really fucking ABOUT, flowed like wine.

Careers were made and broken over who could say fuck these people without a fucking story the loudest or with the most feeling.

Whole new cultures evolved along with ways of acting when someone said something about these people or you saw one of them in the car in the next lane or walking down a side street in the opposite direction. And soap operas arose to organize it all.

So no one in town or even in the state the town was in or the nation the state was in had any stake in believing it when these people finally confessed to actually HAVING a story, after all. A story they claimed they'd had all along but had kept so deeply hidden for so many centuries and generations, that even its very existence was often a surprise to themselves.

"But now," their self appointed spokesman, Emperor Clothes, said, "to shut all you people the fuck up and destroy your lives and livelihoods and your culture and your economies and souls built around lies of other people who don't have a story and yet are the only story in town, we are going to reveal to you the precise details of our story, which is so powerful and beautiful a story of love and redemption and of dreams fulfilled and of eternal bliss, that you might not want to fucking listen, out of fear that it will trigger the race which, unknown to you, is now already on and being run, between your sudden unexpected death from sailing off an overpass in a recently cherried out Camaro, vs. the moment when someone accidentally rolls down her window, and the whole world is sucked back into nothingness."

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