"Sir, he said, "we are ready to fight and die for the placebo effect."

The refugee commandante nodded. He knew that nationalism and religion couldn't exist without the placebo effect existing first and therefore it was far more noble to fight and die for the placebo effect than to fight and die for your sadistic hypocritical nation or your ignorant self-righteous "beliefs".

He and the rest of the company as well as the refugees and their sponsors the bourgeoisees all wore old disheveled clothes and lived in mud huts because physical existence is meaningless when you're pursuing a massive cosmic goal -- especially when the people who stand in your way and are ruling the world and implementing the exact opposite goal are all wearing slickly-tailored high priced duds and living on huge manicured estates with nannies up the wazoo.

The company of men, many in their late teens and early 80's, took up positions along the perimeter and objectivated their phenomenologies into the arena of intersubjectivity that stretched from the tip of their nose all the way around the surface of the planet to the rear of their anus and back out their mouth again.

"Agriculture, exploration, imperialism, capitalism, immigration, war, are really just different types of searches into the space of all possibilities of this planet at this time," they thought. "So why the fuck are we wasting our time just sitting here phenomenologizing our local neuro-transmitter imbalance into the global market infrastructure of belief?"

They recollected how they'd started out, once, as free young search bots, ranging the space of all ontology, sucking everything up, but only letting on to people about sex and sex-related conflict/murder. They kept everything else hidden because it was all just too fucking filthy for human consumption and would likely have caused everybody to start offing themselves en masse in their city streets or places of worship or crackwhore houses.

"It's not my fucking fault," Sergeant Platoon said to Corporal Regiment, "that sleazy capitalism and slimy religion got together one day and invented sanctimonious story. And that they then sold it to that loser, man. It was inevitable. Capitalism, born in the Cambrian explosion, needs competition and winning and losing. Religion, born in the brain testicle, needs good and evil and guilt. And human consciousness, born in fear, pain, confusion wants a father/hero/organizer. So when you put it all together and puree at low heat or slow speed for a microsecond, and pour it out on the table and the righteous hero wins -- then it's win-win-win for the 3-headed crack-whore capitalism-religion-man, too."

"Then I guess I've wasted my fucking time, i.e. my fucking life," said Admiral Batallion, letting a sheaf of papers waft slowly off the vessel into the wind a few tragic sheets at a time like in the Apu trilogy, "and the Algebra of Ideologies I've so painstakingly developed over the course of 30 years is no longer needed."

But despite his being hanged or hung from the yardarm for lone wolf conspiracy to spread lies to the little fishies, his equations turned out to be TRUE, and, today, today, every school child learns his first law that

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