nine fables

16 Apr



slithy toves best

l love to eat toves, the slithey-er the better. However, despite how much I love to eat them, toves are not health food. Sometimes I ignore this unpleasant-to-me fact, and declare that I don’t eat too many toves, even though I gyre and gimble and have to pretend not to notice the slithy stains. What happens when I read a scientific article indicating that toves bioaccumulate slithy compounds? I don’t want to trust the scientists now, especially when there are $cientists paid-for by MegaTove, Inc, who say no way, and toves contain 34% more vital nutrients, and these $cientists have makeup technicians, brand-new labcoats, and lots of money for ads and publicity (sellout shills and astroturf-smurfs and come-on commontaters and propaganda pushers, all of which are cheap to hire and not actually illegal–and in corp-friendly-istan they have internet connections and speak multiple languages). I want to believe these paid-for $cientists… even when they start talking about things non-tovey. Cog dis kicks in, which is a description of the consequences of tovey love carried to extremes in an all-too-human brain. As time goes by, the size of the lies I want to believe is maximized by trained per$onne1%, all too willing to help me fill my mind with thoughts that help them profit, and they cannot care about me cough tobacco cough for that would cost MegaTove potential profits.
The Fire of Desire can burn logic and knowledge. Corppredators feed this Fire, non-ethically, non-morally, legally, and inexorably.
“There was a man who invented the art of making fire. He took his tools and went to a tribe in the north, where it was very cold, bitterly cold. He taught the people there to make fire. The people were very interested. He showed them the uses to which they could put fire – they could cook, could keep themselves warm, etc. They were so grateful that they had learned the art of making fire. But before they could express their gratitude to the man, he disappeared. He wasn’t concerned with getting their recognition or gratitude; he was concerned about their well being.
He went to another tribe, where he again began to show them the value of his invention. People were interested there, too, a bit too interested for the peace of mind of their priests, who began to notice that this man was drawing crowds and they were losing their popularity. So they decided to do away with him. They poisoned him, crucified him, put it any way you like. But they were afraid now that the people might turn against them, so they were very wise, even wily. Do you know what they did? They had a portrait of the man made and mounted it on the main altar of the temple. The instruments for making fire were placed in front of the portrait, and the people were taught to revere the portrait and to pay reverence to the instruments of fire, which they dutifully did for centuries. The veneration and the worship went on, but there was no fire.” Anthony DeMello, from his excellent and free e-book “Awareness”

fire ant A rant about ants. Ants have been around much longer than the human species (that considers itself superior to mere ants). Their tiny ant brains are good enough for an anthill/nest and a ‘culture.’ Each ant has only a few simple rules to follow, and that’s enough to make ant colonies prosperous. The queen of the ant hill do not command–each individual ant does what it thinks is best–yet the queen ant is the only female that reproduces. All the other ants live lives of constant toil so that one or a few queen ants can lay thousands of eggs. The system is set up, evolutionarily calibrated, and runs smoothly even without commands and enforcement and punishment of ‘wrongdoers.’ Each individual ant knows just a few things and does them, and the queen is no more intelligent than the workers. As long as the ants are in a familiar environment, the ant hill can survive and grow, even though the queen ant(s) does nothing but eat and lay all the eggs while the ‘exploited’ worker ants do everything else. But, if the situation changes, ants can do foolish things. For example, a patient person with a paintbrush can manipulate trails of ants into circles or unproductive loops.
Wea1%thy humans know what will benefit themselves, and those like them, and don’t really need any further organization to be frightfully effective in getting more more more. They often own and command corpor-ants, with many in-greedy-ants; and corpor-ants have many more rules than an ant colony and the large worker hum-ants have external energy sources and powerful tools. The ultra-wea1%thy sometimes buy govern-ants and inform-ants, for they cannot be ultra-wealthy without being a burden upon hum-ant-ity. Perhaps the ultra-rich are ignor-ant assist-ants of the ‘ant tea cries.’
And, there but for the lack of cur-ant-see go I, forthe love of money is the root of evil. NON $ERVIAM.

Once upon a time, a peacock stole all the other peacock’s tailfeathers and glued them onto his own butt. He now had a super-normally magnificent display, sure to impress the peahens. Like he planned, all the peahens wanted to mate with him… but all those tailfeathers were too heavy for him to move, and he couldn’t stand up, much less mate with the willing peahens. That year, very few eggs were laid and fertilized, and those only because a few of the oddest peahens had found tailless males to be acceptable sex partners.
In diversity there is strength.

Once there was a scientist who developed a bio-safe enzyme that broke down cellulose. The scientist’s minions (grad students) tried it in their food, but it failed because stomach acids destroyed the enzyme. Another scientist put the enzyme in a special capsule that would dissolve only after exposure to stomach acid, which released the enzyme in the small intestine. The grad students now reported other problems–this enzyme now turned much of the dietary fiber (cellulose) into glucose, so plant foods were more calorie-dense, and those who took the enzyme capsules were often unhappy with the quantity of their food. The lack of dietary fiber also caused problems. However, both problems were partly solved when enzyme-resistant dietary fiber was added to their food. A $cientist-spy stole the enzyme, and tried to sell it to corporations. The $cientist claims that if less food is needed, less time will be spent eating, and even the time spent pooping could be reduced. Soon, corp$€whores required their employees to eat these enzyme capsules or not come to work anymore. However, efficiency-reducing digestive upsets were common. So, ©orp-$ci€ntists added sawdust and/or water-absorbing indigestible plastics to their minions’ diet, but this caused unexpected consequences for the chief cause of problems is solutions.

“…Macbeth is the story of Hitler or Napoleon. But it is also the story of any bank clerk who forges a cheque, any official who takes a bribe, and human being in fact who grabs at some mean advantage which will make him feel a little bigger than and get a little ahead of his fellows. It centres on the illusory human belief that an action can be isolated–that you can say to yourself, ‘I will commit just this one crime which will get me where I want to be, and and after that I will turn respectable.’ But in practice, as Macbeth discovers, one crime grows out of another, even without any increase if wickedness in yourself. His first murder is committed for self-advancement; the even worse ones which follow from it are committed in self-defense.” George Orwell _Orwell, The Lost Writings_

Officer Smeg waits patiently. He’s not a very smart man, but he knows the boss is thinking about the bleeding budget, how a few extra thou could save a job–or be spread around as pay raises. Smeg is confident he will hear what he expects to hear, and he does. “Okay. Do it.”
So he does it. He gets a sheet of the important-looking official stationery he can, then gets some poor secretary to type up a letter on it. Then he puts on his best uniform and takes a trip to MEGACORP. He hands the receptionist the letter, and tells her it’s so very important, and eventually one of MR MEGA’s corp-drones reads a poorly worded and vaguely suggestive letter asking how much it would cost to find out if there are any meth users in their collected blood samples? MR MEGA may want the dumbass local cop outta the building–but dumbass local cop knows he is likely to get what he wants, and his letter will go in the shredder.
Smeg is happy. He gets names, and a foot in the door for more. Maybe he’ll try fishing for heroin users next time. Or a young-un who he just knows takes something illegal and some dumb [deleted] lab tech won’t tell him what it is but that hot chick is wanted by Smeg for non-smegmification in his Smeg-dom.
MR MEGA is happy. There is a steady income stream that didn’t exist before, for Smeg’s police farce will become addicted to impounded income and will cause no trouble. MR MEGA may ask for a personal share of the confiscated money (‘paid informally’) (‘under the table’) (‘off the books’) (‘dammit Smeg, IN CASH, but more than this miniscule little present you brought me today!!1!11). Perhaps he’ll sell the names and data to other whoreporations for their profits-over-people purposes. Or maybe not. But he does have a ‘duty to the stockholders’ to grab every coin he can that should cost less than a coin to grab), and and perhaps neither he nor the stock/stake/shareholders live near the Smeg or even the country infested with the Smeg. Or near the victims. Hopefully. But the owners are sure that their wealth protects them from all that smells of Smeg.
Someday, Smeg will tell the judge that he got a phone call, or that he smelled an odor, or that the official hightech hippie-detester is an amazing device, accurate seventeen times out of seventeen trials, and that tests proved that the suspect(s) had THC in the blood samples ‘taken at the station’ or once blotted off the fender of a County cruiser.
If you lose, you lose, Smeg always says.

Once, it3oMW, there was a misguided individual who took pictures of a lab’s monkeys used in research. The monkeys were living in filthy cages and were filthy themselves. The individual published those pictures. However, the research lab found out that this misguided individual was once hired to clean the monkey cages and was quickly fired from his job for incompetence. This individual was willing to abuse the lab’s research monkeys to get pictures to use to stop the mistreatment of such animals. This individual was willing to become what he hated to defeat his ‘enemies.’

Dunce upon a time, Vlad the mad ad-man was a sad man. His ads were bad, but not enough to chase 7\/ viewers away from their sets (usually). Since Vlad worked cheap, and his ads were short, and they didn’t actually hurt sales, the 7\/ ran a few of Vlad’s bad ads. Some viewers saw them again and again until they could recite every nearly-incomprehensable line of Vlag’s bag ags. Wlag produced more brad rads, and the 7\/ played a few of those too, but VladCorpse still wasn’t very profitable. So Vlad paid some poor people to hype his ads, and called them ‘publicists.’ He paid other poor people to disrupt a few internet forums where the ‘commentariot’ had claimed to have figured out ‘Vwads bad pwan’ and were talking about matters that Vlad couldn’t/wouldn’t understand but made him squirm. Then Vlag’s staff had to pay more destitute people to post irrelevancies and trivialities into the ‘comments’ section of certain websites, because the website admin would delete obvious paid-for troll comments. The expenses were minimal, but Vladcorpse was about to go bankrupt anyway. Exactly the day that Vlad decided to close up his corpse forever, he was visited by a governbent reprehensitive that wanted elebenty billion more ads, and would pay cash, and they’d also take over the ‘viral’ propaganda cannedpain to popularize Mad Vlad tha Ad Man and his cleber waze wif wordturds. They would even take over Vladcorpse’s ‘internet policing’ (for free!) because they claimed that Vladcorpse was doing a poor job of it. And, because the gov reprehensitive claimed he understood Vlad’s troubles and provided paper rectangles. One was whiter and wider and too tall, but the other pile was taller, darker, and had someone’s picture on every piece.
And so it goes. And sown, it grows. ‘Vlad’s’ staff learned to say things like ‘Orwellian mindbomb’ and ‘dumbed down Newspeak’ and ‘babytalk for big brother’. One day, Vlad died of a heart attack brought on by eating too much rich food over too many years. His funeral was small. His elderly relatives smirked and chuckled during the funeral orations, for each speaker used lines from Vlad’s blad ads.
And so sown, it grows and grows, aided by governbent men, spread by ©∅rp$€-created 7\/ programming, paid for by those who preferred the masses to act like asses. These occasionally psychopathic people find it easier to steal from the stupid, the ignorant, the hated, the less-than-human, but some would deny this.
Bad thoughts can damage a mind {Vladly Badly}

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