The Subtle Art of Mind-Control: (Part III)
The rising influence of mental garbage
You are sitting on an island. The sun hasn't risen yet. Sand is up your ass crack's ass crack. A full beard is covering your face and your clothes are clinging to you like rags. You haven't seen a soul in ages.
You peer into the dim horizon and you see a little bottle washing towards you. It's your first message of the day. You fish it out of the water and uncork it.
Aw yea. You draw another line in the sand and you smile. That latest video you uploaded of yourself doing the hamster dance challenge did the trick.
As the sun starts to rise, you can see more bottles are flowing in now. You fish them out one by one, eagerly opening them up.
Another like. A video of a cat. Some segment of Putin threatening nuclear war. A friend request. Another viral dance to learn. The newest fad diet. Photo of a friend's trip to Vegas.
While still lonely, fishing out and opening up bottles does seem to keep you temporarily occupied. The rush of opening each subsequent bottle seems to lose a little bit of luster though.
More and more wash up to your shore throughout the day. The sun is setting now. Your thumbs are callused and sore from opening up so many bottles. You collapse onto a sandy dune just as the tide picks up.
This tide unfortunately brings in with it, a new batch of bottles. They are all around you now, surrounding you from head to toe. You thumbs lie uselessly to the side of your body.
You cough and try to clear the dry phlegm encrusting your vocal cords but you don't remember the last time you actually used your voice. Please... no more.
