The Eyeball Pool

 I was reading an article about a burning issue of grave importance and just for a moment I became completely delusional and began fantasizing about sharing the piece on social media so more people could see it. This was a brief few seconds and I quickly re-entered the world of reality, where the only information that gets mass eyeballs is anything that is such a lie that one glance at it convinces you that you’ve lost your mind. Take a moment to imagine a large swimming pool full of eyeballs. As one, they moistly swivel to look at you.

Just yesterday I was getting my hair cut and a bloke in the joint said that The Waterboy, written by and starring Adam Sandler, is the best comedy movie. As one, eyeballs swivelled towards this amazing opinionista and as one those eyeballs tried to roll back into our skulls to escape this horrible reality. Why do people like things that aren’t good? Under a capitalist system of oppression it’s a question worth asking. Cockheads and yes, even fuckheads, have long said that if consumers are consuming dog shit they must really like it. And you can argue that people like Adam Sandler’s movies, but you’ll be talking to the back of my head, because I’m going home to watch Michael Mann’s 1995 crime masterpiece, Heat.


Cockheads and fuckheads have loved telling us that consumers love dogshit, and sure, one guy at a barber’s loves Adam Sandler, but he’s That Guy. I don’t base my vibe on what people are really into on what That Guy reckons. I also don’t base my ideas about what’s good on what all the smartarses whose brains have been rotted out by privately owned social media have to say either. That Guy at least has the self respect to have his very own terrible opinion. I’m not about to tell him the Weird Al Yankovic movie is the best comedy fillum, for I respect his isness, his selfhood. Okay, “respect” is stretching it, but the cockheads and fuckheads of social media, the worst pool of eyeballs ever, have no idea what’s good and I want to watch That Guy clubbing these baby seals to the ground, defenceless, because they are unable to look up from their phones. 


The eyeball pool always get everything wrong. I’m back on twitter by some fluke now, and it’s my old account, and one of the beauties is that account doesn’t follow all the Australian jackoffs who I mistakenly believed might be interesting people. Cockheads and fuckheads love to say “Let people enjoy things” but I say I don’t want to hear about your fucking hobbies and past-times

and sports and what you watch and who’s your favorite and who you have a crush on because I’m not in high school, I’m in hell, surrounded by dumb cunts, and all I want to hear is that you’re coming to the Trans Day of Visibilty rally on Friday, or at least give me something that’s actually fucking information. For fucks sake.


Oh for double fucks sake! I’ve got Metallica’s Master of Puppets playing on Spotify and right after it wraps up, Guns’n’Roses Mr Brownstone starts playing. I ask you, is that even slightly appropriate? Where’s the thematic continuity? I’m going to execute the manager.     


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