M’eye So S’eye itty (Pronounced) Mike Kay

The pulse of exuberance surrounds you. You feel the excitement like a vibration running completely through your body. The eagerness seizes you, and you place your hands on the back of the person in front of you, psychically delivering them a gentle push.

Everyone is moving to the entrance. They seem to shuffle-all too slowly you think. The hallway before the big double doors welcomes you. Smiling giddily, your eyes take in the posters on the walls…wow! It looks like Shirley Maclaine on that one, complete with a huge quartz crystal and a whiskey sour. And over there was Pilot washing his hands and turning Jesus over to the Jews who killed him. And over there, a big one, of Marx, below his oversized head an extremely long odometer, only instead of miles or kilometers, it was the death toll from communism. The wheels were spinning wildly as the numbers soared upwards.

You laughed in delight over these icons of your society. This is going to be sooo goood!

Through the doors, the crowd split around a towering sculpture, obviously a Valkyrie, her strong African features and ebony coloured skin screaming social justice! Laughingly, you just make it to your seat as the lights dim.

Standing on stage in a stark spotlight, a portly man bows, clad in a stovepipe hat and long red coat. He spreads his arms in a welcoming gesture.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are pleased to bring you our first speaker. He is the top dog in a dog eat dog world he helped to propagate! The prize fighter who never lifted more than a bagel throughout his life, the pencil necked geek who wants to kill you, the recently deceased Baron Rothschild!”

The roar of the crowd beats against your ears. No tinfoil hats or conspiracy types here! Like all good Christians you are overcome with the urge to worship that one group of people who despise you!

The Baron clears his scrawny throat. “Ahem, yes dear food sources, as you know I’m quite dead”. He raised a skinny hand to quiet the roar of the crowd. “I have to express my disappointment that I am no longer here to dine on you.” The crowd expelled an audible sigh in sympathy." Yet, I do have some very good news for you.”

The murmur died down to near total silence. It was almost as if the crowd was waiting to breathe.

“My colleagues and I have been working tirelessly to monetize all life. No form of life will escape our ownership. We have established a worldwide catalog, and are adding to it daily. Power itself will be traded as shares. These shares will be far too expensive for you foodstuffs to afford, but in the coming worldwide enlightenment, you will be fully cared for by those who do trade the power shares. Society will be fully automated, and you will be farmed, experimented upon, herded and butchered according to the whims of we who trade the shares of power.”

The dead Baron bowed to rousing applause. Attendees wheeled up a coffin, and with a flourish and a truly impressive Bella Lugosi imitation, the Baron disappeared inside.

The spotlight returned to the stage, and the portly man in the long red coat and stovepipe hat appeared within its brilliant sphere. “Your second speaker, ladies and gentlemen, is a towering figure from history. He is the big daddy of Christianity, the maker of the reason for the season…Give it up for Emperor Constantine!”

The Emp strode onto stage nodding and gesticulating. He took a huge, energetic bow. Unlike the common idea of what a Roman looks like, he was clad in an impeccably tailored suit with a brand new pair of Gucci loafers on his feet. Corporate logos, apparently battery powered, shone like LEDs across his expensive suit. Above it all his smooth clean shaven face sported a huge smile.

“Friends, foodstuffs, countrymen-I am here to remind you of our resounding success!” Grabbing the mic, he prowled the stage. ”We began upon a small Jewish promise. From here we gained prominence upon the heaped up mangled bodies of countless Pagans and Gnostics! Through the ages our unstoppable march to supremacy has achieved a universal default status!”

His corporate logos began to strobe in many colours.

“The entire view of the world, of politics, of economics, science and schooling and television and all facets of the life of foodstuffs, as well as the global cannibals themselves, all fundamentally avow, affirm, and employ our way of thought, our view of reality. All must now pay homage to our myths, our conclusions, and our beliefs, or face marginalization, depopularity, ridicule, or complete utter disenfranchisement. My dear foodstuffs, WE HAVE WON!”

You leap to your feet with everyone else, shrieking in wild approval.

The Emp bows again, a walking billboard of lit up corporate logos. You have a slight tear in your eye as he exits the stage, welcomed warmly by Abraham and Mohammed before the curtain closed.

The portly man was back in the spotlight. His stovepipe hat threw his face in shadow, and his long red coat shone in the brilliant light. “Our next speaker is one you would love to rub elbows with. He is known for dissecting living dogs, who howled in unbelievable agony as he sliced them into bacon. He is the emperor of the enlightenment, the mathematical magician himself. Please welcome Descartes!”

The lean figure that plodded on stage evoked an involuntary gasp from you. The spotlight could not quite encompass what to all appearances was a gargantuan head on stilts. You simply couldn’t tell if this was a huge mask, or some abortive distortion. The effect was truly disorienting, and you heard the entire audience react with a similar sense of unrest.

“I think therefore I Am!” the giant head roared in a mechanical sounding voice.

With that you came back to your senses, feeling slightly guilty for judging the giant head on appearances alone. After all, you prided yourself on not being racist, or intolerant, or an enemy of diversity. You managed a smile at the tiny thin arms making an inclusive gesture.

“My dear sources of food…With your consent, which you so freely gave, we have built well upon the hopes of the Baron, and the foundation brought to us by the Emp. Foodstuffs around the world no longer think of the universe as alive, nor can you even remotely imagine sentience, outside of an uncontrollable hunger for corn chips! Because of your help, nothing in the universe can any longer be described without number. Empty formulae now train your thought, your experience, your entire method of dealing with your world. You now look at us as the great priests who decode the universe-for you!”

Overcome with emotion you leap to your feet, thrusting your arms in the air and bowing in deep supplication to your number master. Surreptitiously you look around to see if others had joined you and with overflowing joy you noticed the huge wave of supplication from the food-err-people just like you in the stands!

The giant head on stilts made its way off stage, quickly followed by the stovepipe hat wearing portly man. He seemed to pause a moment, as if to allow the audience a moment of silence for their math master, their priest of numbers who evoked such a spiritual response.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, there are very few who can claim that an entire concept is due purely to them, but there are even fewer who can add a divisive and destructive social engineering agenda to their portfolio. Please, give a warm welcome to the man who helped destroy the American family, Mr. Maslow!”

That familiar urge to worship returned anew as onto stage strode what was by any definition a very ugly man. His expensive sweater was hidden behind a voluminous pair of pants pulled all the way up to his nipples, leaving his ankles free to exhibit their white polyester socks and black dress shoes. He bowed to the audience, and you gaped in astonishment as you noted blood red writing on the top of his bald head. You must have been imagining it, as the word was a simple four letter device that spelled “Baal”.

“You know”, he began with an annoying nasal drone.” Everyone who is anyone now uses MY hierarchy of needs. I came up with it because I’m smart, and I’m great, and I always wanted people to reduce their understanding of themselves into shallow sound bites. I know you are going to say that a large number of people have gone out of their way to prove me wrong, but who gets quoted, them or me?”

You couldn’t tell actually if he was sneering or smiling as his beady eyes surveyed the audience.

“But my greatest achievement was bringing feminism to the world.” He sniffed, “back when I was going to Tupperware parties expressly to speak to American women, I found I could manipulate them into a state of rage. I always believed that if I left those parties with those women wanting to kill me, I had succeeded”.

He seemed to shuffle closer to the edge of the stage, as if wanting to share a secret. His voice dropped low as he almost whispered. “You see the truth is that our success has actually arrived at a cost to women. We have completely changed a woman’s view of what success is. Thanks to us many of the smartest and brightest women no longer bring children into the world. They no longer pass down that heritage, and as a result, American IQ scores have plummeted! They will never know the biological completion of giving birth. In fact, for many we have even made them hate their biology, and adopt self destructive views! Our plans for the future include pairing European women with men of African or Indian origin to destroy the white genetic code. I mean, after all it is racist”.

He slinked off stage to a smattering of applause, which you thought was unjust, so you stood up and delivered a few wolf whistles to show your appreciation. Honestly, you knew just how terrible white men were. In your heart you were fully on board with academia assisted genocide against whites. You knew it was just and good.

The portly man in the long red coat and the stovepipe hat emerged back into the spotlight. He was rubbing his pudgy hands together, like someone looking forward to a gourmet dinner. For the first time he removed his hat and held it over his heart, a huge smile cracking his face.

“Ladies and Gentlemen”, he positively wheezed. “Our final speaker is a bit of a surprise. We weren’t sure he would even arrive, but arrive he did. His schedule is very full, and so he had to put several standing engagements on hold to be with us. Won’t you please join me in gratitude and respect, and welcome The Leader himself-ADOLF HITLER”.

You sat down then, stunned. The most evil man on the planet was here!?! You watched unbelieving as a dapper man in a brown fedora and trench coat strode easily on stage, his trademark mustache dark even beneath his hat. He gazed out unafraid, as if taking in the crowd.

“I have been called prophetic”. His voice was clear, direct.” But I never would have imagined that my efforts would be twisted into forced service, and justification of an insane and suicidal global order.”

Mr. Evil raised his hands. “I began as a cure to those very examples of depravity and corrosion that you now celebrate as guiding principles. Because of me, and my efforts to make one nation a home for its own people, politics in the world have unjustly assumed a messianic nature. My demise has unchained destructive ideology as a way of opposing the supposed terrors of National Socialism. This destructive ideology no longer has to prove itself worthy, it only has to rail against what I sought to accomplish.”

Beyond his conservative demeanor, you notice a certain level of animation arise from Mr. Evil. You wanted to stand back and make loud silly noises so that you didn’t have to hear him, but despite this urge you listened.

“Currently, the political situation in the world is on a collision course with reality. Would you like to know which one shall win? Clearly, politics need no longer serve people or nation. The insane promotion of failing unworkable policy has itself become virtue. Political discourse has degenerated into a state where the intentional confusion between genuine limits to human activity and baseless whims has resulted in a world where raging emotion and mindless fear are now the major determiners of thought.”

Well, what’s’ wrong with that? You find yourself chafing at Mr. Evil’s words. Everyone knew that fear kept people out of trouble, and wild unreserved emotion was better vented out than held in, fer godssake.

“In conclusion I will make a small observation. Your learned hatred and trained aversion to me has opened the door to a repudiation of what I stood for, thus allowing the full establishment of a system that is a parasite upon you. Only now are you at the beginning of understanding that your politics do not serve you, they own you.”

The crowd was in a buzz. Mr. Evil spun on his heel and was gone. The curtain fell, and cheesy A. I. generated muzak started playing. The lights went up and you suddenly had a great view of the crowd. A group of people had climbed to the top of the bleachers. In unison they shrieked HOLOCAUST and flung themselves face first to the pavement. A group of what appeared to males was screaming that they were secretly women to a group of women who yelled back that they were secretly men. From somewhere in the crowd people began chanting THREE TOWERS, TWO PLANES! DO THE MATH 911!!!

You dodged various types of flying debris, from soiled underwear to chairs. You sought cover from an enraged cultist who demanded to know your vaccination status. You ducked behind someone who looked like a Congresswoman, as a Soros lookalike wearing a Biden mask started pointing at you screaming VOTE FOR ME.

Checking quickly to the left and to the right you thought you were clear to make a break for it. Sprinting wildly for the exit your way was immediately blocked by the crash down of the huge African Valkyrie statue. A mixed race crowd glared at you, menacingly baring their teeth and closing in. Their T-shirts sported huge yellow letters, B, L, M. and ANTIFASCIST, and they had you cornered. You stepped back slowly, desperately seeking some avenue of retreat when your foot caught on something and you fell backwards. You fell and fell and fell and screaming you realized you were sitting up in bed with your hands thrown over your face.

Shaking, you climbed out of bed and made your way to the bathroom, flicking on the light and looking into the mirror. The huge dark circles under your eyes told the full story as you reached down to the sink to splash cold water on your face.

Its okay, you thought. You tested reality by pinching yourself and it hurt, yes, you were awake now. Unsteadily, you checked the time and turned on the TV and something about Trump and Biden was droning on. You went to your closet and chose some clothes and wondered if you remembered to set up the coffee. Taking several deep breaths you told yourself that nothing you had experienced was real, because it was all a dream.

Wasn’t it?

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