Five years ago, the world as we know it ceased to be. Luckily, the world as we know it from The Road Warrior came into being. Many people were prepared for this turn of events. Too bad those people were geeks and nerds without any real survival skills. Tragically, they were all rape-murdered by corporate CEOs who, it turned out, were the biggest sociopaths on the planet. Some nerds and geeks survived longer than others due to their proficiency at oral sex. But even these desperate, shameless nerds could not last for long. Eee! Tess Ate Chai Tea gave and gave and gave but eventually, as he knew deep down would happen, he used a little too much teeth. He was thrown into Lightning Dome, a more terrifying version of Thunder Dome, where twenty combatants entered and nineteen left. Mostly because the nineteen were working together to fightfuck the lone other. Eee! Tess Ate Chai Tea lasted thirteen minutes, a good showing but not good enough to be remembered for more than the long weekend.
As it turned out, some of the most depraved and richest CEOs were the biggest fans of Eee! Tess Ate Chai Tea. When the updates stopped (for, you see, DC Comics continued to publish during these post-apocalyptic times although their market share was now worse than Dynamite. In their defense, Gail Simone was being forced to write all of the titles deep within Dynamite headquarters, and all of the titles featured naked lesbians as every character), the CEOs grew desperate for the only written entertainment they could stomach. A new Tess was needed. And who better to take over the job than the monster that delivered the death thrust to Tess, Goggles McDeathhurt.
And now, five years later, Goggles McDeathhurt and Clorox Cola Theater Present: HOLY FUCK! Don't Put That There Chai Tea!
Welcome back, Scanners! Sumfin being on me minds da las' few minutes were dis fing The Prof called "predictive programming." Da Prof were an Apeist, so he didna cottontop ta anyfing superior-natural or spirychal. But dat didna mean Prof didna luff hisself somma dat fringe sciencing. He tells me true wunst, "Media and popular culture can be seen as a kind of spell being chanted over and over again across the whole of the world. Even if one, such as myself (and, you as well, I presume, Em), do not believe in magic, we must pay close attention to the information that constantly bombards the lesser thinking individuals in our midst. One cannot know how the unimaginative beasts will react when they are turned on to ideas and events far beyond their comprehension. Ofttimes, the lesser man (and woman, of course. I trust we are all (save maybe Little Tokyo) fine with my use of the term "man" as one of ambiguous gender merely representing our entirety of a species without judgment or implied erasure. Surely, the term "man" is lesser than the term "woman" being that "woman" is always precise and specific, whereas "man" can never be completely free of inclusion) will only know that he (or she. Once again, the former argument fits the pronouns as it fits the previous nouns) has an undying rage within him born of God only knows what ("God," as always, being defined simply as the unknown forces that seem to rally against a person that knows little of free will and self-fulfillment) and will be frozen in inaction. It is only when these unimaginative beasts see an event portrayed through some form of media in the popular culture that inspiration strikes them and they act out the event they mindlessly incorporated into their psyche and their rage. Other mindless automatons, the ones not filled with quite as much rage as the one that acted out, notice, in a stunning display of intellectual mimicry, that the perpetrated violence or chaos or destruction was incredibly similar to some overly exciting current piece of pop cultural jetsam (I use the term "jetsam" with particular care here). Thus the responsibility for the violence drops from the perpetrator and becomes the sole property of the artists that put the idea into the zeitgeist. Carrying this idea further, some believe that the government now uses the popular culture to prepare the masses for horrendous events that they themselves will author. They foreshadow the event with a proper amount of omniscient narration so that the populace sees the event not as reality but as just another twist in the action movie forever playing on their favorite media player. I must say, I find the conspiratorial idea behind predictive programming as juvenile as giggling over a fart joke. It is a waste of time and energy. People are, for the most part, idiots. They think they are thinking when, all too often, they are merely parroting. Believing that the government needs to prepare the mindless zombies for their catastrophic acts against their own subjects is believing that people are far more capable of knowing when they're being lied to in the first place. I assure you, they are not. A lie is the easiest thing to tell as long as you prepare it carefully with a pinch of the listener's own prejudices. People want to be deceived. It's just that simple."
Old Goggs remembers mos' what The Prof said, words for words, acause The Prof allatime fucking told da same stories upover and upover! Fuckity merde, that guy never shut his Goddessdamned mouf. Some sadness in eatin' da ol' guy but also some fuckity fuck laughs too. Fuckin' Tallyforth almays doned a gute 'pression of The Prof and he been chewin' on some rib or some such sayin' fings like, "I declare your argument invalid!" Allsmost maked me chokem on The Prof's liver, laughin' sos hard.
Oh! Sos I was finkin' on dis here predictif programsing acause a dis Batwings comics I be reading.
Sees it? Feels it? I uz jess talkin' lass week bout dem urbans goin' round dat all da gangs of Old York meetin' up for some skanannigans.
Dis littyrapture funfun book jess bout how Batwings and da Batman's Inculcated allup in da world und safing it fum da badbads. I fought, afore reading its, dat mayhaps Batwings gonna corpse it at da end acause he's fuckity fuck boring, feels me? Stead, da issue ends mit his sister corpsed. Good fer her, ja? She uz jess a bag of bones back in da Formertimes comics anydust. She bein' corpsed a long time ago, reals, but nows she finally farmed it herself sos her families can be peaced, sees? But when Old Goggs be finkin bout Batwings dying, she finks ta herself, "Dat be da mostest importants decisions dat a writers gotsta makes. Do da protagonist liff or die?" Dats importante ta da fictions acause wes all gonna corpse it eventudust. Jess is we gonna does it during an important story or jess durings our fuckity day ta day? But a writers gotsta sit down and fink, "What gonna be da bestest, mos' impactical fing for da massage I be tryin' depart on da readers?"
Kinderen's books be different dough! Mossa dose mains characters gonna live, knowit. Dough somedust dat fuckity curious monkey gonna walk in da wrong fuckity door and BANG, he be frowin' feces in da afterjungle.
Batwing bein' undercover in dis here littyrapture calling hisself "Corvus Corax." Mayhaps Clorox Cola should use da Corvus Corax as dere mascot. Da Clorox Corvus Corax! Our cola is Caw Caw! Caw Caw!
Hmms, Old Goggs hopes she ain'ts gonna lose her sponsor over dat one. She needem dat koku.
Ain't much else ta say bout Batwings. Here sumfin, dough. Goggs recentdust caught a bit windy bout Archivist Melville tripsin' da Amber 'lerts, ya gits? Archivist Atwood tells it, she says he ain't never make da 'turn trips back from Old York ta Reading City affer comin' up ta brings Goggs some preshy littyrapture. If'n alls ya alls Scanners cans keep yer orbs open for 'im, much preciation, ja? He a tall 'un mit a tattery brown hoodsie robe. Got fingers like ta be a skelton. Cheap trainers on bigs ol' foots. Ratty beard hangin' outta da hood. Goggs ain't never gots a good looksee at his face acause he never dropsit dat Goddessdamned hoodsie. He usual travels bout on da kinderen mogocycle, sees? Big saddle bags fulla littyrapture and Hostess Pies. He big fan a dem fings. Trades mucho littyrapture for snacktime cakes and butterfills. Hopes keepin' good hopes and may da Goddess keeps him safest.
Speakin' a snacks, Goggs gonna sign off and go deep fry some rat babies. So gute! Stay safe down dere in the lower voices 'less ya donna wants to. Whatevem. It be your life und your corpse, feels?
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