LUST, AGONY
 &
BEING THE VILLAIN

2023-11-07 ~pmjv

 There is an unwritten rule in the basements of Vatican
passed on from one dying hooded figure to the next in cryptic whispers.
It goes a little something like this:

 "The only right way is the popular way."

 You might be taken aback, wondering "the right way?"
But fear not, sons of Abraham, carpentry enthusiasts, mujahadeens with
rocket propelled grenades, your spiritual conflict is far from the topic
of the famished keepers of fiber wires.

 He clicked on the icon of Chrome, and God saw it was good.

 Plastered on billboards, chipping away from what's left of your
time in 30 second pre-roll commercials, men in striped suits and $500
haircuts giving you their word that your machines are a thing of the past.
And it was good.

 The paranoic schizophrenic would tell you of grand plans by some global
pedophilic elite to steal the internet, banish all freedoms, rape encryption,
hang proponents of open software on street lamps, but no such thing ever
comes to pass.  Instead you come face to face with self-proclaimed IT
geniuses, sponsored by the next big thing, pockets full of 'IN GOOGLE WE
TRUST' wads of cash and a mission to convert the masses to the popular.
And it works.  And it is good.

 They hate me.  They don't want their websites to be read with `curl',
they take offense, when I suggest their stolen AI `art' can be viewed
remotely without having to click on 3 popup windows.  Proclaiming that the
purpose of the internet is to share text labels me a troll and lands me
in a ban cage.

 I'm a villain, if I only suggest that instagram users read the terms and
conditions.  "Fuck you, everyone uses it".

 "IRC?  Retard, try harder next time.  Discord has animated gifs.  Everyone
 uses it."

 How discouraging, when your foe is not the faceless corporate hydra,
but swaths of people just like you and me, who have been led astray,
thinking that future is ...  good.

 No sane man would dare oppose the serpent, armed with nothing
but a broken bottle and a machine with a large crack running from the
touchpad to the audio jack.

 We sit in our gopher holes, single malt in glasses from 1800s, drinking
to our health, celebrating the fact we endured.  But I ask you: Should we
be celebrating the fact that we just might be the last to do so?

 It's a war that cannot be won.  And yet it's a war that must be fought
for as long as clocks tick away.  Spit in the general direction of the
next browser poweruser, question the ethics of modern software, let them
know the machine is a friend, not a tool to be replaced.

 Can't save them all.  But you just might save one.