The Matrix Chainsaw Massacre
THE PUNDIT: Hello? Burphole? Are you here, buddy? I haven’t seen you in a while? What the… Ahh, you jackass! What have you done? Wake up!
THE PUNDIT: Wake the fuck up, you stupid fucker!
THE PUNDIT: Where’s my phone? Ah, for fucks sake. 911…
BURPHOLE: Trum, Trum, Trum, Trum, Trump. Grrrrrr.
THE PUNDIT: An overdose! This man has ODd on the internet!
BURPHOLE: If you liked seeing me finger bang my Elmo doll…
THE PUNDIT: I don’t think he’s gonna make it!
BURPHOLE: Like and subscribe…
The strongest drug in the world has got to be the internet. An hallucinogenic experience similar to taking the brown acid. And we were told to not take the brown acid. Because you will fall down a hole that you may never recover from. NOT THE BROWN ACID!!
But I think the internet is worse than the brown acid! Imagine if Cirque du Soleil and the Saw guys made a mashup called, “The Matrix Chainsaw Massacre!”
“If you swallow the red chili, you will finally see the real freak show.”
Hey, little girl. Do you wanna see a plastic doll with a syringe in it’s butt? It has twenty million views… Great! Just behind this door right here. Go ahead. Don’t be shy…
…Welcome to hell!! Hahahahah! Look! Over there. That lady doesn’t just have a beard, but also a live rabbit suffocating in her rectum. Oh, the struggle! And there. See the strong man display his power by lifting a truck tire from the nails that have been driven through his penis. Your eyes must be burning! Hey, where do you think you’re going? It’s too late to leave. That door has locked behind you. Sit your ass down and witness all of the man made abominations. Over here. Look! It’s the zombies of democracy! That’s right, everybody! Humanity is finally dead! And they are eating each other! What a glorious display of cannibalism! Oh, the blood. The guts. The sheer sorrow of such a sight! Open your eyes! You wanted to see this! Don’t look away!!
I’m sorry, but I think I am lost…
I had a dream I was a woman that agreed to go to this party. I’m incredibly alone and I feel the need to connect with someone. With anyone. I arrive and I approach the door. I can feel the desperation dripping from my chin. Anxiety rises. But, still, I knock.
An unfamiliar lady of ambiguous origin answers the door. Kool & The Gang’s “Get Down On It” spills into the foyer. We stare at each other for what seems like an hour before the ambiguous lady says, “Bitch. You look thirsty!”
DAVID BOWIE: Aaron… Can you hear me, Aaron. Ground control to Aaron…
AARON: David Bowie. Wow…
DAVID BOWIE: You look a little down, Aaron. Perhaps the Starman can be of some help.
AARON: Help? For what… Um, who is that little boy hiding behind your leg?
DAVID BOWIE: That’s the ghost of Prince, Aaron. He’s a little shy. Say hello, Prince.
AARON: This is pretty fucking weird.
DAVID BOWIE: We don’t have all day, Aaron. But we want to help. Tell us how can we help you?
AARON: I don’t really need any help. I’m well aware of what I have done. And, frankly, I feel a bit embarrassed of my actions.
DAVID BOWIE: Did you let the desperation to be heard take over?
AARON: Mm Hmm.
DAVID BOWIE: And now you feel like a dirty slut in the high heels you bought at TJ Max?
AARON: Sure. That sounds good.
DAVID BOWIE: It’s OK, man. I’ve felt like a dirty slut on many occasions. A big, fucking attention whore. But I got over it.
AARON: Yeah, but you’re David Bowie. You are iconic the world over. I’m just a guy. I’m looking for just enough validation to keep me going. And I got needy. But I get it. It’s alright. I’ll continue to try and produce good content and, maybe one day, it’ll all be worth it.
DAVID BOWIE: That’s right. Stop walking the earth on your knees with your mouth open. There is not a cock in the world that will help your self worth. You simply need to be proud of yourself. All the other stuff will come.
PRINCE: And walk around like your presence is doing people a favor. Ooohh.
DAVID BOWIE: That’s right, Prince. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does he’s spot on… Well, I believe our work here is done. Good luck, Aaron. And by the way, there IS life on Mars!
AARON: Ok, guys. Thanks for coming by! I miss you, David Bowie. And you too, a little bit, Prince. But my skin color skews me towards David. I’m sure he understands.
Coming to terms with befriending the internet and asking for its attention is a little like forgiving pop culture’s historical injustices. It hasn’t been kind to the things you love. It hurts to think about all the wonderfully creative people that have been trampled under the foot of pop culture. You dismiss all it says you should care about, because it, frankly, has no taste. And it smells like an abortion. Whatever abortions smell like. I’m sure it’s not pleasant.
And this is an uphill battle. Just look at the evidence. A duo that calls themselves Wham! shoots up the popularity charts of historic culture while the poetic fury of Husker Du gets buried by the sands of time.
And Bill Hicks. An angry, philosophical funster with punchlines delivered by knuckledusters. His memory fades as the heartburn that is Larry The Cable Guy gets to live forever on digital streams and Prilosec ads.
And literature. Come on, man. Literature is dead. The only books that are profitable are The Twilight Saga and 50 Shades of grey. Tales of a sparkling, blood sucking pedophile and a rich punk with a butt plug? Get fucked. Or, I suppose I could say, “Take that, Hemingway.”
What is this? Look how many views it’s got.
(A youtube video with two adults(?) wearing diapers and peeing on themselves.)
I have to admit, I’m starting to feel some kinship with the Joker. In as much as, yeah, I’m pissed. But I kind of enjoy it. And I’m getting surgical with this shit. It’s the gun that gets me out of bed and helps put a smile on my face.
I really do think it’s a positive energy. Anger. It’s really the only thing I’ve got. I cling to it as if it were a buoy in rough seas. And there’s a storm a comin’…