Sorry for being a contrarian, but this caricature is so very gravely wrong.

Everywhere I go I see people thoroughly enjoying the slop, either by consumption or by “production”.

It fills me with disgust.

How can they pollute their minds with the ululations of a mad parrot? How can they pretend to others and to themselves that they had anything to do with its world eating shapeshifting masquarade?

I hide deeper and deeper in my own content, with ears plugged and blast door shut, but still I hear it repeat the thousandth time “Not an (X), not a (Y). An (adjective) (Z).” in its loathsome tinny old vinyl record voice.

And finally, worse still, when in bed, my mind frazzled and will depleted, waiting for gentle Nox to carry me into dreamlands yonder, with rancour overflowing, I wish I could let go and join them.