Freedom of press is limited to those who own one.
– H.L. Mencken
Which is what is so great about blogs and the blogosphere. Got a view about something? Set up your own ‘press’ and blog it.
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God isn’t interested in technology. He knows nothing of the potential of the microchip or the silicon revolution. Look how he spends his time! Forty three species of parrot! Nipples for men! Slugs! He created slugs! They can’t hear! They can’t speak! They can’t operate machinery! I mean, are we not in the hands of a lunatic? If I were creating a world, I wouldn’t mess about with butterflies and daffodils. I would have started with lasers, eight o’clock, Day One! We consider this our duty – to defend humanity against the scourge of intolerance, violence, and fanaticism. Republicans and Democrats, Labour and Tory, Christian Democrat and Social Democrat, Gaullist and Socialist … they all have a vested interest in maximising perception of their differences: and so the illusion of choice and empowerment that underpins the whole democratic shell game is maintained. This is hardly a new phenomenon as the fascists and communists in the 1930’s and 40’s did the same thing because like today’s parties, they appealed to largely the same constituencies and the crossover of leaders, members and supporters between them was considerable. Yet like the situation today, what is striking is not how they differed but how similar they really were. Fetishizing the differences is a way of hiding the truth: you are being asked to eat a shit sandwich and the only choice on offer is the type of bread. Can it be true that Lance Armstrong is to be stripped of his title by the French authorites? Say it ain’t so, Lance I smell blood so i lie and smear chocolate lather on your bare butt after drunks lick a frantic puppy’s bitter, delicate love leg but i say he would use weak honey spray as purple breast wax & drive a smooth finger from my sausage to get juice with enormous power with a delirious boy lusting mad feet sweat through thousands of rusty and elaborate meat gardens yet easy you chant only ugly behind raw produce in their beauty ships so why not sit your shiny white apperatus and crush the tiny hairy symphony of void summer death petalness and shake your luscious tongue you repulsive mother of true peach fluff who said the milk never worshiped the pink rock as i did and my fiddle is singing to drool. |
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