Friday, January 18, 2008

Not that you wanted any, but your privacy just ended


If you are Conservative you will want to know if I am biased. I will tell you I am. I know that means I worry about class warfare. And you think supporting workers in the battle is wrong. You worry that it will leave my analysis biased. I worry that Terminator-The Sara Connor Chronicles is real. I worry that the robots are going to take over the world one day. I'm not so sure it hasn't happened already. But I know one day it will, and that day scares the shit out of me.





If you pay attention to this blog, then I don't need to tell about the end of privacy. If you don't follow this blog and you were one of those people who planned on fighting battles and getting in before the war was lost, forget it. The war is lost and over.

Not that many of you actually care about privacy. Patriots and right-winged nutjobs have got nothing to hide, so they don't mind being spied on. They don't mind if Bush reads their e-mail, or taps their phones. They don't care that millions of close circuit TV cameras are following them around town. I guess people who consider themselves potential victims feel safer when they are observed by authority. I know most Republicans don't seem to mind George looking over their shoulders, but I have a question for them. What happens when it's Hillary spying on you? Will you be concerned then?

I never counted on Old Scared White People to defend privacy in the face of millions of Mexicans streaming across the border, but young people today are even worse advocates for privacy than their ultra-conservative grandparents. Generation Y'ers can't remember a time when there was privacy. And most youth today wouldn't want more privacy, even if it were available.

Worrying about privacy requires that a child be born into a culture that's at least a tiny bit circumspect. Instead our culture is one where every 15 year old girl broadcasts "SexxY" pictures of herself on MySpace. The sixties had free love, one could expose oneself and still fight for civil rights. Generation Y's lewd behavior is the younger generation's reenactment of their parents tendency to overexpose.
Young people have a right to rebel against taboos of sex and skin they find to be too closed minded. We are an uptight society that could stand to loosen its Victorian ways a bit. But flaunting your goodies on Myspace and Facebook isn't just breaking taboos, it's serving to destroy privacy rights. Gen Y'ers lack of modesty on social network sites generates tons of interest from fellow Gen Y members and older perverts, all this excitement drives commerce to corporations who's sole focus is destroying privacy rights.

The current generation has no idea what it's agreed to in the small print of all those social network websites. Facebook's idiocy aside, there are plenty more dangerous and insidious threats to our privacy than isolated web trackers and Google's omniscient search engine. ACLU types may take a sigh of relief when G.W. Bush's reign of stupidity is done. A democrat or slightly less crazy Republican is likely to win the 2008 election and relax our governments big brother operations. AT&T will certainly be disappointed, but I'm sure they will get over it. But they may find a way to keep their operations going.

If they don't, even if one company's efforts are thwarted, another one's will be championed:

Microsoft announced today that it "is patenting technology to wirelessly monitor a worker's productivity." The software will be able to monitor employees heart rates, stress levels, brain signals, and even their facial expressions.

That's right folks. Soon you won't even be able to make a face when the boss asks you to stay late. A computer will read your thoughts, facial expressions and alert your supervisor. He'll probably just have a talk with you and schedule for some time in the Nuero Re-programmer.

The working poor are not bothered by this. The poor have always been directly supervised. They never get a moment for creativity. But the lack of autonomy in their jobs keep the poor from understanding the additional layer of authority that computing power has given capital. The poor could always count on human error, or the pure inattentiveness from a supervisor that was one of their own, to catch a break. But computers don't take time off. They never miss a thing. They will scrutinize and monitor your behavior constantly.

If you don't want any rights just sit back and do nothing. Sooner than I'd like, Capital will exert complete control over all of our lives. If you don't want your every inner thought and behavior subject to observation and control you will have to fight. Start demanding privacy now. The Constitution won't help you. Bush has shown us it's just a piece of paper when there is no constituency mobilized to protect it. I promise you that Capitalism is slowly working the path to destroy your privacy. It will be good for the economy, and that means the rich will use it against you.

The new economy and the end of privacy won't be good for you. The only thing we have left to fight their plan is outrage. Public outrage stopped FaceBook. I would have suggested a strike to get their attention, but I have no faith in the working class. The poor have forgotten that without labor, wealth is not created. The rich don't care to be reminded of that fact at all. The rich prefer to distract the working poor with tales of social capital. Let us grant any argument they make as true. I don't care if all of their points are true. If we stop working the rich will remember our power, but if we don't understand the new challenges the Surveillance Society has in store for us; the constant surveillance and monitoring of our behavior. Under such a threat any act of rebellion will be trampled and extinguished, and then we will be truly doomed to the End Of Privacy.

Saturday, January 05, 2008

Britney Spears is a white trash faliure at being a Mom, so no one minds if she tries to kill herself,at least Larry King can blog how he hates Dr Phil


I hear voices. Baby jesus talks to me through a toaster oven. He tells me I need to check on some things at my Laotian mini-wife turkey baster impregnation farm. The morning is cold, grey and overcast. A Black helicopter's spotlight breaks through the clouds, peering down at me.

George Bush's secret "fascists escape route" is located next door to me in the remote Paraguayan jungle. I know this because of the black helicopters that constantly encircle my farm and because I am on good terms with, Steve Nash' s wife, the world's third most famous Paraguayan.

At one of the pump stations I meet up with Mini-wife #434. She has on stiletto heals that add 3 inches in height. That brings her to a full 2 foot 3. She's proud of her heels and she stands provocatively as to show them off. If she were green you'd swear to god she was leprechaun.

"Ohh, Larry, me love you long time." Asian mini wife number 434 coos.
"Gamble...gamble." My tiny Laotian mini-wife barks at me. She points to a pumping station. "Ok. Ok, I'll get somebody on that."

It's early. And I need my breakfast. But the goddamn toaster won't shut up. He keeps shouting something about a gurney and being hauled off. And how K-fed is the Antichrist. And Britney isn't crazy. But I've seen that girls pussy and it looks like somebody gave it a good whack with a meat tenderizer. I tell the toaster oven that I think Britney's found god, just like that Baptist woman from Houston who killed all her kids in the bathtub. I tell the toaster to mind his own business, that frankly having to deal with Doctor Phil trying to bust you out of rehab is as close as any of us ever wants to get to the apocalypse. That one of the authors of the "Left Behind" rapture books thought about adding the exact same scene in a chapter of his book, but it was deemed too frightening by his publishers. "I can imagine the unending torment of a lake pit of fire in hell," I tell the toaster, "but I can't imagine the pain of having to listen to 15 straight minutes of Dr. Phil's southern bullshit."

Larry King blogs every Thursday night at 6 P.M., when he's not too drunk he posts. Visit Larry King Blogs here and be his best friend forever on the MySpace. 776 Laotian Mini-Wives crave Larry's cock and don't know why.

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

It's only 663 years before the conquest, I don't know how you can celebrate New Years.


There are a lot of things I don't understand in the world. Like why American Movie Classics is playing all five Planet of the Apes movies as part of a New Years Day marathon. I have no idea what talking monkeys has to do with celebrating new years, but I never graduated from high school so you'll have to excuse me.

I love the Ape movies, but one thing I never understood about them was why those movies always tried to make you feel sorry for the monkeys. I mean the monkeys in that movie are out to kill people. It's like Ingred Newkirk from PETA made the world's greatest SCI-FI movie just to confuse my ass. Somehow that crazy PETA bitch got a bunch of homicidal talking monkeys to seem sympathetic. "Humans kill humans, but apes don't kill apes." That bit of wisdom is mouthed by Cornelius in Escape from the Planet of the Apes. Silly monkey. Humans are Apes.

I know there are things I don't understand besides all the logical inconsistencies in the Planet of the Apes movies, but I am not allowed to write about Jamie-Lynn Spears. Of course I refused to write about obvious things like britney spears baby sister getting knocked up before. I don't like writing about things as they happen. I don't want a bunch of bandwagon fans reading this blog. All ready to many people I know read this blog now. SO I have to censor everything I say. Can you imagine if corporate read my blog? Or what if any of my prospective employers look me up on MySpace? So as long as I have to censor my thoughts to the fifth order this is what you get.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

I'm not myself today

I'm not myself today
which is why I sent those drunk
Christmas cards out

I swallow buckets of
energy pills
disguised
as
caffeinated mints

people must think my breath stinks
which it probably does

Brushing the teeth is
a crime. I hope all you bourgeoisie do it.
I'm gonna let 16 year old's hug me all day at work let them squeeeze me
i feel their tiny tits
their little nubs and hard nipples
but i don't get excited

I write you perverse limericks
and I take the bus
to a psychiatrist who promises to let me drive again

If I can just give him a hundred and 20 dollars

"do you have any openings?" I ask the receptionist
and just for me -
she finds an opening

we know how you DUI guys want to get your license back

"can you come tomorrow?" she asks.
How about 12:30 or 1:30 or 2:30 or 3:30
Scott has to leave by 5 today
but normally we are open till 7

"You seem so busy" I remark
but she takes no offense
and writes my name down in her book

I plan my trip on google maps
and i'm warned the bus will cost me $3.75
Like i don't no anything about all day bus passes
what sucker ?? pays 3.75 ??
when he can get the all day pass for
3.50?

i know they try and keep a good man down,
so what will they do with me? but i'll pay the shrink
and then i'll lie
And promise not to drink again

but the first day
i get back behind the wheel
i'll run your ass over
chugging a bottle
of wild turkey down

tossing empty bottles
at homeless bums
and bike riders
and walkers
all the scum who can't drive

cuz there ain't nothin'
worse than
walking the streets
in this flat city

Sunday, December 09, 2007

My name is Sarah Beth and I write this blog


I stopped posting on this site about six months ago because my roommates computer crashed. Something about me watching too much internet porn leads to viruses leads to me not getting to borrow his computer.

I'd like to blame this blogs lack of viewership on my lack of posting, or the fact that I don't use spellcheck. But I don't think those things have anything to do with my 6 blog authority on Technocrati.

The simple fact is this blog would be huge if it was written by a girl and not by a middle aged pervert. If I had pics on my sidebar of me as a hot 17 year old girl in a bikini, or as some sexy geek girl then the public would eat up my shit on a stick. I have the dirty sense of humor you love to hate because I think date rape is funny. But you wouldn't be worried if a girl told you date rape if funny. You'd spit your coffee latte out of you palm pilot holding iphone calling hand. Then you'd remind me that date rape jokes aren't funny unless you eat the girl afterwards. "You should eat what you kill." You'd tell me. Canabalism is great. Eating baby seals is great. Nothing tastes better than a baby seal sandwhich eaten on a private jet plane, but date rape jokes from 30 year old white guys is creepy.

If I really was Sarah Beth all the content you find objectionable would be magically smoothed over by feminine coyishness. So if it helps, think of me like my mother does, as Sarah Beth. My mom used to dress me in little girl skirts until I was 13, so I still feel a little confused about my sexuality. Mommie always told me how disappointed she was that I was born a boy. At my birth mom asked the doctor to be a little iffy with the circumcision. I think my mom's request confused the doctor, so instead of nipping the mushroom off, the doctor just took a bit off the the top. My penis is as confused as the rest of me, half circumcised, half-not. I guess what I am saying is you need to see what's left of my foreskin.

My name is Sarah Beth, and I write this blog.

Thursday, December 06, 2007

Kant attack ad

The big news of the week was that Britnet Spears has a baby bump again. Let's just hope K-fed is the dad and Britney is actually pregnant. Just so Britney can't use the "quit calling me fat" headline that Party of 5 star jennifer Love Hewitt used to steal away Brit Brit's thunder.

Jenn, you are fat, and it couldn't have happened to a nicer girl. You seem Sweet, and kinda smart. And at one time you were the hottest thing going. But you've got issues. Girl issues. You just want to eat chocolate, be in a relationship, and feel all tingly inside all the time from tiny happy leprechauns dancing in your tummy. But those aren't leprechauns, jenny, those are tiny aborted fetuses that your boyfriend forgot to vacu-suck out of you after he fed you all those morning after pills. I'm sorry. I truly am.

Now watch an attack ad by Imanuel Kant vs. Nietzsche

Saturday, December 01, 2007

Today's Bukowski

Here's why you gotta love him!