Flipping back to the joke, what will a Jihadi wearing Jockey think before he blows himself up?
"the next best thing to dead".
(inspired obviously from the Jockey billboards 'the next best thing to naked').
note 2: this is a test update.
[i wrote this 'article' for my college magazine TPS one night at 3. Don't ask me what i was smoking.If i remember right, i wasn't, which is even more worrying. Needless to say,i was never asked to write again.]
An adaptation of Winston Churchill’s famous line in this context is something I will deem totally appropriate, though I will not go into the context of that message, at least not at this very moment.
My object of study lay right in front of me. Crouched, trapped , yearning to break open those invisible rods of steel. Racing against the monotonous arms of the windmills to finish ahead of other technically refined super charged multi-celled beings, whilst his mind continued to dance to the tunes of reward less(waste)distractions from his weaker kind. Superficially, though it appears to be just one of the many weak and abstract vagaries of his heart, often unmistakably and undeniably, he exposes what lies deeper within. Without doubt it is nothing more than an inevitable input required to complete the system that stands for all of his kind. The organic mixes stimulate his peripheral senses to probe for another source, an evergreen supply of the same input to allow the system for replenishment - sustenance and maintenance – and load the primal program back into the source thus with each iteration facilitating it to evolve into a better variant. The deception that has crept in has led to the primary process being relegated to the background, conveniently reasoned as not being the high moral ground.
Instead, the (interfacing) and/or shedding of the natural bodice with (go-betweens)have upstaged the main functionality and replaced it by an illusive cloak. The scheming fluids in the cauldron of his cortex conjure the cloak soaked in green and strung together by artificial (rip-offs). The power of this false, though momentarily gratifying effect penetrates so deep it corrupts our resident grey cells, stigmatizing them, they take the form of mole heads. The smog emanating from this conversion replicates itself inflicting, fatally at times, its toxin amongst our species. The very same species with whom he shared a harmonious bond, functioned as a symbiotic partner, when he likened his own individual existence as a mirror of the other – when growth, decay and termination were executed in parallel. Such ‘promises in principle’ have tunneled through the mists of space and time ,catalyzed by the a fore illusions, to the present, wherein even the categorical cleansing of one’s own race is met with a nonchalant, reflexive request seeking ownership of the fruits of the cleaning act. When the very messiah of the non-atheists rendezvous with nature to signal a give and take from the system, the docile object of our study circumvents the system to please his sadistic hunger – causing abnormal terminal disturbances to its entities. This object has lost his purpose and should be exited to revamp the spirit - that stung the earliest of the bees and the birds - that drove the system to evolve into its current form. The singular objective of existence - to continue to exist – should be reasserted.
I would suggest reading between the lines, but if white space is all you see, then let Winston Churchill chide you “when I speak in front of people I consider them as a bunch of fools”. Simply adapt. The others don’t need an answer.