An exercise in non sequitur, in which misdirection is not a marketing ploy or war tactic, but simply what it's always been: a lack of focus.
THE E STREET PASTRY GANG ROLLS THEIR COMPETITION INTO A GIANT CROISSANT
You know it's a bad sign when auto-correct doesn't even let you spell 'competition,' as if someone would give up half way through writing the word and never compete with anyone again.
Communism is the largest monopoly, and because it doesn't recognize freedom outside of itself, inevitably performs bulldozing jobs on the rest of the world, with which it is incompatible in absolutely every practical, minor and major way. Eventually they'll get it right. Imagine a day, folks, when you will stop wanting expensive pastries!
NPR IS CANCELLED FOR ALL TIME BECAUSE EVERYONE ON IT SPEAKS TOO QUIETLY
Academics have become walking targets. Where they got teased in the 60's for being squares, glued to a job that youths were too existentially jaded to see the benefit of, they now get teased because they are the intellectually jaded who never got it together. How long will they shill the unflattering image that all homeschool kids are cross-eyed lispers and that kids who don't spend an unpayable 100 grand for an associate's degree will be forever doomed to a cosmic The Breakfast Club style cry session?
Does anyone know what a document looks like when printed from Word Pad? One would do best to get acquainted with such a template, for it is likely that this will soon be the only degree anyone in the free world will be able to afford.
EVERYONE'S FAVORITE INTERNATIONAL NEWS CORRESPONDENT ANNOUNCES THAT HE IS A HOLOCAUST DENIER-DENIER (HE DOESN'T BELIEVE THERE ARE HOLOCAUST DENIERS).
The greatest misstep is to mistake one moment for another. Each moment has only the thinnest relationship to that which gives it being, and even that is only a memory. Sequentiality is a game which sees vitalities always at war; a currency ever spent on the present. The identity is itself a war, ever negating its lack of a constant element by forgetting the present and relying only on pattern. Pattern is taken up as the true reality, even at the expense of its own ingredients: the outside world. Pattern is the path of rhetoric; the overlay of the personal grafted onto all phenomena. One sees in everything oneself, but never enough, and this causes suffering, but not even an honest suffering earned through failure. It is, rather, failure as experience; failure as an existential phenomenon. One is ever terrified of using up one's storehouse of energy, love and honor, as if these things existed anywhere else but in the feeble ideal whose foundation is little better than the bog of one's oh so tenacious need for affirmation. Divorced from any transcendent element, these things are all fogs and vapors.
How often does one really, truly ever acknowledge the existence of another? At every turn, we are disappointed with others for them not measuring up to our standards, when it is, in truth, only we who are disappointed with our failure to fool ourselves fully enough to cancel the revelation of our own inadequacy.