Observations on science fiction, writing, life and whatnot

Finally! The Big Game is here! Sit down, be quiet, watch and don’t think

The Big Game is here!
Time to gaze in rapture at the tube – no, no wait! They’re not tubes any more, they’re flat sheets of glass hanging on the wall, oh! oh! ecstasy! They’re huge! They’re giants! Blessings from Consumer Heaven to all us good little patriots!
And all of them made in Chin–
F*&% that! It’s the Big Game!
Such good citizens we are, dutifully placing our broadening butts in the recliners made in China and sagging couches made in China and guzzle watery beer and over-sugared (and not even with real sugar!) sodas our Corporate Masters tell us to drink and chomp the chemically preserved-to-eternity potato and corn chips dipped in a concoction made from stuff never found in real cheese our Corporate Master tell us to eat, all while we pretend that anything that’s happening on those big screens Chinese laborers who have no idea what a “Super Bowl” is because they’re too busy trying to make a living on those paltry wages pertains to us.
Oh, I’m sorry, am I interfering with your viewing pleasure? Am I distracting you from the annual massacring of the national anthem by an overpaid and overexposed pop singer? Does me yammering about “labor” and “workers” dilutes your enjoyment of the latest super-spiffy ads our Corporate Masters have prepared for us? And you’re saying I’m missing the point of the “Super Bowl” being a unifying force in America? Yes, you’re probably right. There’s not another event in this country that requires so many American bottoms to be numbed for so long for one cause. Take one for the zipper–
What? Oh, sorry, being a pest again.
But you know, somewhere in China, away from the repetitive-movement mind-numbing assembly plants producing everything an American could want, there are smart people planning ways to get to and colonize the Moon. And in one of the last vestiges of the American intellectual frontier, the few smart people left in this country are finding dozens of planets in the Milky Way Galaxy, some possibly with conditions ripe for life–
Oh, uh, what? There I go again? Yes, yes, I’m sorry. Get into the spirit of the day, you say. Cut loose, enjoy life. Uh, I guess there’s something to that.
Well, OK, here goes … Go Indians!
Now what … wrong sport? Oh, I see. But … what difference does that make?

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