The Voice of the White House
I would be surprised to find one of my friends on Facebook, or any other social network scam. But many millions are and the FBI (and other agencies) are happy they are. It saves them so much trouble in building files.
But if I started a fake religion (are there genuine ones?) about the Easter Bunny, wrote a tome entitled “The Book of the Bunny” and carried on with a choir and orchestra, in a for-rent restaurant dining room, believe me, there would be many thrilled by the Virgin Birth of the Great Rabbit, various miracles wrought by Him and His lessons and preachments would capture the imagination.
The sort of bipedal idiot that read their daily Bunny Lesson would also be on Facebook, Twitter, Tweet, Grunt, etc. seriously engaged in trying to spangle their shriveled and pathetic lives with thrilling imaginary experiences, new friends and, best of all, attention.
I do not recall exactly how many times I have been breathlessly invited to “join all your friends” on Facebook.
On the other hand, I might do this and lard my pages with sly references to the “secret headquarters” of a powerful new organization that has been developed to spy on the agencies.
A few hints would lead the blubber-guts with the comb-overs, badges and black vests into a dense woods and, thinking the hut over there on the little hill is where the organization meets, waddle out into the very damp ground and push through the reeds to the point where they fall into the quicksand and drown, screaming for their mothers to help them.
Is this murder or pest control?
The pathetic public is slowly but surely becoming aware of the true nature of Facebook and the other information-gathering entites, and leaving them. They will find substitutes and believe it, Our Protectors will rush to set up something in that area.
And whenever you see a story in the compliant ‘New York Times’ about an “absolutely secure telephone scrambling system,” do not fall for this. The system has a trapdoor built into it that one could drive two semi-trucks through, side by side.
Swift was dead-on and so was Barnum. Continue Reading »