[WHPR] Peak Experiences

Day 5,244, 18:26 Published in USA USA by James S. Brady Press Room

Peak Experiences

"Hey, it's back again, now get it off my skin
"It’s back again, now get it off my skin
"Make it go away"

-- Parasite -- Volbeat


Day 5245.314 (March 32, 2022)
1.) Real stories make you laugh and a moment later break your heart.
2.) Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.
3.) The real truth is nobody wants reality.
---

This edition of WHPR is edited by Pfenix Quinn, with contributions by Chuck Palahniuk, Tommy Shelby, Arthur Shelby, Polly Shelby abd Alfie Solomons.



Real stories make you laugh and a moment later break your heart.





As my good friend Luis Buñuel likes to say, age is something that doesn't matter, unless you are a cheese. As far as this reporter can tell, the Kody Administration is not a cheese. Nevertheless, it has announced that it is aging out.

Murkins are already in mourning, wondering how they will cope without their Rock of Ages. Sniffle. Let's recap the accomplishments of the Kody Era.

* The e-country didn't get invaded or wiped. Woot!

* Had some smashing good times fighting against CODE-icans and their ilk.

* A humanitarian corridor in the form of a temporary armistice allowed our Europian player-friends time to focus attention on the real life crisis in their neck of the woods.

* The Eyooessay remained in the same alliance for a whole two months! And sponsored innumerable training wars to benefit its partners and friends. And contributed wisely to battles helping our Alliance.

* Relatively speaking, the media was on fire. Even saw a few articles explaining, for the general non-Telegraph-oriented audience, what the hell was going on militarily-speaking.

* No shocking scandals erupted. Nor did any massive meltdowns occur. Just the usual piffling barrage of idiot-orientated sniping between Congress critters, which -- thankfully -- occurs far from the eyes of the poor saps wise citizens who voted them in.



So that was nice.







Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.



Luckily, the outcome of the next election has been pre-ordained. So there's no need to report on campaign issues, policy questions or political in-fighting. The WTP has hired out the USWP as a front operation. And the 1000 or so drone accounts that appeared one day, officials report, were simply a "joke". No need for wild conspiracy stories about that.

The upper crust have decided that it's time for long-time power-behind-the-throne currently playing as "Patanok" to take the throne.

So that's that. No muss, no fuss. What you sees is what you get. None of that messy "democracy" needed, thanks!



This very tidy arraangement means that your intrepid White House gardening staff has had plenty of time to prepare for regime change. To make everything neat and tidy for the incoming mob.

After all, handling the Press Report has been a part-time task for us.

The real job. Cleaning up and pruning the bushes. That's what we do full-time.

Stashing the loot in safe holes so it can be retrieved later. Burying bodies. Burning documents. Wiping out whatever remains in the liquor cabinets. Having illicit affairs behind the rose bushes with anarcho-communists. Then cheating on them with some boisterous stableboys. Heh-heh! All while on the clock, naturally. The usual stuff.


It just goes round and round, doesn't it? The usual stuff. Like, when I warned my anarcho-lover that I'd soon be breaking his heart. He just shrugged and said, "Already broken."


And then later, with the uncouth youth in the stables, told him the same thing and he shrugs too and says, "No worries. I found you. And you found me. We'll help each other."

All kinda lovely really.



And still later. Long after work. Unable to sleep. Staring up at the e-night sky. I was dishing all that dirt with an old friend. I told her, "I still believe that it's all going to change one day. That there can be an e-social revolution."

And she says to me, "In the words of my sinful Dioist mother... Intelligence is a very valuable thing, ain't it? And usually, it come far too friggalating late."



The real truth is nobody wants reality.



As my tenure as cheerleader for the official gummint-sponsored kick-ass writers guild runs out, I'll leave ya'll with a few bits to chew on.


...


There will always be an underground.


Never write anything but contemporary romances. (Although, if successful, eventually you will have to write about food.)


Nothing in the New World is real except your Mother.


In general, people do not like good thoughts. They like good looks.


The truth is simple. But the moment you try to explain it, it becomes difficult.


When you are happy you enjoy the melody, the harmony and the rhythm.
When you are sad you understand the lyrics.


In both life and e-life, two things define a player. Their patience when they have nothing. And their attitude when they have everything.




xiao, PQ

-- 40 --