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Owen Myles, Contributing Writer
While reading a recent DHS announcement revealing a new partnership with Major League Soccer, I saw something. That something was a trademark (™) following every instance of their notorious and unfortunately familiar slogan “If You See Something, Say Something™”. And yes, I have some things to say about it.
Credit should be given where credit is due, and soccer-moms and sports-fans certainly deserve recognition for their outstanding skills in counter-terrorism. With domestic PhDs in soap operas, sitcoms and mass-media, and secondary majors in Hollywood and microwave cooking, they are prepared to defend the United States. Their tools are not rusty pitchforks, but are energy bars, bottled water, and smart-phones.
Readily compartmentalized by decades of fantasy films and neuromarketing, they are loyal to no one but themselves; the ultimate suburban warriors ready to turn-in friend or foe for suspicious behavior. They’ve been briefed by experts in the field which have given them descriptions so ambiguous that none but the most mundane of government sponsored activities will go unnoticed by them. Suspicion is their rifle; they point it at each other, and anything unique will result in them saying something.
A slippery slope:
Soccer-moms will screech united in frenzy, while between hypnotic piety to steroidal champions chasing pigskin pillows, choirs of subordinate male disciples will bellow through yeasty jowls and potted bellies the war-cry of patented patriotism. No, they’ll need not even reach for the smart-phone; a mental acuity threshold censor will self-activate their propaganda helmet and wirelessly alert the smart-grid. On 24/7 standby, DHS street-lamps will spray the area with airborne aspartame nano-aerosol cannons to eliminate any threat of intelligence.
Safety came with a price; the ominous scent of corndogs, mustard, beer and sweat, and the white noise of a single standardized conversation remixed by the millions who render it through their own delusions of individuality. The games end, but the show goes on.
The child’s bedtime prayer begs of the capstone-eye that their debts remain never nearer than their great-grandchildren’s indentured servitude, and their foster-borgs pat their little heads consoling them that they did the right thing by turning-in their parents for discussing Ron Paul. They clutch their TSA teddy bears as they fall asleep, awakening to the Pentagon symphony broadcast universally throughout every residential neighborhood. Black helicopters churn the chemtrails above. Everyone smiles. A poet is Tased by a vigilante child for stopping to take a note. A mother’s helmet alerts the smart-grid as she observes a girl staring at a flower, and she is pepper-sprayed to remind her of the evils of botany. “Wonderful weather” says an agent as he passes an old man who asks in response “is it even real?” and is taken away for a lobotomy. Everyone smiles. The cleansing is happening. Victory soon. The terrorists will be destroyed. A neon sanctuary for vigilant pests, where not even a pet dare pause to ponder.
Not exactly, but stupidly close. And if it was only soccer, or even sports in general which were being targeted by DHS psy-fi propaganda, nausea would still be imminent. But it is every facet of life which Lord Napolitano & Kin seek to infest, from your cooking habits – to your inner thoughts.
I’m sure our collective curiosity is overheating the FAST machines as we wonder if we can survive the dangers of turkey-frying, shopping, and soccer.
Now don’t think a case is being made against soccer here; but how fair will the games be if our intentions are all anticipated in advance? And hold on a minute here! Anyone want to do the math on sports injury statistics? We all know a far greater number of critical injuries have occurred in sports than in the entire domestic terror theater. But maybe someone should send in the numbers to Janet & Kin? Are any writers of children’s books reading this?
Spend-thrifting our liberties to catch airline passengers who without the TSA might have set their underpants alight, preventing model airplanes from doing what jumbo jets cannot, catching anomalous Hispanic Jihad terrorists plotting matchstick and pipe mayhem, censoring the internet, selling weapons to drug lords, harassing their own employees, forever
hunting manufacturing lone wolves, and preying on our fellow citizen’s ignorance; what more will they do?
Maybe we should reevaluate our priorities. All this confusion and subterfuge for the sake of a few mangy wolves, and meanwhile our sports heroes are being maimed for our selfish entertainment. Should we protect the little that remains of our liberties and that last shred of the constitution by righteously sacrificing sports? Of course the DHS would no longer be able to play soccer – nor would we – and intelligent conversations may eventually take place. Even the rare manifestation of culture here and there may resultantly colorize our Hollywood-ravaged society, and the taboo-effect might even get people playing – rather than watching – sports in some underground communities.
Now if you’re confused, you’re probably just paying attention. Things are adding up in ways that defy numbers; special symbols are actually needed to express this strange system imposing itself before us. And to interpret them you’d need to abandon logic and common sense. But maybe that’s better reserved for things like quantum physics, and best not too-hastily implemented into the volatile structure of a still-young and learning society.
Is it possible that we need not even ban sports or civil liberties? Could we all not try a somewhat sensible approach? Considering that our lives and futures – including the futures of other generations – depend on it, it seems a perfectly reasonable proposal to apply coherent, viable, and healthy changes to our society, rather than esoteric, illogical, and recklessly tentative elements which – though experimental and new – have a certain record of failure throughout a well documented past?
We cannot be trademarked, and neither can our social conventions, minds, genes, souls, nor can our trajectories through space-time ever be. We are a dynamic and growing species which abhors the vacuum of crazed proprietors. Let us self define, and let us self defend.
The Eccentric Intelligence Agency: Helping the Ouroboros finish itself.