The Super Depravity

Greetings on this post-Bowl Monday, mortals. As Mexico sent ships of food to Cuba, to relieve the misery inflicted by the Imperium Americum, the empire’s gleeful billionaires sent men to slam their brains into one another, in the annual grand orgy of commerce. Greed, Gluttony, Wrath, Vanity, Pride, with a dash of Lust, all combined to induce in me a most melancholy Despair.

With each passing year, the military grows e’er more linked to this wretched circus. This year, the mandatory loyalty incantation featured millions of dollars of bombers & fighters, tools of death, flying o’er the stadium, as a remote feed showed a legion of soldiers occupying some imperial base in a faraway desert. A dreadfully poisonous linkage of sport & threat, an ominous boast of the pure murder-power of the nation.

Between the many millions spent to remind the world of the mad king’s blood-lust, & the billion spent to lie to ye about chat-bots & vodka, enough money to feed nearly two million school-children for an entire year¹ is burnt up—for what? Is an advertisement for the concept of mortgages—one which desecrates thy beloved Mister Rogers, no less—more important than feeding children?

My weariness with the whole depraved undertaking deepens more each time it squats upon this benighted Earth. It has mutated into a most vile event, with the bloody hands of the government reshaping its rotten flesh. While the king’s men turn the streets red, we are meant to salute & hoot to America’s glory. I can no longer bear this foul dissonance.

To vent some steam, last night, I sought a Niffle courier for some sport of mine own. They ferry the crimson-stained proceeds of the Bowl’s dark endeavors, & with the right eye, & a nimble wand, a keen hunter may ambush them en route. With grotesque goat-eyed heads, carved from deflated cheater-footballs, the unliving homunculi rarely see ye coming…

Thank ye for reading! & we humbly thank that growing clan of mortals who can & do support our works here with coin!

I shall write ye come Wednesday with news of our next episode—may there be…love in the air? ’Til then: be safe, be well, & remember, no matter what they tell ye, Kid Rock was indeed lip-synching…

Cheers,
Amœnus Franco
Wizard, Writer, Ad-Loather

1  Estimate created by combining free/reduced lunch consumption data from the FRAC, with the payment rates listed by the USDA.