All of you, gazing into the effulgent, blinding glory-screen with the veil o’er your loins and heart and even though this god is veiled himself, again and again, he streameth his digital image, triggers and phrasal verbs so that you shall be, albeit temporarily, veiled from your own perishment!

And, yea, the chicken fingers hath grown cold.

Lies and judgement shall meet; treachery and enslavement distilled into multilayered transmissions shall kiss your gobs full of nuggets. And all will be a pixelated cakewalk of ignited faces shewn by burning gas pumps and monstrous bigotries.

But, whosoever says to his brah, ‘Don’t buy the merchandise!’ will be given a quick and scurvy sentence. The air shall weigh heavily and brownish with radiation and compelling embedded messages which reverberate in his lungs, his tinkler, his coconut, his courtroom. Verily shall he quicken to the exit which is only an entrance to the interior of the judge’s robes where guards and old, rich assholes alike gather neath his sordid undercarriage magnificating belched frequencies indicating said brah’s delinquencies and tracking his pathetic trials. With their word made shmeat by virtue of pink slime, brah shall be throwed into a hive-prison-mind, not to be released until he hath spent his last penny and divulged his most embarrassing CPI to those pasty faced demons in executive branches.

Thusly, shall ye be rendered. Amen.