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Mountainous abuse of the news and the release of cognitive responsibility to those who take it upon themselves to advertise to you, the viewer, who will consume whatever is being thrust in front of you.

By this point – there isn’t a single meandering brain cell ready to create an original thought other than, perhaps, what flavor of Poptart you’ll eat this morning and how you will be able to fit it in your mouth. By this point, you’re tweeting about it and applying the appropriate filter on Instagram.
Walks through the park become acts of dodging other projectiles uncertain of their intended destination, but still headed there, torpedoes shot out of submarines, except when detonated there will be nothing left of this and the effect will have faded. The Snapchat story is ruined, walking through a toddler, and the falling of the leaves is cast out of focus.

By this point, you’re walking back to where you started, but the wind just won’t come, and you’re over it already. You’re already checking your news feed, for likes. Wondering if anyone else is going through this, on a Wednesday. By this point, someone else has run into you, and they go through the similar routine and ends up liking your post and checking your relationship status.
You walk into the party where everybody is wearing earbuds. It is completely silent except for the occasional glug, glug, chug of the name-brand beer that everyone is drinking. People trying to shout over the music, failing, but communicating what they had to share with bobs of the head and pointing to their shirts. Hawaiian themed in winter, a smug smile plastered on every head bobbing out of sync and dancing to the sound of music personalized to their listening taste.

By this point, everyone is listening to the same song, over and over again--an algorithm gone rogue, but it’s quick, and it’s easy, and they’re dancing harder, crossing their fingers that nobody notices that only one song is playing. By this point, people are vomiting outside and drinks are now free for everyone, not just women. Everybody’s earbuds are still screwed in and by this time, they’ve begun screwing in the hallway. By this point, they’ve forgotten everyone else around and have become what they forgot at the 7-11 on the way here.
People begin to realize for the first time that “They can see the things happening.” The largest game of telephone goes on for continents. Years go by and the game gets more challenging as more people jump at a chance to play, but the residual effect of more players meant toning down the challenge into four words or less, three words or less, two words or less, one word or less. “Things.”

It’s a world sensation. People are shouting it in the streets. Newspapers offer advertisements for Capitol T H I N G S. It’s the best darn thing ever. No need to apply the surgeon general’s warning on any of the packaging or containers holding ‘things,’ because after all, they reason everything might kill you. Businessmen are laughing and sit on mountains of things.

By this point, everyone has bought it.

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