Super-Fascism
Super-Fascism 2006-05-20 – PS3 Video Game Concept.
Super-intend-ant Wade Gilmour wakes up from his job at the gate to realise he may continue. Should he take the blue or red pill, he may not need too as it is all prescribed from here. He now has the power to dwell in the unforeseen dimensions of space-time in a mental framework unbeknownst to his own. This crippling game concept has been set upon him by the gods, the ocular time merchants of power and control to belittle his outpost as some sort of singular demand for enterprise satisfaction. Should he save more or should he save less, only the time magnets set deep inside his brain may tell. Should his lust set desire for him or should he rest in its solitude to teach them all a lesson or two. Armed only with his trusty Enterprise PDA (game gadget) and a sultry attachment to his new controller/s, he may now bring forth his new Kingdom on Earth.
Whilst munching on Doritos at the Chemical Plant, Greg began to wonder what could be happening to him, he had been honouring his shift here for many years, and the Boss was OK because you never got to see him, you just watched people in and out of the gate, telling as time passed by. He still received his cheques and the job wasn’t half bad as most people knew just to drive through and wave for sobrieties sake. It wasn’t a hard job at all. But as always, things must change to something new, to something strange. And it was with a shard of light that it began, as if piecing through the moral fabric of time itself, a light shone upon a tree just out from the kiosk Greg worked in. Interesting enough to follow or investigate no doubt. Greg got out and went to where the light was showing, it was bright and incandescent. But it seems to be an object, a pyramid in fact, refracting the light in and out of the trees branches. Greg leaned and picked it up, gazing deeply at it, looking harder for the lights source. But amazingly it seemed to be coming from nowhere.
As nowhere indeed Greg returned back to his battery cell, his favourite abode of compunction, quietly in fact wondering what he had received from yonder bush. The object had a whirring pulsating throb to it as it lay in his pocket. I was almost arousing as he lifted it from his hipline, arousing as it would soon become the carburettor of humankind, knowing to all that preparation is only one measure, for ‘threshold transudation’, more on this later. Welcome to Planet Motherfucker – Psychoholic Slag was the theme for his ongoing saga, as if a sage among the even, the crossed or unbeliever of the perpetual holocaust of a new bound Christ. He read in the paper just today that Robbie Williams would be starting his own alien love-nest cult or should I say marketing extravaganza in preparation for the mystic coming of Maya, all being ready in this modern day and age, and all being fulfilled by its prospect.
Suddenly as if hope lost its accord, his enterprise PDA began to beep, he had been emailed the new Hamann catalogue. Greg being the good-sawyer of all things swanky in life, began to wonder how the mystic pyramid stone could come to amends, it being super-mystical and all giving if not knowing of it all and such. Hmmm, very confusing indeed. He placed it on the mantle next the photocopier.
NEWS FLASH: Then they all realised it was never that clever, it was all a conspiracy to panic merchant the situation, so they set up an Anti-Christ fund that only Greg Wade could access, it was a healthy 100 million dollars sprouted for him by the new found and incredibly popular NWO (New World Order), yes the group of power merchants that actually consider their creators, the aliens or G.O.D. (Gathering Of Developers) for short. And the tortured youth of the world had something else to look forward too, as well, the MAYA conflict, spear-headed by Robbie Williams, and secretly co-opted by Greg Wade, because he felt lonely all the fucking time.
Peace and good night you pink-assed bastards.
