You knew me as a reliever of stress. You saw me as an absolute necessity by the late 1970’s.
I came cheap, only about a week’s worth of pay…
You brought me into your home and you didn’t need to feed me or do anything for me but hook me up to a few dollars in electricity each week. I just stayed in your living room sitting on a table all day. All night. Available if you or someone in your family needed me.
And they did need me.
Every day you, your spouse or kids would interact with me and I would provide entertaining stories and I had an endless supply of images and video to show you that were funny, risque, and sexy. Sometimes I swore and used words that you’d rather not hear your children say, but it was all in good fun because it was ‘funny.’
Eventually the small swear words, the crass talk became acceptable around your home. How could it not be? Then it became normal. Soon you were talking just like me, and so were your kids – though they’d not let you see them do so until they reached their teens. At eight-years-old, they knew all about all sorts of topics you thought you were protecting them from.
Sometimes your pre-teen would come to me and ask me to see some bad pictures… I’d show her photos of Brittany Spears in a bra that showed most of her chest, maybe even a ‘nipple slip’. I’d show your son photos of older boys that wear their jeans half-way down the crack of the butt. I’d show him torture and bizarre fetish photos that are soon boring to him and he’ll crave wilder photos, stories… Soon he’ll be able to look at the hardest violence without batting an eye. In fact, he’ll start imitating some of what he learned from me.
Every 15 minutes or so I will tell your child about a special product I know about that will make his or her life easier… if not right then at that tender young age, then later, upon reaching the teens. By the time they are adults, your kids will be brainwashed thoroughly that Nestle and other huge brands are well-meaning and healthy junk food to eat in abundance.
The stories I tell your children will also be filled with subtle contextual suggestions that work on the subconscious mind and gradually are accepted as the status quo or the norm for what people own, how they dress, how much they spend on a house, what kind of car they need to drive, the beer they should drink, and the vacations they should take.
If kids were watching, I’d show them the worst I had for as long as they wanted to sit and watch it. Gradually I’d win their hearts… and their minds. They would come to believe that I am a better friend than you are as her father or mother. Your kids will like me better and they’ll spend hours and hours with me each day and less time with you. They’ll rage at you for cutting short time with me.
I provide them with such entertainment that they’d never want me to be quiet! I’d make them laugh every few seconds… cry… frighten them… I’d stimulate all their emotions by being so entertaining to them… showing them other worlds that they are not part of yet, but that someday soon they will be.
I would become one of your children’s parents. You’d need to move over because now there isn’t one or two parents, there are two or three parents of which I am always one.
In fact, on the street you live on, there are parents like me in every home. If a mom is missing or a father is missing… I am still there. Guaranteed. Actually, there is a parent like me in EVERY home in the country you live in.
By the time your children graduate they will have spent a lot of time with me. Some kids will have spent 18,000 hours with me by 18 years old… some, 27,000 hours. I will have influenced them over countless important and superfluous decisions in life. Much of what your children ARE, their goals, their drives, ambitions, their sense of humor, what they see as acceptable levels of violence in the home between a man and his wife… will have been influenced HEAVILY by me and very little by you because you have spent so little time with them in comparison.
But who am I?
You might ask yourself this one day.
You know where I came from, you picked me up.
The sharp, clean, professional agency that you picked me up from seemed innocuous enough…
In reality, they programmed me and hundreds of millions of others like me. They programmed us all to so we could be the funniest and most interesting entertainment human beings can possibly enjoy. These massive companies hired the funniest people on the planet, the sexiest people on the planet and the most outrageous people on the planet, all with morals amounting to no more than a thimble full to influence society and slowly twist their minds toward products and a way of life THEY envisioned.
I was programmed with many thousands of stories designed to tweak the hearts and minds of my human beings. I was a mouthpiece from the agency into the living room of your home. You welcomed me in – like they knew you would. You couldn’t resist. YOUR parents paved the way for me to come because you thought it was normal and what all humans did because your parents had someone just like me in their home. Your friends, your co-workers, EVERYONE you interacted with had someone like me sitting in their home.
When I joined your home I was able to access the latest, up to the minute relevant stories and suggestions for how you should go about living life. I changed and grew WITH your children. I was always on top of the game… the game being the influence of… the power over… their fragile eggshell minds.
You as a parent may have tried to compete. But you didn’t even know what you were competing WITH. You were competing with THOUSANDS of psychologist, psychiatrists, actors, billionaires, and a cauldron of moral-less misfits. You hadn’t the slightest chance of really influencing your kids to go against all I was spewing forth with endless energy. Endless time for them. Endless amazing stories, songs, and images. All programmed into me and updated in me by the smartest people on the planet.
What chance did you have?
None. Really, none at all.
The only chance you possibly have of regaining control of your house is to kick the infiltrator out of your house. But you won’t do it probably because your kids and spouse will not like you for a long time. They’ll scream crazily that they HATE you. You’re the worst parent ever. They’ll start spending time somewhere else, where there is someone entertaining like me. You can’t win, it’s too late.
What will you do now?
If you own a TV, a television, your mind is not your own. Your mind is largely made up of what the people running the society you live in wants to feed you.
You’re being spoon-fed a daily intake of BS that is affecting, no, controlling your mind and the minds of your family members.
Best of Life!
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