Apocalypse News Break: Lusting After Strange Gods

Here's the real truth about "Robot Sex Culture," Mildred: THE HUMAN EXPERIMENT HAS FAILED.

Don't believe me?

Exhibit A: Why is fish sex so hot right now? Good question. 

It's because Huffington Post is an abomination and the only people more gullible and naive than its readers are its writers.

It's also because this is just another blatant entrainment campaign and HuffPost-- a Deep State methane-recycler to the very marrow of its bones-- is doing what it does best and that's hyping a thing that isn't really a thing. Except among a handful of overprivileged ditzes who spend their lives chasing one fad to the next.

Read this mindless crap if you feel the need to barf. Or this mindless carp.

And you know your digital dishrag has really jumped the sex-shark when Jezebel takes the fizz out of your pseudo-pseudo-intellectual drip. Even after you've purged your editorial ranks of the dreaded Y-chromosonal stench.

Tough luck, HuffPost. Try being less stupid next time.

But hey, HuffPost readers; if you want to get in the ground floor for some hot inter-phylum intercourse you'd better get those yoga-pants in gear. Way things are looking, your BCP's might be turning all those hot fish-men into hot transfish-women.

Speaking of which, I've noticed that Twink Stalin David Hogg is running around with increasing desperation, trying to fend off the sudden-onset irrelevancy that inevitably overcomes all media It-boys and intelligence assets. Eighteen might as well be eighty with that crowd, Hoggman, and you're not nearly as dashing as you think you are. Sad, but true.

Last I heard Hogg was really punching down and going after some truly-obscure functionaries deep in the provinces. Sad, but inevitable. 

And since he's not exactly the brightest bulb in the box, Hoggman was trolling Alex Jones about the "gay frog" thing, all of which goes to show that the Deep State circles he's swam in his entire life are essentially a political cult and not anything like an intelligence community. Not anymore. Jones might be annoying as eczema but he happens to do some actual research now and then. 

Try it, Dave. You're going to have plenty of time on your hands much sooner than you know it. 

Anyone else getting the vague but gnawing suspicion this kid is a Tom DeLonge? Meaning a media asset that a lot of folks had high hopes for but really stunk up the joint once the curtain rose? 

I am.

Plus he kinda gives off an Anthony Perkins circa Fear Strikes Out vibe. Or maybe Norman Bates-era. The stare.

Now, a lot of people have asked me if I watched the new Lost in Space and I tried. I really tried, don't I get any credit for that?

There's all this space-junk out there lately and I'm sorry, but it just feels very Andropov-era Warsaw Pact to me. And not to sound like a Flatter or anything but I just don't buy it. Any of it. Fantasy is only effective for me as much as it's based in reality so I only daydreamed about girls I thought I actually had a chance with in high school. 

Mostly I didn't, but hey.

Tell you what: I'll watch Lost in Space as soon as NASA puts astronauts "back" on the Moon. Until then, I'll watch docudramas like Requiem.

But do note the programming we're seeing with these headlines- that Rolling Stone drivel implies robot sex is cool with everyone but incel patsies terrorists and this nonsense here implies that only Westboro Baptist types have a problem with someone wanting to bang the "Danger! Danger!" robot.

Plus, the original Lost in Space already produced the single-greatest double entendre in the history of television, so really. It's all downhill from those olympian heights.

And no, I still haven't seen Infinity War yet either. But since we're following this line of apocalyptic paraphilias, I should note that lusting after a hideous purple giant with democidal cravings is now a thing.

"Explore notions of gender, sexuality and power." Jesus, never mind all these volcanoes popping their tops everywhere, there's the real seventh seal for you; pseudo-academic fuckbabble. "I wasn't fapping to Sailor Moon hentai on that park bench, officer. I was exploring notions of gender, sexuality and power. It's for my master's thesis."

But hey; if you're young and single and male, there's your golden ticket, lads. Become a monster. Preferably a monster with a yearning for mass extinction. You'll be in like Jared-Syn.

OK, I've changed my mind. I've now accepted Thanos as my personal lord and savior

Please come, oh Blessed Consort of Lady Death. And whatever you do, please don't stop at half the Earth's population. The experiment has failed, oh Dreaded One. 

Spade it all under.

But indulge me for a little bit of atodaso for a moment: remember some years back when I was ranting on about that weird, old comic book artist who made everything look square and squiggly and you all wished I'd get back to Rihanna videos and the Knights Templar?

Remember when I was going on about him predicting all this crazy shizz in his comics like 9/11 and the Gulf Wars and all the rest of it?

Well, listen--popular culture, and by that I mean geek culture, is now officially Jack Kirby Culture. 

All of it, superhero, sci-fi, whatever. 

Black Panther? All Jack Kirby, from whiskers to tail. Justice League? No-brainer. Star Wars? Come on, you know that already. All this neo-cyberpunk sci-fi? Go read OMAC. 

Oh, I could just feel your eyes roll when I ranted and raved about Jack Kirby. I certainly saw my traffic and comments drop. Well, listen; it's Jack Kirby's world now and the rest of us just live in it.

I mean, Jesus: The Eternals, even.

So when we get back to this Thanos thing and "halved it in half" and all, reel me a little slack, will ya?

I know I'm stupid and crazy and all the rest of it but when I get that copppery taste of blood in my mouth I don't usually lose the trail of the scent. Word to the wise.

And as it happens maybe there are some real-life Thanos's out there. Isn't that how I Am Legend starts?

And maybe the Microbes are Ready because the Birth Bags are Ready.


OK, given Beyonce's background and politics (and the color scheme used here), did anyone stop to think that this might possibly be construed as a code (or pun) for "black mass"? Or is that actually the point?

Anyway, considering the way things are headed in California (meaning, "into face-smashing techno-eugenic-feudalism"), am I crazy to wonder about the timing of the Beyonce Mass at a Episcopal Church (of course) in San Francisco so soon after the High Priestess of Nu-America paraded around the Inland Empire dressed up kinda like Nefertiti but actually kinda more like Baphomet?

Hey, relax. I'm not saying it's anything but a big old LARP but you gotta admit it's starting to get a bit unsettling, the parallelisms here. That being said, I have been known to admire Beyonce's ample hips and thighs obvious gifts as a musician and performer, at least objectively.

Speaking of LARPS, those nutty Caledonians and their Beltane Fire Festival? Gets more and more impressive every year. As well as vaguely more intimidating. Say what you will about the Scots but they don't do half-measures. 

Amazing we're just forty years past the original Wicker Man and now you have this little picnic here that would leave Elagabulus himself panting with raw envy.

For better or for worse, the world is repaganizing faster than even the most optimistic Grand Heirophant Wolfstortle could have imagined back when he and his small circle of well-nourished RenFaire princesses were getting all skyclad and sweating to the oldies in that surprisingly-impressive stone circle that guy who everyone thought might actually be retarded but was just really quiet put together by himself on that farmland upstate he inherited from his grand aunt.

You know, the place they later found those bodies buried in. Turns out he wasn't retarded or quiet. He was a serial killer. 


You see, I was part of a generation cursed at birth thusly; "every bit of pop culture escapism you treasured as a youth will eventually be concretized, then weaponized, then turned against you." 

And having seen hardcore go from good, clean violent fun to horrible jock violence to scary Neo-Nazi violence to flat-out psychopath violence, I can't help but wonder how this LARP here will go dark. 

Probably when they start up with the mock human sacrifices. That will suddenly become not-so-mock, the way things seem to be going. Don't worry, it will be violent criminals and the like. Real, proper scumbags not even their mothers will miss.

Well, at first. 

Totally and completely changing the subject from Scotland, the general Firth of Forth coastline, witchiness and witchy things influenced by early Killing Joke, let's just jump back to that Siren--you know the shapeshifter with the weird eyes from Bristol Cove (but actually just Bristol) that just happened to show up outside the Southbank Centre one evening.

Why? Well, I just thought it was interesting the Siren was framed against those creepy, Dubai-looking building in the financial district. Future-shockalicious. You know, plus Dubai and junk.

My brain works weird.

Plus, there's the whole Southbank Centre thing just kind of reminding me that scary early bit in Requiem, the absolute must-see Netflix series our Gordon calls the best portrayal of angel magic in pop culture history. 

I concur, actually, even though the series mines that old "young female musical prodigy of Celtic extraction who may or not been subjected to elite cult mind control as a child and who may or may not now be possessed by an ancient celestial being and who also pals around with a beardy and mumbly songwriting partner who plays the Beast to her Beauty" saw. 

That old trope's been done to death, am I right? Seriously.

Even so, it's an oldie but a goodie. 

However, I was stunned to discover that that witchy antique dealer who sounds like she subsists solely on chaw and Liquid Plumbr was none other than mid-90s It Girl, Tara Fitzgerald. I must admit I had a huge dork-crush on this spunky little pixie back in the day (tall guys, short gals--look it up) since she seemed to show up in everything we were renting back in the "please be kind, remind" days.

Tara, I still adore you but lay off those Marlboros, will you? 


No, never mind "Lights." Try vaping FFS.

Don't remember Tara? Maybe you saw her in Sirens, her big breakthrough.

Or more recently in Ridley Scott's (speaking of elite cultists) Exodus: God and Kings.

She played Miriam.

Sister of Moses.

Bonus factoids: the soundtrack to Requiem features Natasha Khan AKA Bat for Lashes. Which is...yeah. I think you know already. I mean, I think you're pretty much expecting it by now.

If not, two words: "Siren Song." Or maybe, "Pearls Dream."

The only "pop song" I hear in the Requiem series is one by Billie Holiday, who by some shrieking fluke of consensual space-time was the only artist a certain dream-pop combo you may remember covered during their lifetime. It's during a scene when Beardy Sidekick-Man is driving through the scenic Welsh highways and byways.

Synchro-Turner Overdrive: Another Beardy Sidekick-Man covered Bat for Lashes with some other chaps here.

Jesus, we're coming up on the anniversary of Chris Cornell's death already. Here's the Seattle legend with his pal Jeff Buckley, getting up to some zany rockstar hijinks. 

Have no idea who the woman on the right is. Do you?

Finally, yeah, the Ring of Fire just keeps on with this slow, steady escalation routine. Not filling me with a great deal of warm and fuzzy feelings. Again; if you're in that general area- and a huge swath of humanity actually is-- take some time to make preparations. Just in case. Better to have it and not need it and so on...

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Twilight of the Immortals