breakfast money

Google would like your permission to sequence your genomes with CRISPR. Virtual currency in exchange for a full body scan. Fortnite will promise to put you in the game, and add some skins, all for your data. The analogue meat grinder churns my body into skin, my flesh into patterns, my letters to numbers.

The government is gonna patent my face and mass-produce it in droid-like fashion. I’ll be getting my rectum scanned every morning for breakfast money, as they steal our faces for capital. Maybe I won’t survive, but I’ll ensure the money will. I’m broke and getting married to the cartoon of my dreams.

Reprehensible behaviour of the third world. My son keeps robbing me for digital items. The surgeons are laughing at my brain in the other room. I only go to functions that play happy by Pharrell. Can I have your card to pay my beer? My credit card maxed out. The meaning of life is the drinks of last night. These letters of spoken wait shall break promises at dawn. 

I get all my jokes from an Indian merchant, he learned to laugh online.