Thursday, July 30, 2015

Introducing The KFC Memory Casket

By: Ben Johnson



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Fuck. You can’t even mention a gruesome, horrific corporate branding engagement thing without helping it accomplish its goal these days. You can’t even call a stupid thing stupid. The only thing you can do is try to help the second worst people, stall for time that way.

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You can’t even say anything about the food industry, specifically the chicken industry, and its crimes against man and nature, without somehow also reminding people that fried chicken is fucking delicious. That's the level of cognitive deficiency we're working with. Right now, writing this, I am craving fried chicken.

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You can’t do anything but try your best to ignore everything. Everything ever. This will not make it go away, though. This will only make it louder. Monetized advertising culture is screaming at you like a jet engine. It is a desperate, cornered animal, surging ahead in all directions with an all-consuming need to show growth to shareholders. It will break into your home while you sleep, violating the sanctity of your mind, and urge you to buy fried chicken. Its uncomprehending amygdala cannot feel shame or process consequences. Advertising is like an unstoppable disembodied sexual predator with unlimited funding and a fetish for control. If advertising had its way, it would strap you to a chair in a basement and torture you until you begged it to force feed you hormone-injected blood chicken. It would get off on this.

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If you do anything involving Instagram at the request of a chicken company, you are a fucking moron. You are taking a picture of yourself for the express purpose of having that picture spit out of a chicken bucket that only exists to capture your personal data and use it to sell fried chicken to young people.

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You could die and it wouldn’t matter. The world has over 7 billion people in it. That is probably too many people. Current world population growth is not sustainable. One way or another, billions of us are probably going to die in the next couple hundred years. We’ll starve. We’ll go thirsty. An out of control environment will swallow us whole, the seas rising up to drown us, storms unchecked by the regulatory effects of a healthy biosphere will wipe us off the planet’s surface. It’ll get bad. We, the industrialized capitalist nations of the world, have already decided who’ll be getting the worst of it, and they are poor people in other places far away, but there are a lot more of them than there are of us, and we should fear the rise of their desperation, especially since it is righteous and justified.

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We invented the photo-printing chicken bucket.

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The photo-printing chicken bucket is called a "Memory Bucket."

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One day we'll all be in the Memory Bucket. Our whole species. We will have come and gone without meaning. There may come a time in the distant future when archaeologists of another species discover our ancient, poisoned wreckage, and they will find us amusing and primitive, and as they piece together our story and gradually figure out what happened to us, they will not be able to believe how stupid we were. They will see that we knew what we were doing wrong and knew what had to be done, and didn't do it because we couldn't agree to do it. It is tempting to project that we'd seem tragic to this future species, but this future species would likely not have the same emotions we have, or else they'd be as doomed as we are. They would probably not be able to comprehend tragedy. We would probably drive them crazy, and they would determine that being driven crazy is not helping them, and they would agree to gather and incinerate all of our garbage, and thus we will be destroyed a second time. And we'll deserve that too.

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We deserve to burn in hell.

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MMMMMMMM

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