Anonymous Artichoke: Been thinking a lot about happiness as a commodity…

Ebenezer Spooge: IT'S LITERALLY ON MY MIND 24-7. I can't eat; I can't sleep; I haven't had any vaccinations; I think I have rabies. I'm hydrophobic now.

Anonymous Artichoke: Hydrophobic?

Ebenezer Spooge: Yeah, ‘cause I have rabies.

Anonymous Artichoke: Checks out.

Ebenezer Spooge: But that’s a problem for another time. Right now, I’m thinking about how you have to pay money to obtain Mighty DinosaursTM stickers. Do you know how fucked up that is? 

Anonymous Artichoke: The commodification of Mighty DinosaursTM is tragic. All there is to do that’s seen as fun is through consuming materials.

Ebenezer Spooge: [eats chair]

Anonymous Artichoke: Did you enjoy that?

Ebenezer Spooge: I didn’t enjoy buying it. You know, communities used to work together to grow their own chairs. They put so much fucking cornstarch in chairs these days, they’re basically inedible.

Anonymous Artichoke: And after people are done shopping all there is to do is to go to some venue– club, bar or otherwise– where you have to pay money just to exist while getting so drunk that you forget everything.

Ebenezer Spooge: They put up a fence around the Christmas Village. You couldn’t even look at it without paying! The real Santa Claus would definitely do that, because his whole operation is based on slave labor, but I thought mall Santas understood the plight of the working class.

Anonymous Artichoke: What has this world come to.

Ebenezer Spooge: Haha. Cųm.

Ebenezer Spooge: That’s another thing. The idea of romance is so profitable, we’re made to believe that being in a romantic relationship is the only way for a person to be happy. The media makes a lot of money selling us that idea; then, once we’ve paid for Tinder Prime and finally found someone who can perform the idea of romance we’re fed, we’re supposed to shell out to buy them gifts every holiday. The more expensive the gift, the bigger the expression of love. It’s fucked. 

Anonymous Artichoke: Garnishing your love with labor exploitation diamonds. 

Ebenezer Spooge: Yeah, and then your parents get divorced and it’s like, “Well, guess it wasn’t a blood diamond.” That lab-grown shit won’t solidify a soul bond.

Anonymous Artichoke: And then when you’re all fucked up they make you pay an arm and a leg for counseling. The only counseling and grief support structures they let exist are the ones you have to pay for.

Ebenezer Spooge: I just realized they probably named him Daddy Warbucks because he was a war profiteer. But yeah, they separate people from friends and communities, make them think their romantic partner is the only person you should rely on for emotional support, and then when you lose them (or I guess when something else sad happens, I wouldn’t know, I’ve never been sad), the only place to turn to is licensed professional. And everyone knows “licensed professional” is just a fancy word for “cop.”

Anonymous Artichoke: Why do they call him ‘Daddy?’

Ebenezer Spooge: You know why.

Anonymous Artichoke: Also total tangent but your significant other is statistically the most likely person to do harm to you. More than the strangers and so-called criminals that we are led to fear.

Ebenezer Spooge: But if I don’t cite safety concerns, how can I complain about the people living outside (who I don’t like because it reminds me sadness, an emotion I never feel, exists)?

Anonymous Artichoke: Just go to Earls on The AveTM. That’ll wipe away that pesky sadness.

Ebenezer Spooge: Can I also use alcohol to help me loosen up around people who I fear will judge me because our capitalism-mirroring social structures are built around relative currencies of “cool” and “cringe,” making it socially profitable to make fun of others?

Anonymous Artichoke: Why else would anyone drink?

Later That Night

Anonymous Artichoke: IOHSG THaiohtoa, Was guogrh Fun I aakm so Druhnjk Riphgnwret Nowio9.

Ebenezer Spooge: Ohrmygod dude. Shood I jump in2 this pool from 6 storeez up.

Anonymous Artichoke: Beht u whonht! Doij it!

Ebenezer Spooge: AaAAAAAAAAAAHHHHhhhhhhhhh I think my nek is brokin. Might be the rabiees tho

Anonymous Artichoke: SHEETT URH HydrafOBIK

Ebenezer Spooge: The hospitle wont charge me 2 fix this rite?