Yes – Chapter Three

Baggy Trousers, dirty shirt
Pulling hair and eating dirt
God damn.
School really sucked, didn’t it?

Yes! The conspiracy really exists, and furthermore it's all your fault

Yes! The conspiracy really exists – and furthermore, it’s all your fault” is Rev Priest’s astute and provocative investigation into the conspiracy that controls our world, and your part in it, you decrepit, useless, unthinking, dull, pointless human waste of brain. You won’t understand it, but at least now you can’t say you were never told.

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The socialization you’re given at school is so important to the modern conspiracy that they make it compulsory. It is worried that people may escape the worst of their parents mind-lock because, well, some of their parents escaped the worst of it.

So the CON invented schools, to all intents and purposes a jail for your body and worse yet, for your psych-acorn. You need permission to take a fucking piss. You suffer constant conspiracy-supervision and they don’t even deny that socialization is their aim and their insistence. Socialization to what, exactly?

The conspiracy needs a future full of passive, dependent, auto-obedient dupes and paroles, so its “education” systems are designed to churn them out, mass produced to mass consume to keep the whole mass spinning.

They cram your head full of so many curriculum facts, without giving you the reason, or the capacity to think, that you learn quickly not to think. At all. You’re tested on what you can recall for just a few minutes during the exam so that you’ll believe what they say, even though half the things they teach you in school are lies! It doesn’t matter if your answers are true or reasoned or understandable, it only matters that you write the right things, collect the right gongs, that you can remember it long enough to get graded on it.

Graded so you can be called a “Success” or a “Failure”. Your weak mind, already ingrained with those con-concepts, blindly follows, strengthening the pathways or killing the potential based on the power of that “F for Failure” or that “A for Ace.” You know when you’re not doing things as they say, which they claim, for sake of argument, is right. Even when it’s obviously wrong. You don’t have to understand it, just copy it, just regurgitate it, and you’ll be “A for Amazing” not “F or fucked”.

Only the A graded are just as fucked.

Right isn’t what you figure out, it isn’t what you deduce or observe or estimate, it’s what they say it is. They aren’t there to teach you the curriculum, that’s clear. The curriculum is obviously irrelevant to any real person’s life, they’re teaching you that they are right. They’re teaching you to rely on them to tell you what to do, what to believe, what to think, when to go to the bathroom.

They teach you group-think, though they call it teamwork. Assign you into a group of your peers, dumbasses like you with no more idea than you, and then they grad you as a group. You’re responsible for them. Their results are dependent on you. So you’d better conform, they make you into a robot and you have to help or others will suffer.

They tell your carers and you that they’re worried about drugs getting into the school, and then they fill it up with retalin, kiddy-speed for the ones who need mind-altering drugs to escape the tedium of mixed-ability classes and rote-learned-lists and the unthinking robot compliance of their so-called peers.

Because all they can test is if you can copy, they have a strict curriculum set out ready for you to absorb. Nothing controversial, obscene, violent, innocence-losing or, you know, interesting can be allowed. So bland, quantitative, unchallenging, unchallenged, useless nonsense is what they teach you, what they cram your brain so full of that it can’t think, and what you have to regurgitate before you can forget it all again after the exam to make room for something useful. Or at least, a different, more fashionable kind of conspiracy crap.

They need to prepare you for a sedentary life, so they force you to do about the most unnatural thing a child can do. Sit still and be quiet for hours on end. No interaction, no questioning (or they’d think you’re dumb), no distractions. Just sit quietly like you will do in front of the brainwashing mind-tube for years on end later in life and learn to turn your brain off. Least it distracts you from their plan.

You spend years sitting through a factory-education, a battery-farm for growing minds, cooping them up so small and confined that they never learn they have wings. A factory education designed to build factory-workers and factory-shoppers and factory-thinkers buying factory-magazines written to fill factory-made-minds.

That’s just what the school authorities do to you! You’re thrust in with a far more vicious conformity-creating monster than a stern headmaster or a politically correct Parents and Teachers Association. They at least can’t punch you or torture you or give you the wedgie of your life.

If life soaks you in peer pressure, school is like a steam pressure cooker. With a broken valve. Like a distillery, concentrating the conformity, highlighting the hegemony. At school, if you’re not a stereotype you’re nothing. Nobody. What kind of music do you like? What team do you support? What’s your favourite colour, what’s the best flavour of pop-tart. Which tribe are you? The wrong answer can get you ostracized, scorned, melvined, kicked.

All the conspiracy tribes, even yours, have one thing in common: They’re defined by what they buy. What they buy to wear, what they buy to listen to, what they buy to watch, what they buy to play. What they buy to read. Badges, badges, you can’t move for stinkin’ badges, nor the implication, the certain realization, that you need some badge, or you’ll get “F for Fashion Disaster” from the bullies, or the sports-clubs, or the scouts, or the goths, or the subgenii.

Then when you get old enough, biology throws another spice into the recipe. God damned puberty!

On To Chapter Four