Return of the Klingons.

Ooh Ooh I'm a content creator,  
a vacuous vessel, a product, agitator.
Filling the space with acres of trash,
cramming your inbox with cloud based mash.

Content creating restless dis-content. Desperately Seeking eyes to behold their production of disposable myths.

“I create content”...what a bullshit job as the wonderfully astute David Graeber would say.

Filling imagined space with useless trash fill ideas and goods that reflect the trauma of our age. Get a proper job you grifting Twunt!

Empty-headed cloud surfing sharks with rotating teeth and razor-sharp smiles that they bought in Turkey. They are keyboard boring the world to death with a relentless stream of unconsciousness.

Purveyors of the bland, the empty-headed, they wear a lanyard of dullness that chains them to their tiny online world. Their inability to connect to the outside world is exorcized through their online platforms....rickety puerile structures that wobble and shake as they desperately cling on to whatever manufactured market they are trying to push today.

These Klingons lack the outer space mystique of Captain, Kirk’s arch-nemesis, but they are far more ruthless in their lust to conquer and dominate the world.

Your timeline will fill up with the bubbling sewage that shoots from their tippy tappy thumbs...the line extending into a mainline archery that has now become a part of human anatomy. Heroin is far less addictive and dangerous than this bad trip....this molester of...minds...body...space.

This Kiddy fiddling profit ratio...this bad habit has the whole world hooked and people are aware that the pushers are psychopathic, malformed, perverted men and women of little substance.

Yet they keep on sidling up to them… Got any gear mate? Got any gear?