Marvin‘s Christmas present to himself is to boycott Christmas.
Ahhhh the peace.
Mmm…Except for the neighbour’s illuminated Santa hanging from the drain pipe and flashing Christmas lights keeping him awake.
Oh well. Soon be over.
The world is going to end in a couple of weeks, or so some believe, so best hide in the mountains to survive the prophesied flood or meteor collision. Or why not spend two weeks drunk, stuffing your face with your favourite cakes, or your preferred food of choice?
Jasmine doesn’t need no end of world hype to realise the human race is in nose dive, what with scientific advancement bringing mass destruction that much closer. But hey we can have boob jobs and inject Botox, become cartoon clones, self obsessed and swallowing whole the mass media’s drone drone drone.
Jasmine has switched off her phone, her computer, instead walks down the precinct watching the world: the masses making their way home weighed down with Christmas purchases they queued for in claustrophobic shops, stressed to the bone.
At least if the world ends they’ll go out on a shopaholic high, crammed in the supermarket aisle, trolley heaped high, texting as they walk.
Then BAM! The world is no more.
She’s forthright alright especially when contentious matters are at hand, ones brushed under the carpet or hidden behind CCTV-eyed compounds.
Meat eating, Monsanto, consumerism, air transport, drone wars, vivisection, genetic modification, the arms trade. Ow! My ears are red as rashers and I’ve only been stood next to her for five minutes!
Yes, luv, I do get your drift, if it’s not an environmental disaster that’ll see us all off then its Extra Terrestrials or robots taking over. Failing that a global-tribal genocide or nuclear incident.
And in the meantime we’re gonna become genetically modified clones spending our lives micro-chipped and controlled by some Big Brother consortium of billionaire shareholders.
Zombies all, that’s what she says we are.