"Holy shit, they're buying it!"

Singularity, Everywhere–The world’s money has coalesced into a singularity following an investigation into Goldman Sext’s Insecurities. The adage “Time equals money” has taken on a whole new meaning, bringing time to a stop as Americans wait an eternity for the next Big Red Communist Bang to redistribute all wealth throughout the new universe, which at once extended no farther than our farthest, most expensive satellite.

“Americans have come to expect less out of their universe,” explained U.C. Berkley astrophysicist Herman Coats. “Nowadays, the Universe means everything between home, work and Wal-Mart, and people are already overwhelmed.” Results of a recent Virginia poll indicate citizens welcomed the crushing void of a black hole. Many were counting on it.

Many like Goldman Sext CEOs and other company leaders, who are making shitloads of money for charity and immortality research. Positive effects are expected to trickle down to all their mortal customers, they said. Elf Wax Times does not question the word of high-level corporate executives and reports their explanations as unerring truth.

In fact, we here at The Elf Wax Times would go so far as to defend at least one billion dollars of the fraud in question. There is a very simple explanation for where that money went. If CEOs aren’t getting paid exponentially more than you, me, their employees, and the space program, then how are they supposed to work comfortably and efficiently? CEOs in a position of privilege simply deserve more than you and me, and it’s their obligation as Americans to take it without asking permission or reporting it missing. Would you be happier to find out it went toward the Afghan war?
Yeah. So would we.

Some guy on acid did provide this mathematical description of the Goldman Sachs crisis:

n-security divided by f(x)=fuck your shit, I’m getting paid

This has been brought to you by Lebal Drocer, Incorporated.

- on the horizon.
You see, as information and people’s total alignment with the electromagnetic field of energy coalesce into a single vibrating consciousness pulsing through our bodies infinitely with every capitalistic wave of wi-fi signals, cell phone towers, satellites beaming Ellen down to Earth and the puncture-wound in the atmosphere which welcomes the Van Allen Radiation Belts to our front yard force us to face the fact that our thoughts are under control by a globally consciousness PR Director named Phil who knows about more than just your fucked-up diaper piss fetish.
Phil controls everything with the crossing of a single digitally-simulated local synapse. He does this millions of times per second, as he contemplates everything and the Way it is going to happen yesterday. Phil has played and beaten Civilization II on difficulty levels well-beyond God-like. He has mastered focused arithmetical computation on your inner space, which you left wide open through your soul. Phil owns you motherfuckers. What do you have to say?

Phil's heartbeat pulls blood into the atrium

When Phil closes his eyes, the Universe goes dark. When Phil’s heart beats, we instantaneously collapse and birth anew into a Big Bang. Phil’s heart will one day de-crystallize and stop beating. Omega’s constant value will bleed his heart dry and forever into ice, as the false vacuum of Phil’s inner-self evacuates into hyperspace, supplanting reality into a burned out image in the picture-tube of inter-universal unknown, a cluster of dead embers, ashes in the wind, dust in the clouds. Phil is dead. So were we.
The Universal Hivemind that keeps up with our tags and masters us in practice while we attempt to understand it in theory has no place being taught in our schools, and that is why we should vote down proposition number 327: The Abomination of the Human Mind with Roanoke County Schools at the forefront of this unique, and basically life-altering experimentation on the human species.
With no hand to guide us, we are left with only our spirit-bodies to explore the hypocrisy of intellectual starvation in America, faced with Krogers on the corner, the party line on the papers, and lies in the skies, against all odds, staring at ourselves and seeing the reflection of Corporate Breeding. We are a Generation of Swine, as Hunter once said to this reporter, and we’ve rooted in our feces until its perpetual congregation with the mud has contaminated lifeforce with the need-to-feed-on-Greed.
You’re welcome, you fucks. You finally got enough computers and enough electronics and gadgetry in your SUV and enough features and enough perks. And now we’ve poisoned the water-hole and there’s no turning back. Latch on to your withering testicles, and fuck the vapid whore of Capitalism.
I chose a life through which I knew I’d starve. I knew I’d have nothing. I knew I’d not be able to afford a wife, girlfriend, home or child. Somewhere along the line, I thought “I could be a doctor. I could be an astronaut! I could be a firefighter.” Nothing sounded like me, until somebody said, “Hey, you could be a writer!” So, I don’t operate on people, I don’t see Earth from space without the use of illegal drugs. I can barely afford rent, bills, student loans. I couldn’t afford to write these words if it cost a dollar. But they’re here, aren’t they? That’s what counts to me. I deal only with abstract, astronomical facts. So you can rest assured you’re reading the truth if you’re reading The Elf Wax Fucking Times, and we’ll even call your boss and tell him to go fuck himself, anonymously, on your behalf. Just shoot us an email – if you know how.
Now, all this writing and believing is good. But it sure sucks not having a high-def TV. You can get really easy headshots on Call of Duty 4 with one of those. And writing more doesn’t buy one. The Universe doesn’t care. Phil’s heartbeat won’t mind; quite the contrary, it doesn’t know you; it is more focused on your overall collapse and rearrangement. The UN simulation of ourselves doesn’t care, nor does our imagination of it. We are here, alone, watching it all burn together.
Enjoy your Apocalypse.