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Hey, guys. I really, really want you to know something. No... I NEED you to know something. This might be the last message I can give before it all comes to an end. ALL of it... comes to an end. Not just me, but you, and everybody we've ever known about and loved. The age of paranoia has given way to the age of realism. There's no way around it. It didn't end with the Cuban Missile Crisis, or the Cold War, or the Iraq War. We're all screwed...

I don't know how I got it. Maybe it was from watching so much TV news over the years. Maybe it was from Internet news articles from MSNBC and Huffington Post and so on. But... I see clearly now. I won't be blinded by the lies in my eyes. ... I know my enemy. Or so I thought...

I can barely keep control of my thoughts, my purpose, and what I'm trying to convey. It's all a blur. I feel like a nimrod. Eh... anyway, here we go.

It all started about a decade ago. I was watching TV, sitting around as usual, popping and abusing prescription medicine and chugging down bottles of coca cola, and realizing that there was no bigger cause in this stage of life for me. I owed out a lot of money, and generally I overlooked things by drinking a lot of beers, smoking a lot of cigarettes, and even snorting cocaine from sources unknown. But... I didn't see myself as having a problem. I just felt like I was living out what was before me, like this was how I'm SUPPOSED to be, you know?

Well, one day, I went to 7-11 to buy some hot dogs and a purple vanilla orange crush slurpee with a flamingo-colored silly straw. If it was out yet, I would've picked up a a pint of Stephen Colbert's Americone Dream as well. Anyway, I met somebody in the 7-11 parking lot that changed my life forever. We talked about scribblings on the stalls of bathroom walls, and how they were prophecies that were coming true in our lifetimes. We talked about walking down dead-end roads... in a way, all the ones that we have ever known. I realized this man was more than a friend, but like a moral teacher to me; something I never had found in any other place before. It became clear to me that 'it' was all just shit: the wars of the time, the social paranoia, and the entire fucking chain itself, going back years and years. Just lies, lies, lies, slander, slander, slander! AND... what did it lead to, but me slurping slurpees, watching TV, and snorting drugs from unknown sources that had no bearing on who I was and wanted to be? Part of me thought I was crazy, but another part of me thought that this was the only way for me to go. My eyes were... I saw the light.

Me and my moral teacher, Jimmy, we packed our bags. We left home. We knew we would be sacrificing our special suburban comforts, but it was all okay, because we were searching for truth. For a reason to live, and perhaps even a way of straightening THEM out, as much as we loathed them for what they had done to us. The politicians, our friends, our families... everyone who lived and died fighting to support this perpetually hiccing up and intoxicating vomiting bullshit propaganda machine we call mainstream American society. All the fancy smart phones and shopping malls... distractions. Distractions while they spy on us all to enhance their cause.

So, here's a little about me: born into Nixon, I was raised in Hell. I'm from a generation, as you know, Generation X or Y--whatever--that sees little value in anything. We've seen our predecessors work hard and die young, or die old and miserable and without reward, leaving us with no guidance. It was funny, really: you just have to beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies, right? It would be the dawning of the rest of our lives, once we took down the system, I thought.

Anyway, I should continue moving the story along. I'm probably repeating myself, at this point.

I walked along the lonely roads for a little while more. Then I went into the city, in which things weren't so safe. I got beaten up sometimes. Sometimes, I got robbed, and even stabbed by the people who called me a terror to society. Sometimes I found myself crying in the bathroom, with my girlfriend at the time, and I felt very desperate. Things weren't quite so hopeless to me yet, though; I still felt that there was an endgame, or a resistance we could form. My girlfriend, Gloria, was probably even more into this than I was, I mean... I was beginning to have my doubts already, but not her.

Generally speaking I'm not for owning a lot of guns, but... she had a lot of them. Me... I really hated them. Guns made Jimmy take his own life away.

Gloria and I, we went back to the old 7-11. It was my first time home in years. There were several cop cars, parked nearby. We knew this wasn't the moment it would all break down, but, we saw it as our opportunity to take this underground resistance we've formed over the past few years and make it louder than it ever was before. Gloria grabbed a megaphone, and I grabbed a gun and a couple packs of shells. We raced out of the car, slamming the doors, and we didn't care at all.

...

Well, all I know: is now. Here I am. The walls are padded, and they say I killed a lot of people. I tell them it's all the neocons' fault, and they tell me that they're very disappointed in my progress.

That's about it. That's the story of me and my 21st century breakdown. I can't stop being paranoid about things in general... the government especially. I can't trust anybody I know, and I can't form a meaningful relationship. In my heart of hearts, I keep blaming George W. Bush and Bill Clinton, and I don't even know why now, if I even did back then. I saw a psychiatrist, and she told me to go back to popping the old prescription pills.

That's what I'm gonna do, once I get out of here. Stay at home, watch TV... drink down bottle after bottle of coca cola again. Part of me feels as if I'm defeated forever, I'll admit... but another part feels very, very much alive.

I guess all I can say now is: watch what you jam into your eyes. You might have your very own 21st century breakdown.

VideoEdit

CREEPYPASTA 21st Century Breakdown08:02

CREEPYPASTA 21st Century Breakdown.

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