Artifices To Pretend To Like At Parties

Reader, one of the most common mistakes a member of the intelligentsia could ever do is make a sudden, drastic move. We, the intellectuals (assuming that there are others), are like the benevolent old people feeding insight to the cooing dumb pigeons. Even the slightest unexpected motion would cause us to lose the masses.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY
ABOUT THE COPERNICAN MODEL?"

Which is fine--they will move on, forget the lessons of history, and choke on garbage. Except that many pigeons become disoriented and attack the hand that feeds them. Do not forget the sordid tales of Galileo, Turing, or even the recent imprisonment of the culture hero, Tiny Wayne.

So when my editor informed me that changing the title of this project to "Artifices To Pretend To Like At Parties" would give my gospelog a 95% higher chance of being referenced among the Elite, I was distraught.

Although the notion of developing a secret handshake that signified a detente of "We both read Artifices To Pretend To Like At Parties Therefore We Will Not Duel" or maybe  charging 30 dollars for an ATPTLAP application that updated every month with the new Secret Orgy location enticed me, I still knew any sudden movement could beckon a savage mauling of my eyes by the startled and ignorant.

I have always promised myself that if given the option of doing something I truly believed in or accommodating the masses, I would accommodate the masses and use the riches to bribe my inside voice with the trans-fats or carbs or fringe sexual fetishes. But upon reflection of my situation, I came to the profound realization that the masses do not read.

People will eventually tire of hearing about your Yacht, Elite.

So, following my editor's advice, I will actually go against the grain and say unabashedly smarter things catering to the people that have time to look up what words like 'Artifice' mean. To the pigeons that come here looking for crumbs, I plead with you to not kill me. I want the same things you want except in a much more complex and sophisticated way.

To the Elite, I promise I will expand past the physical medium of music and into the wider tricks and gimmicks and charades that truly make our society the stupidest composition of the human condition since the cave-people accidentally inhabited the cave with the toxic gases.

Sophistos--I will be your caviar, your over priced chocolate, and your means to not run out of socially dominant things to say when you are up all night doing coke with the beautiful people.

Party Rock Anthem by LMFAO

Those of us that are not slaves to our smart phones--those of us that have taken the time to master mnemonic devices know that the sooner civilization collapses, the faster our horde of loyal simpletons will raid an outlet mall and help us form a post-apocalyptic royal court to [cause other people to] die for.

The romantic cultural deceiver, however, tries to illicit a nostalgia for some trite perfection. At a recent tea party I attended, a tender-hearted ass attempted such a tactic:

"Remember when we sent signals to each other that journeyed beyond the dual nature of the erection?" he said.

I booed him immediately. I threw my lemon cake at him and I just booed. Other people followed suit. I was so tired of people trying to talk sense.

Please note how they transcend the noise in this image.

The secret truth is that shit-artist's like LMFAO are well versed in the horrible truths like Hume's Critique on Induction and Godel's Incompleteness Theorem and that the Lost writers had no idea what they were doing for six seasons.

Those of us that know the void and are at peace with it hear the idealists whines and have REQUESTED for our music to get more compressed and inundated and DEVOID of meaning. 

Meaning, dear reader, is a lie. 

LMFAO are doing us all a favor.

If I had been more patient, I would have slowly put my arm around his shoulder, pulled out my phone, and showed him where to watch all the conspiracy videos and Wikipedias he needs to get with the program. But I was and am exhausted of such fiends trying to summon the void on what was a pleasant afternoon.

Instead, my fellow picnic goers and I continued to stone him with our tea desserts as he went on to talk about his idealistic garbage.

Glaring at him,I pulled out my phone and started playing a barely audible version of "Party Rock Anthem." I arose, aroused. I grabbed the nearest woman and began to bump and grind. 

I shouted at him, on the verge of tears, hips thrusting and swaying, "CAN WE NOT HAVE SOME TRIVIAL PLEASURE AMONGST THIS VOID, SIR? MUST YOU RUIN EVERYTHING? YOU CAN NEVER RUIN THIS."

I grabbed her and impassionedly made out with her as we continued our nihilistic dance.  My fellow picnickers had their cellphones out, recording their real Cultural Hero defending their inalienable right to destroy the reception of knowledge when it gets annoying.

Those of us that know the rules of survival understand that even when society crumbles, there will always be a trash fire to grunt conversation around. So why worry? What is there to defend other than the right album to pretend to like at parties?