BAN VEGETABLES!
A Look Into The Tragic and Unintentional Brainwashing of Youth in America
In a world full of garlic bread knots, homemade grenadine swishers, and violent video games, there becomes very little room for free time devoted to self-care. According to an article by Science Yesterday, meal-planning has become the primary time-consumer for the average American child. Kids aged 14 to 18 spend, on average, 20 to 34 hours per week just planning out their meals. Why is that, you may ask. Although the economics of the current geopolitical landscape regarding meal-planning is foggy at best, (and fruity at worst), the science is clear: the reason why so much time gets devoted to planning meals is due to the fact that there is an ingredient in every meal that sucks pickled fish, and that ingredient is as follows:
Vegetables.
Not to be that guy; I’m not some kind of anti-vegan fascist. I’m not a guy who likes watching his girl get fucked by a senior citizen. I also am not the kind of person who posts up on the street every weekday with a 48 pack of share-sized peanut M&M’s selling it for a dollar a pop. Nor am I the preacher of God’s will and testament. I am; however, what I would call an “Optimizer”. Some people, on the other hand, would call me a “Life-Coach”, “Life-Saver”, or “Gummy worm”, but I prefer “Optimizer” (rolls off the tongue and into the ass, or at least that’s what they tell me).
In preparation for this role, I have spent the better part of a decade sifting through my own routines, comparing my lifestyle to that of very successful individuals. For example, when I got two jobs, I looked into Olympians, who had to adjust their lifestyles to accommodate for competing in the world’s greatest championship (essentially a second job in and of itself). When I wanted to put on some muscle at the gym, I followed the routines of world-famous power-lifters, to weed out any wasted time that could have been better spent in the gym. And when I wanted to start writing, I followed the exact routine of an only-fans sex worker, because I needed to learn how to get this fucking done (as I’m sure you guessed, that last one is a joke, but massive respect to those sex workers! Doing the lords work, I tell ya!). That being said, through an incredible amount of trial and error, I have truly developed a foul-proof system for eliminating wasted time and increasing productivity. My research paper, Me vs. The Neoliberal Army: How to get your Mind Right, Your Right Mind, while you Mind your Rights, A Self-Help Scientific Debacle, was published in the Journal of Biological Chemistry on March 15th, 2019, and was met with praise from both scientists and women alike.
It was that paper that got me an excusive deal with Pearson Education. They wanted me to expand this research paper into a fully-fledge textbook that would be incorporated into high school curriculums around the world. So that’s what I did. For the next seven years, I worked on what was undoubtedly my magnum opus. The textbook, titled The Routine-Poutine: How to Leverage your Time and Make Girls Cum While Doin’ It, was finally completed on March 15th, 2019 and stunned executives at Pearson. They were so enthralled and captivated by my lexicon that they knew I was destined for more than merely being a writer for them. So, in support of my potential, they severed my contract and sued me to reclaim the 1.2 million dollar advance they gave me. Unfortunately, being that the advance was fed directly into the creative process needed to write this book (spent it on cocaine, mostly), in order to pay, I had to go to court again and declare that I will never be able to pay that back (easiest way to eliminate debt, look up how to “Ruptcy Local Bank”).
Now, let me address the elephants in the room. I’m no day-walker. I burn just thinking of sunlight. I’m no trivia nerd either, ask me a question and I’ll kill myself. I really will. They claim to know me better than I do, but believe me, I am no valley girl, I don’t walk through the slums of life expecting a grandiose revelation. I create the revelation for myself. Influential people look to me as a means of being influenced. I once had Bill Gates pop his pussy on my lap in exchange for a quote for his failing newspaper. He popped that shit in a uxorious manner, but even still, I didn’t utter a word. Followed my number one rule of life: never pay the people below you any mind. Doesn’t matter who it is, Bono, Walton Goggins, or in this case, Bill Gates. Left him trembling and crying on the senate floor. (Oh, did I mention I was in the Capital Building at the time, plotting against the American public?)
Now, my philosophy has always been as follows: Fuck first. It doesn’t matter the context, you always want to be the one who fucks first. Where does such a philosophy come from? you might ask. It first came to me in the second grade. We were filling out a reading worksheet over the most recently read chapter of Charlotte’s Web, you know, the cop analogy book. I was making my case for why the pig should be slaughtered and made into strips. The teacher, Mrs. Sobillo, did not agree with my take. She pulled up her sleeve to reveal a blue-lives matter tattoo. It looked like shit. She went on a tirade, screaming at the whole class in what I could only assume was German.
“Ich werde nicht genug bezahlt, um mit euch Arschlöchern klarzukommen” she said. “Polizei ist cool! Sie sind gut! Ich bin kein Faschist!”
It was now that I realized: Holy shit… Mrs. Sobillo is pro-police. I didn’t know what to do in this situation. I turn to my crying friend Nicholas.
“Does that make her a pig too?” I asked. He shrugged and shot a load of tears out of his eyes.
“Wait a minute,” I said, talking over the screaming teacher.
“What was Mrs. Sobillo’s first name again?”
Nicholas looked at me, realizing the truth.
“Charlotte” he spoke softly.
Silence.
Somehow, Mrs. Sobillo heard him over the sound of her own horn. Her head slowly turned, neck cracking with each micromovement. She locked eyes with Nicholas. His juiced tears turned into violent sobs.
“Please don’t hurt me”, he pled. She walked over to him, with each step, a leg revealed itself from behind her back until a total of eight limbs protruded from her body.
“The pigs are good” she spoke. “We need the pigs. For order.”
She picked Nicholas up like he was a single potato and locked eyes with him.
“What if somebody hurt you? Who would you call?”
Nicholas was trying his best to escape her grasp, to no avail.
“Would you call the fire department? Hm? How about an air marshal?”
“I don’t know!” Nicholas cried.
“What if I hurt you? Would you want the police then?”
Nicholas screamed a scream so loud it could have shattered glass if there was any glass nearby him.
Her grip on him tightened, he began to struggle to breathe.
“Do you want the police now?”
The words could barely form in his mouth. “Yes… Please stop… Please…”
She smiled, her point proven. She no longer had any use for the young student. The example had been set for the class, but she wasn’t satisfied. She snapped his neck with one quick movement, and the life faded from his eyes instantaneously.
This was the first time I saw someone die.
I couldn’t help but feel like this was my fault. It was me who riled her up, escalated the situation, and made him say her name. From that day forward, I promised I would never make that same mistake again. With any interaction I had, no matter the situation, no matter who was there or what was going on, no matter who was in charge or who was below, I would always “fuck first”.
So what does this have to do with the big Vege’?
I am so glad you fucking asked. For over 12,350 years, big vegetable has lied to the public, time and time again, poising our hearts and our minds, all while lining the pockets of the Green Giant himself (whom I perhaps call “the Greed Giant”… It’s his normal name but a “D” instead of an “N”. Not like the “N” in “Giant”… Rather, the “N” in “Green”. Let me know down in the comments if you understand that one).
Just look at the stats. In the year 1,219,192 B.C.E, vegetables accounted for a whopping 0% of the economy. (This is not opinion, this is fact. Look it up yourself. If you don’t find it immediately, don’t be surprised. But, if you dig long enough, you will find what they have tried so hard to bury). You may be thinking to yourself, well, that’s not a ton. I’m sure it can’t be that bad now. Well, time to wake the fuck up, America. This shit is real. You can’t click “block” on reality. You can’t unabomb anymore. You have to look at the truth in it’s fucking mouth and tongue fuck it. The truth is so much worse than you could ever imagine.
According to Statista.com, “Revenue in the Vegetables market amounts to US$1.08tn in 2024”. That is an increase of over 99999999999900%. Not only that, but the market has not even peaked yet. The article goes on: “The market is expected to grow annually by 6.89%”. That means that in 261,233 years, the annual revenue for big pharma will be ASTRONOMICAL. It will grow to be in the ballpark of 18 QUADRILLION dollars a year; stolen from us, the working class.
Big Vege’ not only requires us to pay top price for a product that dies faster than a person does, but they also require us… THE WORKING CLASS… to create the inventory they price gouge us with. GET REAL! Low income workers are the most exploited class in the world, forced to endure grueling working conditions, long hours, often in harsh weather, and for very little pay. I am fucking fortunate to be in a position where I get to sit on my ass and type little fucking articles on the internet for fun. If I had to be out in the sun, dirt getting up under my fingernails and shit, I would KILL MYSELF. I WOULD! My lazy ass wasn’t built to sit at a desk and edit videos, which is the profession I CHOSE to be apart of. I am filled to the fucking brim with the privilege of choice. So many people out there couldn’t even imagine such a luxury. They work a shit job, for shit pay, while us Whitey’s in the States stroll on down to our local Price Chopper and pick up a bushel of cilantro for Mexican night, end up only using a tenth of it, and letting the rest rot in the fridge for the next month. Well that same bushel was tended to for around 90–120 days by a real human person. That one bushel took four months of love just to grow. I bought it for two bucks, and let it rot. I am apart of the problem.
We all are a part of the problem.
I’m sure you just fell to your knees. You’re trying to convince yourself that it isn’t as bad as it so obviously is. But we both know what’s real. What’s detrimental. You can try and keep your cool but that doesn’t slow your racing heart rate. That’s right. I know. I can feel you through my fingers as I type this. It’s a different kind of feeling that I developed so long ago. I call it “being an empath”. It’s a trait unique to me, so believe me when I say that I understand what you’re going through.
This industrial machine, this oligarch, this soul sucking, blood fucking, cum dumping CULT has been playing the long game since the beginning of time. For millennia, we have been too blind to see the subtly obvious corporate FUCKERY happening behind the scenes. We are slaves to a system that works us to death, wringing us dry day in and day out for pennies on the dollar. Our fucking meatball brains weren’t designed for this unforgiving and unfulfilling pig-shit-shoveling.
If I wanted to want death every day I would have rather not ever been born at all! I spend most of my waking hours working, and the rest doing everything I can to forget how fucking eternal this all feels. But —
FUCK ALL THAT NOISE!!! I RECLAIM CONTROL! MY DESIRE FOR DEATH IS MERELY FOCUSED IN THE WRONG DIRECTION!!! WE MUST NO LONGER BE COMPLACENT IN OUR OWN CULTURAL DEMISE!!! WE MUST TURN THE PLOT ON ITS HEAD! NO LONGER WILL WE PRAY FOR DEATH TO RELIEVE OURSELVES OF OUR RESPONSIBILITIES, RATHER, WE WILL WISH DEATH UPON THOSE WHO DEMAND THOSE RESPONSIBILITIES! WE PRAY FOR AN UNTIMELY DEMISE OF BOSSES, POLITICIANS, CORPORATE BODIES AND ANYONE WHO SUPPORTS AND PROFITS OFF MISERY. THE ONLY WAY WE WILL TRULY BE FREE IS BY RIDDING OURSELVES OF THE SYSTEMS THAT CURSED US TO BE MINDLESS IN A WORLD THAT BEGS FOR PRESENCE! THE ONLY WAY WE CAN TRULY BE HAPPY IS IF WE BEGIN TO DISMANTLE EVERYTHING THEY TELL US CANNOT BE DISMANTLED! AND WHEN OUR MINDS START TO WANDER, WHEN THEY FILL US WITH DOUBT, WHEN THEY TURN US AGAINST EACH OTHER, IT IS THEN WE MUST COME TOGETHER EVEN MORE. TO FALL IS TO RISE AGAIN. NEVER AGAIN WILL WE FALL VICTIM TO THIS TRECHERY. THE TASK AT HAND SEEMS DAUNTING AND NEVER-ENDING. BUT IT STARTS TODAY, ONE STEP AT A TIME. YOU MAY WONDER WHERE IS A GOOD LAUNCHING POINT, BUT TRUST, I AM 25 STEPS AHEAD OF YOU. WE NEED TO HIT THEM IN THEIR WEAKEST POINT. AN INDUSTRY SO UBIQUITOUS THEY HAVE NOTHING IN PLACE TO PREVENT IT’S DEMISE, SOMETHING SO INCONSPICUOUS THEY WOULD NEVER SUSPECT AN ATTACK, SOMETHING SO AVERAGE THEY WOULD HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO COUNTER:
WE MUST BAN VEGETABLES.
So say I, Noah Christopher Bollow, signed on January 19th, 2024, at 6:24pm. This is your call to action. I implore you, boycott all further consumption of vegetables of every kind, everywhere. Only then may we have a shot of a fulfilling life.
On the chance that I am found dead in the coming months… I say this: I am very happy with my life right now. I have not, nor will ever, contemplate suicide. If I am found dead, at the result of an apparant suicide, know that I have been set up. They knew the power we hold, and while they can kill me, they can never kill the movement.
Thus ends my manifesto. Read it and weep, you son’s of bitches. It’s time for me to jack-off.
