Ah Democracy, the mother of governance who abandoned her kids for insurance money.
The great human experiment where the illusion of power is handed to the masses like confetti at a funeral. You stand in line, ink your finger, and press a button that supposedly shapes the future— the future of how men in suits will squeeze the living life out of you and make you a good slave waiting for the next bukkake (oh the white drizzle).
But hey, congratulations. You voted. You participated. You mattered. Until you didn’t.
Democracy is like asking your rapist what music he’d like playing in the background.
The Ritual of Pretend Power
Let’s start with the theatre. The campaign. The promises. The moral grandstanding.
Your politicians finally come out of their mansions to gaslight you into how shit your life is which is entirely been run by them and how your next vote will get you the supply of lube before they come to sodomize you again and wondering if you can still swallow like a good girl you’re.
The Candidates: Choose Your Weapon
Your options are:
- A millionaire pretending to be poor.
- A criminal pretending to be innocent.
- A moron pretending to be intellectual.
- A recycled face from the last 15 years who now has a beard and a new slogan.
You’re not voting.
You’re signing consent forms for abuse,
renewing the contract that lets rich men spit in your face
while asking if you’d like to be spit-shined too.
Counting Votes: The Only Honest Part
And here’s the punchline:
Your vote does get counted. Carefully. Efficiently. With security tighter than your therapist’s schedule.
But does it matter?
Not unless you count choosing between varieties of controlled decay. It’s like picking the flavour of your anesthesia before the surgery you didn’t consent to.
The Aftermath: Performance Politics
Once elected, your representative will promptly vanish into a caravan of convoy cars and press conferences.
- Promises? Hmm, cute.
- Speeches? Doubled.
- Accountability? Transferred to a committee that meets once every seven months in a resort.
They will resurface near the next election like bad Wi-Fi, loaded with fresh slogans and photos of them pretending to inspect public toilets.
The Illusion: Kept Alive With Stickers and Selfies
They’ll give you a sticker. Maybe a selfie booth. Maybe even a discount at your local cafe if you show your inked finger.
You won’t get healthcare. You won’t get clean air. You won’t get justice.
But you’ll get that fabulous sense of participation, that rush of “doing your part,” while the real power lounges behind velvet curtains, sipping imported whisky and approving mining contracts and finding new ways to poke a bigger hole in your already sodomized asshole.
Conclusion: Democracy in the Age of Engagement
This isn’t democracy. This is participatory distraction.
You vote like a hamster hitting a lever for food pellets, while billionaires, bots, and bureaucrats write the next act.
So go ahead, vote. Stand proud. Post a selfie.
But don’t confuse being counted with being heard.
Because in modern democracy, your vote doesn’t count.
But it sure as hell gets counted.
And you?
You sit there—
Eyes closed,
Like a pigeon in front of a cat
Who’ll toy with you,
Claw in,
And rip you apart—
Not because it’s hungry,
But because it can.
At least under dictatorship, you know who’s f***ing you.
Democracy just makes you pick the lube and clap while it happens.
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