If we really are "extinct," then this new moral imperative has no relevance. If, on the other hand, reports of our premature death are greatly exaggerated, then maybe we've got something going on here, maybe we're just tripping on the possibility of drugging up a brand new ontological difference that the information pornographers really have no control over and the technology that we find ourselves addicted to is so lunar-connected that all of this mooning-each-other-in-the-face is a way to suggest a revolution in workweek asshole chewing which is where we eventually find our meat, our material obsession with the clock, the need to feel secure hiding up inside some rich prick's proctological region, that obsolete planet of destruction where what gets shat out onto the screen is another version of the death-dude, the one who wants to become a mommy breathing hot dirty lyrics into the microphone while getting and giving, sucking and receiving, the chain reaction causing a flurry of beaver to overcompensate for their boredom by grouping together and having me as an orgy...