Nanobots V Godhelmets

Put your tin foil hats on, and get ready to ride the psycho-manipulative range.

Activist post has made a list of ten modern methods of mind control. When someone does that, my first instinct is to pick my favourite two and play them off agains one another in an imaginary bout of all-in wrestling.

Ladies and Gentlemen, place your bets. No holds barred. No rules. No safe words. To The Death. The nanobots are going to smack down against electromagnetic field manipulation.

At the weigh-in we’re looking at two pretty similar, float-like-a-butterfly-sting-like-a-raygun fighters. The bots creep around opening and closing synaptic communication channels to make you think “I’d better give all my money to John Travolta then silence myself with a spade through the throat.” And, up against that, the electromagnetry’s main weapon of war is the God Helmet, which fiddles with the electromagnetic field of the temporal lobes to induce a religious experience. I think the bots are narrowly toast.

OK round one. Bots on the attack. They’re swarming all over the helmet, making it think suicidal thoughts (helmets kill themselves by head-butting a hacksaw). It’s an aggressive opening gambit, and the helmet, although capable of inducing religious experience has no religion itself to forbid self-slaughter. But wait, it’s turned the bots into Buddhists, and they’re withdrawing the death wish thoughts. Helmet would only come back as a bigger helmet anyway. And right away, the bots’ soft underbellys are exposed. This is going to be over really quickly.

Round two. The bots repel fire by throwing the helmet into a quagmire of self loathing, but it uses its next move on itself and buzzes its temporal lobes so hard it’s a Firebrand evangelical preacher. Doubt overcome, reborn, we’re going to nuke these bugs from the face of the brain. Testa-fucking-fy.

Round three. I can hardly watch. The bots are trying to confuse the helmet by screwing up its depth perception and making it think the Grand Canyon’s a recessed garden trampoline. And the Helmet’s on the edge. It’s leaping, it’s leaping. Yippee, swallow diving into the valley of the shadow of death.

But, like Cypress Hill, Helmet ain’t going out like that. He’s falling, but he’s burning with the fire of evangelical fervour. His last act in this world, before he’s reincarnated as a camel herder’s fez, is to blam the bots with a wave Religious Ecstasy of such force that they drop to the floor like empty trousers. These boys are slain in the spirit and writhing with convulsions. They’ll be much changed when they get up again. Very much changed.

So that’s it. No more mind control, for now, and all thanks to me. And it’s not even 6am yet.

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~ by David Thorley on January 20, 2011.

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