“Night City was like a deranged experiment in social Darwinism, designed by a bored researcher who kept one thumb permanently on the fast-forward button. Stop hustling and you sank without a trace, but move a little too swiftly and you’d break the fragile surface tension of the black market; either way, you were gone, with nothing left of you but some vague memory in the mind of a fixture like Ratz, though heart or lungs or kidneys might survive in the service of some stranger with New Yen for the clinic tanks. Biz here was a constant subliminal hum, and death the accepted punishment for laziness, carelessness, lack of grace, the failure to heed the demands of an intricate protocol. “ — William Gibson, Neuromancer
And now Gibson’s dystopian 1984 nightmare has seemingly come true in our most depraved DemoLeftist cities. The above 12-minute glance at the sad-fried-lowlifes-of-the-lowlands is a microcosm of the repulsive lifestyles that infest and infect all DemoLeftist cities. If there was an invisible tour bus from SaneEarth hovering above the sand in the fog this might be the tour guide’s commentary:
Ladies and Gentlemen, for your evening’s edification SaneEarth’s Whiplash Reality Tours brings you the sand and fog of Venice Beach, Los Angeles just before the 2021 spontaneous Santa Monica Tsunami scrubbed clean, sanded off, and erased the beach and the surface of the city for ten miles inland.
They cannot see or sense us but we still ask you to remain in your seats and observe the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign. You wouldn’t want to fall out into this human sewer.
Speaking of sewers may I draw your attention to the tells of civilization in a decline so rapid it only took a year and a half for it to auger into the ground. Why? The people were The Stupids. They were stupid even before they learned they could vote themselves unlimited funds from the public treasury. The result? More than half the nation was face down at the public trough sopping up the salty gravy daily. Results of that? Take a look at this beach walk and you can see them all on parade for your time travelling pleasure.
And now let’s get started.
Observe the barely contained rolls of flab and the endless ranks of stolen shopping carts piled with junk, rags, and refuse.
Watch the waddle of fat women wearing tattered and ragged refugee clothing brought at a great price from select stores on Rodeo Drive.
See to the side the teeming reefs of homeless tents that were sold as “temporary” but are now permanent.
Read the crudely hand-lettered signs that say “Face Mask 5 Bucks.”
Roll past, roll past the carnival barkers, geeks, ragpickers, and other assorted parasites displaying with very gay pride to your now damaged eyes their thousands of dollars in bad tattoos bought with EBT scams and oozing out of their tight splitting pants.
Avoid the bright and empty lights of the “We-Never-Close” stores selling jokey t-shirts and tawdry souvenirs of a place nobody is proud of.
Check out the drug deals going down on the sidewalk or in the alleys while all around the waves of the unwashed and the addicted slosh past searching for things that can fill the hole in the soul and finding only meth and heroin.
Listen to the whiffs of static Spanish out of loudspeakers while walking past piles of deep-fried tire-sized doughnuts and gargantuan corndogs stacked like some strange alien dildos.
Take a graphic of the graffitied-into-oblivion walls and shutters where every single nobody-never-was of this erasable era felt compelled to tag their senseless name sign to a world that didn’t know enough about them to forget them.
Take a video of the grifters, tweakers, and bone-stoned latter-day hippies and spaced-out spades bouncing their bad boogie moves in the shadows.
See. See that everywhere is the voluntary servitude of the serf’s mask.
Warnings of Bad Bob Dylan imitators will be given in time for you to plug your ears… oops not fast enough. Sorry.
Check out that this crowd is composed of so much diversity that, crushed into a pink hot-dog paste, it would be enough to gag a pod of sperm whales.
A reminder that although most is sand and fog, some parts of this past are so bright that you might want to wear shades when we pass the blazing oasis of junk food surrounded by flashing lights in case you missed the miasma rising from two dozen deep fryers.
Note in passing a popular restaurant that there are a dozen masked waiters serving ten dozen unmasked diners while those waiting to dine wear their masks without a hint of doubt.
Try to forget those “I am transitioning” men whose idea of evening attire is yoga pants, braided armpits, and bad beards. They all died in the Restoration of 2022 or at least learned to shut the fuck up about their penis issues,.
We apologize in advance for the bad Mariachi bands and the suburbs of tented homeless camps on the sand.
We apologize in advance for the street entertainers who are anything but entertaining.
We apologize in advance for the psychedelic poster art, the tie-dyed speedos, and the custom facemasks reading “Good Dog. Now play dead.”
We apologize in advance for the shagadelic hairdos involving $800 weaves sported by welfare queens taking a day off from bitching.
We apologize in advance for the plethora of criminals, maniacs, and bipolar people with more issues than National Geographic.
We apologize in advance for sand and fog. Sand and fog. Sand and fog.
We apologize in advance but it was the Winter of 2020 and civilization didn’t have long to run.