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The Boozy Brothel of Fiat Corporate Depravity
By: A Hunter in Gonzo Land

It begins, as it always does, with the clink of ice in a glass of watered-down scotch in a dimly lit conference room. The smoke-stained wallpaper peeling back like the façade of legitimacy. This is the temple of the fiat way of doing business—a run-down luxury hotel that reeks of aged leather and moral decay, where deals are made, and souls are bartered over steak dinners too rare to digest. The air is thick with desperation, lubricated by booze and sleaze, as another “game-changing” idea is force-fed into the gaping maw of the corporate machine.

Fiat corporations don’t innovate; they impregnate. They force-feed ideas into the public consciousness like some grotesque industrial insemination process, pushing out bastardized versions of progress that serve only their own ends. The people, the so-called “consumers,” are reduced to meat puppets—slaves to their basic drives, manipulated by psychological warfare disguised as marketing. Buy this. Eat that. Watch this. The cycle repeats endlessly, creating entropy with no regard for social consequences.

This isn’t capitalism; it’s a brothel of degradation, where the only currency that matters is control. The corporate overlords have mastered the art of pitting physical bodies against themselves, turning human interaction into a gladiatorial sport where survival is measured in metrics and margins. Forget guns; there’s no need for overt violence. The depravity is systemic, a slick, invisible hand pushing society toward moral implosion.

The government, a shadowy meth-head long past its prime, teeters on the edge of existential dread. Its teeth are gone, rotted out from years of dependence on the corporate pharma division to keep it propped up, staggering through the halls of power like a reanimated corpse. Laws are penned in the boardrooms of multinational conglomerates, rubber-stamped by legislators who’ve traded integrity for campaign contributions and pharmaceutical fixes. This isn’t governance; it’s a hostage situation, with the public as collateral.

Aldous Huxley foresaw this dystopia, a society numbed by soma, blinded by pleasure, and stripped of its individuality. Orwell gave us the blueprint for the surveillance state, where every transaction, every interaction, every breath is monitored and monetized. The fiends in the corporate boardrooms have taken the worst of both worlds, synthesizing a reality where control is total and resistance is futile. They don’t need to burn books or lock up dissidents—they’ve created a society so anesthetized, so thoroughly distracted by consumerism, that rebellion is unthinkable.

What we’re witnessing is the death of non-corporate existence. The idea of a life lived outside the influence of big business has been eradicated, replaced by a monoculture of profit-driven conformity. Even the concept of “freedom” has been commodified, packaged, and sold back to us as a product—freedom to choose, freedom to buy, freedom to scroll endlessly through curated feeds of meaningless content.

This isn’t just an economic system; it’s a religion. The fiat way of doing business demands worship, sacrifices, and unwavering devotion. The high priests of the corporate elite preside over a temple built on exploitation and greed, while the rest of us grovel at their feet, hoping for scraps.

But make no mistake: this temple is a house of cards. The rot runs deep, and the whole structure is teetering on the edge of collapse. When it falls, it won’t be with a bang, but with a sickening, oozing whimper, as the weight of its own depravity drags it down into the muck.

Until then, we drink. We consume. We numb ourselves to the horror of it all, complicit in our own enslavement. The booze flows, the deals are made, and the entropy continues. This is the fiat way. This is the brothel. Welcome to the end of the world as we knew it.

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