Thome’s father throws the crystal glass against the wall. Solid glass, it doesn’t shatter. His wife doesn’t come, either. She sits in the adjacent room, coked out of her mind, killing the last bits of the unborn child’s brain, and she doesn’t even come to check on things. Of course not, the stupid cow. Thome’s father laments the decision to have married again. He had felt fleetingly virile. That is, he had felt sexual, but now that was over. Back to important subjects. There are only two ways to control the world, or rather to gain a monetary advantage for oneself.

First the liberal way. Meaning: we conduct our business and give people the feeling of freedom and altruism. We establish transgender laws, women’s rights; we establish laws against racism, and the prime minister appears at the Notting Hill Carnival; we act as if humankind had evolved, and gays and lesbians of all skin colors and faiths laugh from the rooftops where they are urban gardening. The city rides bicycles. We pull the drain plug out of the bathtub that is overflowing with hate. Or: we pump the idiots’ brains full of conspiracy theories, we find an enemy, we slash education, we slash everything, we reduce the state until it is unrecognizable, conduct business with our acquaintances, and afterwards sit with our friends in the club and drink expensive whisky.

The best investment in ages had been direct democracy, which Thome’s father, together with various lobby groups, fake news agencies, and hackers, had pushed through. Controlling people was so unbelievably easy. If you had the right tools at your command. Now the sheep can all vote for their prime minister themselves. And in all the polls, Thome’s father is in the lead.

But WTF

EX 2279

++++++++++[>+>+++>+++++++>++++++++++<<<<-]>>>>++++++++.——-.+++++++++++++++.<+++++++++++++++.>-.<——————.>————.——-.+++++++++++++. ——-.—.<+++++++++++++++++.>+++.—.<—————.>+++++++.——-.—.+++++++++++++++++.————.++++++.-.<+++++++++++++.>———.++++++++++++++.++.———.++++++++.

THOME’S FATHER

Looks agitatedly at the poll ticker.

“What the fuck.”

Says

KAREN

To a man with a frog face. Pepe the Frog. The former symbol of oppressed morons. The symbol of those who fell into an endogenetic depression after Brexit because nothing stepped up to replace the wonderful endorphins created during all their demonstrations. The symbol of all those who were enthusiastic about a new enemy that made more sense to them than, say, the connection between groundwater and multidrug-resistant microbes. Karen has a bottle of brandy in her hand. She has no idea where it came from. Fucking LSD. She looks at her face in the reflection of a shopwindow. They’ve transitioned from painted masks to silicon pads that allow them to fall through the cracks of the biometric cameras’ gaze.

MI5 PIET

(clears throat)

And

KAREN