Good Morning Small Children. I'm Here to Explain to You How the Internet Works.
Hello girls and boys.
I'd like to thank your teacher, Mrs. Henderson, for having me as your special guest today. Blessed are the children, for they cannot yet aim!
I'm here to describe to you how the "Internet" works -- I'm sure you've heard a lot about the Internet! Well, I am an Internet expert. You see, only one a week ago I succombed to a fit of unholy rage and attacked my Internet Service Provider with a broadsword. Those bitches had it coming! (I'm sorry, don't ever say that aloud.) Fortunately my sentence was waived in favor of a few dozen hours of community service, some of which I will fulfill here.
Now then, allow me to draw a picture of what the Internet looks like:
That's right boys and girls, the Internet looks like a big cloud. And where else do you find clouds? Billy? No, Billy, coming out of the Teachers' Lounge doesn't count. That's right! Clouds come from Heaven! The Internet is Heaven. It's a holy, righteous place, where every day is Easter.
But yay, the path to Heaven is fraught with evil, for the only way to get there is through an "ISP." And lo, ISP's are terrible places, you end up getting attacked by this chick with a desk fan and a penguin, and the cops say your fingers look like they got gnawed bloody by a duck.
Anyways, these ISPs are run by Corporate Oligarchists. Can you say that with me?
For verily they shall say upon you, "Free Installation!" and "Blazing Speed!" but then you get this bill for a $250 network modem and LO, behold when you connect to a Counter-Strike server your ping is higher than your license plate number because you're too far away from some den of sin they call the "Central Office." LIARS!! Can you tell me who ELSE lies, boys and girls? That's right!
SATAN! Satan lies!
The devil himself doesn't want you to tread the righteous path and frolick in the Elysium Fields of Heaven! But don't cry, because you can kick his lying money-grubbing slippery broadband-pimping devil ass. Here's a pike for you, Jamie, and for you Christie I have this scimitar. Danny, you lucky little boy, you get the nunchacku!
Uh-oh, I think I see Mrs. Henderson bustling down the hallway with my parole officer in tow. Billy, can you help me out this window? If they ask where I went, tell them you can't hear it when the devil speaks!
Woe upon the wicked, next time I see that bedamned phone jack icon! Hand me that polearm.
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