In Big Brother, Cause, Office humor, SlavesInc, Wage Slaves on January 29, 2012 at 00:42
The giant screen imposes on your small-time sensibilities. Your lack of individuality mingles well with the thousand-plus crowd of slaves herded together. A familiar image of an old guy with a plain face greets you from every screen, poster and standee. He is clad in a tailored suit, the kind your father could never afford. From a certain angle, you guess he looks destiny-bound. But add a sliver to the side of his mouth and…Pure evil!
He is the founder of your slave-driving machine. Today, off course, is ‘Founder’s Day’. Most slaves are in a different mood today. Some are visually happier. This is probably because this is the one day you get paid without typing anything or staring at a back-lit screen. Some are anticipating better food at the event. Some are still indifferent. You…are trying to guard against the onslaught on your psyche. By now, the Old Man’s face is more familiar to you than that guy on the currency notes (…whatshisname?). With each passing year, the legend is pushed beyond the realms of possibility. If you are not discerning, after a couple of cycles of this propaganda, you will start believing your galley is God’s gift to mankind.
As the final session ends with the third video montage to his Greatness, your Founder, there is a surge of energy through the captive audience. As they hum along the corporate anthem, there is an eerie Big Brother feel to the whole affair. You hope the compliance is out of anticipation of complimentary refreshments at the end of the show and not out of subliminal mind control.
The buffet counters open to a wave of hungry subjects that carry you outside the hall/Panopticon. You can’t take this Orwellian nightmare any more. You hurry out with an imaginary Thought Police on your back. As luck would have it, you trip over a standee of the Old Man. As you lie on the floor, face to face with greatness. You realize he is just another old man, perhaps less anxious than you but very much mortal. You stand up and walk out, leaving the Old Man on the floor.
Finders keepers losers weepers
In Blogging, Cause, Office humor, SlavesInc, Wage Slaves on January 3, 2012 at 02:19
‘The first step to realizing your dream is to stop living someone else’s.’
…is a dose of truth I recently came across in print.
SlavesInc. has not been your typical Occupy movement, nor have we overthrown any dictators. But we have certainly awakened to modern-day bondage and had a few chuckles along the way. Even Spartacus took years to cause any serious damage.
More importantly, we resisted using stock images such as:
When WordPress sent sleek-looking stats for SlavesInc’s first year of operation, one could not help but share it with fellow wage drones. Here it is:
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.
Here’s a flattering excerpt:
The concert hall at the Syndey Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 16,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 6 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
Click here to see the complete report.
In Cause, conspiracy theories, humor, Office humor, Organisation, SlavesInc, true enlightenment, vitamin d deficiency, Wage Slaves on December 5, 2011 at 12:37
God made procrastination so we could sit around, admire nature, bask in the sun and never be deficient in Vitamin D. You would so like to do that. But having come eons past the hunter gatherer stage, you have to earn your living; simply being born does not count. It is difficult. Some overcome this primeval urge to bask and harden into modern day achievement. Others end up doing jobs.
Your profound insight comes from staring long enough at the most unremarkable of places, you desk. Littered everywhere are hieroglyphs of your employer and its ultra noble mission. They also make some serious profits. But that is more of a byproduct of their lofty ethics and dizzying ‘goals’. You may not remember what grade your kid studies in. But if someone slaps you out of sleep in the middle of the night, you can recite your company theme and pledge without blinking.
You are not a memory gymnast nor are you an exceptionally committed slave. It is just that the branding is hard to miss. It is everywhere, like the skulls on Skull Island. Troopers have their fatigues. You have caps, pens, mugs and even underwear identifying your enslaver. It creeps up on you till you are a part of it. And you play along; it is not like you have some great plans of your own anyway.
You do not resist when this branding is taken one step further. You are the first one to start wearing a badge of the new corporate logo over your breast pocket, close to the heart. Years of subliminal messaging has to be overwritten here. So you act like a good sport and give up thoughts of vain rebellion. At least, they are not printing bar codes or inserting chips in you, yet.
But you do make a note to yourself:
You had better start working for a cause of your own; else people will make you work for theirs.