“Simon Says:” So-Called Consultant & Big Brain Simon Sinek Believes That Corporations Are Supposed to Help The Millennial Generation “Finish Growing Up” By Creating More Social Experiments

To: Simon Sinek, et alia.
From: E. Julius Hauser, Endeavors to Success
Subject: I Quit.
CC: Your Producers.
BCC: All of The Other “Millennials” on Planet Earth

At the 11 minute, 45 second mark, Sinek goes into his “vision” for a Corporate groupthink initiative that will help fix the things people like him created in the first place.  Conveniently, and as expected, he went almost eleven minutes straight defining a problem that, arguably, is not a real problem; before concluding with the strategic level vision that private corporations will be able to accomplish something that governments have yet to master: generational mind control.

Conveniently, he leaves the audience with a small, poorly worded thesis statement on this vision, and, almost as if the producers of this dumpster fire of a video planned it, his voice trails off, the video ends, the audience claps, and the viewer is left to their own assumptions on just how the corporations and their government lobbyists are going to solve “The Problem.”

What will be their “Final Solution,” I wonder?

It’s something I witness as being the worst parts of Capitalism and Communism all thrown into a small soundbite:

“I hate to say it…” Simon begins to say.

No you don’t, mother fucker. You love this shit.  You love this shit, and you know it.

You love to say this sycophantic garbage, you corporate sociopath.  You eat your own shit like it’s caviar, and people pay you for it. I could hear the smugness in your voice, and a quick internet search for photographs of you did not disappoint me or my instinct-driven senses one bit.

I digress.

I am a “Millennial,” and like a lot of us Millennials, I also don’t want to “do anything with my life.”

I say it that way in quotations, because what people like Simon Sinek look at as meaningful life on this planet, I look at it as total slavery to a robotic tyranny.  It is an automated tyranny that depends on humans to feed it, but it was never set up to give anything back to the humans.  It will never be that way, because something that isn’t alive in the first place cannot show human emotions or an appreciation for human life.

Humans are more important than Hardware” -Special Operations Forces Truth #1

It is a robotic tyranny, one hell-bent on the reduction of human life to nothing more than strategic movements along a predetermined pattern of a bunch of cubicles on a marketable, supply-chain-driven course.  All of it is connected by an asphalt prison yard, a prison yard full of artificial game trails called roads, highways, and interstate highways.

The prison yard is full of men and women who have been tricked into thinking that they are hunters on this so-called game trail, when in reality they are the prey.  It’s a prison yard where metallic boxes on wheels called automobiles are commonly used.  The automobile as I see it is a physical object that is becoming decreasingly qualitative but increasingly quantified.

The automobiles are flung around in a hardly controlled chaos for hours and hours all day, racing up and down the game trails, mindlessly billowing out carcinogenic fumes that killed the horses they replaced.  Whether it’s direct fumes from exhaust pipes, or indirect off-gassing via “plugging in” the automobiles at night to some electronic device, some process to make the automobiles appear “alive” will require cancer causing properties to be released into the world during the device’s manufacture and use.

Simon, if you’re going to take that much risk creating or maintaining a system like that, one that requires the use of such a horrifying object that drives inside of such a horrifying prison yard, at least make it a cool automobile.  Make it something that is able to be used in a war, like a Panzer.

At least make the prison yard something that can’t be mass produced without the skill of mankind’s best yet most underappreciated tradesmen: the road workers.  Make the prison yard out of something historical and wholly human, like a tenured cobblestone lane or brick road that has cultural meaning, instead of an artificial lava flow of asphalt mixed with tar that gets replaced every few years not unlike the rootless multiculturalists traveling over top of it.

The reason I “don’t want to do anything with my life” is because people like this guy Simon Sinek are already out there, waiting in philosophical ambush for “overthinking” people and Millennials like me.  They are just WAITING to begin the process of making money off of me by pushing their buttons, pulling their levers, inventing their new labels to describe me and my unwillingness to behave in their image.  They will even get the pharmaceutical companies involved to deal with me.  They’ll make sure the government lets them do it too.

They will point at me with what appear to be cosmopolitan fingers to the culturally inept, and they will write their books about me that the same culturally inept people will buy and read like a young nymphomaniac college girl who needs sex, or a man with COPD who needs to exhale.  They will try to uncover something about me as though I am living in someone else’s open-air theater play.  All of them are already prepared to talk about me and all of it like I’m some kind of victim, or test tube subject.

I will become the latest “victim” or “test tube subject” for people like Sinek to be studied, analyzed, vaccinated, expatriated, and repatriated all at once; altogether trapped in something that people like him created who will deny responsibility of creating even in a court of law.  The entire time, he will sit comfortably with the knowledge that I will have given him every right, or so he thinks, to do these things to me because I signed some contract, or agreed to some kind of terms of use or terms of service.

That’s how these people think, and you need to be alarmingly aware of this.

Instead of honoring my humanity regardless of my circumstances, he reduces me, condenses me, limits my entire generation and me into a talking point: Millennials, and what’s wrong with us.  He does this, all while trying to portray himself as “the good guy,” even though every last one of us in my generation who were paying attention, all watched him carefully.  We watched him as he stepped out from the same pack of bad guys who traveled to our metaphorical farm, compound, bunker, castle, or combat outpost.  We saw them coming from miles away.

Sure, we even watched those guys do it with the optics people like Simon Sinek provided us, but we knew from the start that by using these fancy new metaphorical binoculars the bad guys gave us, there would indeed be some kind of catch when we accepted the gift of the new technology.

We knew that eventually they’d come back for some kind of tribute, or tax, or some other form of fancy worded theft, or enslavement to an idea we don’t want to act upon on someone else’s behalf.  No matter how fancy their so-called “gifts” of technology or social media or incorporated groupthink are, the Millennial generation’s gut instincts simply will not let this happen.

Something deep down in our gut tells us that ecologically incorporated people like Simon Sinek are going to have some kind of “condition” or “term of use,” something we have to agree upon before we can use this metaphorically convenient pair of binoculars that act as a place holder to explain what it is this asshole is trying to trick us into accepting.

(“Run-on sentences are not allowed?”  Fuck you.  This is my website, not yours.)

What people like him and his stinky band of mass produced, business suit wearing tribesmen were not expecting is that we Millennials used his own optics against him to observe him from miles away.  We watched as he came back with his big pack of fortune telling gypsies and hand rubbing merchants, all of them dressed in suits and ties that suggest regency in spite of their rootless, cultural bankruptcy.  They came here so they could perform some kind of feel-good ritual that would certainly get us to dance the way they want us to dance.  Right?

We aren’t gonna dance just because you tell us to, Simon.  I thought people like you would have learned that after creating the business model which states that people would have to pay money just to talk to other people of the opposite sex no matter the distance of proximity (read: online dating and smartphone applications like Tinder and Bumble).  However, I guess even people like you truly are dumber than your own smart-sounding ideas.

Multiple decades of experiencing all of those “formative gaps” Simon Sinek talked about did not exist in a vacuum.  In our parents’ absence while they suffered through the tasks of people like Simon’s corporate slave plantations, we young Millennials were forced to hone our survival instincts.

Mainstream media called it being a “Latchkey Kid.”

I tend to call it “That One Long Decade of Time When I Wished That I Could Have Been With My Mom And Dad A Lot More Because Being A Teenager With Neither of Them Being Around Most of The Time Was Very Unpleasant.”

I mean if we’re gonna get personal here.

What Simon Sinek observes as childishness among other things in so many words,  I call it survival in order to make sure my own children will be able to identify and fight this nonsense, and effectively fight people like Simon, fighting them physically if necessary.

That’s one thing about Millennials, we people who were blessed with experiencing our youth at the turn of a fucking millennium, and not just the turn of a century: we are REALLY good at detecting bullshit.

What Millennials are not good at -and God bless us for it- is being able to compartmentalize bullshit in a meaningful, tangible way that will make someone else a lot of money hand-over-fist.

Millennials fail at being able to compartmentalize bullshit in academia in colleges across the world, so we don’t finish our degree.  We just drop out.

We fail at being able to compartmentalize bullshit in the business world, so we don’t give our two weeks’ notice.  We just quit.

We fail at being able to compartmentalize bullshit in the fields of art and science, so we don’t complete what we started.  We just stop.

Because our time-tested, survival-based worldviews do not fit with the corporate, mass-produced groupthink that dehumanizes those of us who make the scientific discoveries or put the paint onto canvas, we go underground.

We go out into a wilderness unknown to the corporate slave plantations that those plantations will then claim, will demand, will violently declare is the lunatic fringe.

“Sole proprietor?  What are you?  Some kind of lunatic?”

We just can’t seem to get it right when trying to play with this subject of complete bullshit, but then again, why make that a skill?  Why play with shit all day?

“What are you?  A corporate coprophiliac on Prozac?”

Moreover, why play with SOMEONE ELSE’S BULLSHIT that was shit out onto that asphalt prison yard that was paved over what was once a beautiful meadow, or stout acreage of oak trees?

Simon, I’d rather play around in a military history museum and learn about why I DON’T have to repeat the same mistakes someone else did, than do something “meaningful” with my life.  I’d rather “sit around doing nothing” than “Do Something” that is going to continue wrecking our fucking planet.

“Recycle or die.” -Jason C. Allen, fine artist, Sunray Eco Art

I’d rather imagine jumping into a Viking longship and plundering the next village down the coast or up the river, or imagine jumping into a Tiger Tank to kill the Communists who were braver than your ilk who seem to exude the eerily similar behavior of Communists.  I’d surely play make-believe in the woods faster than agreeing to sit trapped inside your hell.  It’s a convenient, climate-controlled hell shaped like an office cubicle, to be sure.  It’s a suggestive hell what has a small patch of grass next to it, with a few overly pruned and fruitless trees, a square pond made from cancer-filled water runoff, and whatever wildlife are still left barely alive during this, the so-called Holocene Extinction Event.

But hey, at least Corporate Policy made the “nature trail” outside the office a “no smoking” nature trail.  Right, goy?

I want to honor the fact that the planet is a massive, open air military history museum, and to honor the truth that it has always been someone’s battlefield.  While I want to honor that, people like Simon Sinek seem like they want others to continue perpetuating some massive psychological and physical war that doesn’t need to keep happening over and over again on a wider and wider scale each time.  Each time the war happens, it would appear that people spend less and less time tending to the humanity of the warriors who were compelled to fight it.  What is worse, people like Sinek appear to want the civilian bystanders who are caught in that war’s wake to “do something with their lives” while being simultaneously forced to make sense of the war.

In doing so, the civilians will be perplexed by that war for the rest of their lives, a process that will fuel the next war after they are dead and gone, and a process that will line the pockets of hand rubbing merchants with that sweet, sweet currency that doesn’t actually exist except in the eyes of some all-seeing, non-human central bank.

Yes.  The planet is constantly hosting war.  The clear feeling of war might not be wherever you are, as you read this jumbled up mass of thoughts I started writing to nobody in particular around 2am.  The war might not be raging in full swing near Safety Harbor, Florida, at least not for me as I sit here in this cramped Florida Room with windows on all sides from waist to ceiling.  It is the equivalent of a back porch, and I’ve been humbly living this way for about four years now, with about 150 square feet, give or take the space I have to actually walk.

I use this place as my bedroom, office, “whack shack” or “masturbatorium pornographia,” dining room, toolshed, woodshop, military history library, historical archive, study hall, music room, listening post, observation post, operations center, and other various parts that would be better suited for the castle in the kingdom that I have not yet built.  The castle will be bristling with weapons systems in my kingdom.  It will be a kingdom manned in every neighborhood by an army of kind, brave men, who I will have the honor to call Brothers.  Somehow, in some odd form of reality, all of them will be Kings over their own kingdoms, and it shall be called America.

That’s right, America.  We are still out here, we don’t do drive-by shootings, and we don’t quit.  We assault through the enemy, and move to contact to take the objectives.

No, the war might not appear to exist here in Safety Harbor at the moment I am writing this.

However, somewhere out there, there is a person, usually a man, moving about freely under his own liberty.  He has the ability to receive the order at a moment’s notice to put a weapon in his hands, and be prepared to fight alongside other men.  Ideally, in this day and age, that weapon is a rifle, and those riflemen, those Minutemen, are fighting to survive in a very real conflict.  It is a war that exists here and now in the United States of America.

Many times, this conflict is not openly acknowledged by the civilian bystander, because the new war is still in its infancy stage of psychological conflict on most parts of the battlefield.  In this instance, I support the abortion of infancy.

Chances are, as I write this article, those men fighting for this survival are Millennials.

Chances are, if a person isn’t directly engaged in the conflict, they are a civilian bystander caught among three options to either join the warriors, fight the warriors, or simply observe the warriors either close up or from far away.

I return to the main point.

It appears clearly to me that Simon Sinek fails to realize anything I just mentioned.  My conclusion is evidenced by the content in his feel-good pep talk that was characterized by unthinking applause and laughter, and dry-erase board “art” illustrations that were animated to add gravity to a speech that had no weight in the first place (((other than the weight of revenue and returns someone makes off of making up these assessments about my generation))).

These people aren’t fully fucking human, including the people who clapped for this guy, and including the fucking retard who spent hours drawing pictures on a dry erase board that illustrated an overpaid person’s garbage dump ideology about how to “fix” me or “fix” my generation.

“Leave me the fuck alone, I have the right to remain silent!” ought to be the battlecry for the Millennial generation.

It always seems like when people entice us to get up from our chairs to talk to us about doing something; it seems like when people get us to walk away from whatever meaningful thing we were doing at the time, for both ourselves and the real people to our left and right; it seems like the experiences we are promised to receive after we agree to abandon our own goals are NEVER, EVER what we get when we finally arrive to perform the incorporated tasks for people like Simon Sinek .

“Hey, if you could just do this thing for me real quick, that would be great,” incorporated people like Simon Sinek are quick to say.

No.  No, I think I’m good, Mr. Sinek.  Matter of fact, I just got a call from somebody named Washington, telephone extension 1776.  Some guy named Jefferson wrote something important, and he wants me to proofread it for him.  Something about independence or something, in a very very declarative tone.  Jefferson won’t be done with it until next year around the summertime.  Says he will need it finished by July.  Says he needs someone to engross it for him in August… whatever that means.

By the way, I’m taking an extended leave of absence for massive depression.

Your office building is really fucking depressing, and you don’t even follow your own rules that your own people invented in the first place.  If I want to walk into a climate controlled building, I’d rather be in a military history museum, or art gallery, or private laboratory or something… maybe even a strip club or whorehouse at this point.  At least the girls there “put out.”  All the girls here around the office just want to write me up on a Human Resources complaint because I wasn’t the right guy on the right day of the right month of the right year to flirt with them.  They keep leaving the residual derivatives of their birth control in the water I’m drinking out of the water fountain too, and my only other options are to either drink the water from that water cooler filled with black mold that’s supplied with those big bottles made out of the plastic that my body will slowly absorb, or risk drinking water out of that square retention pond outside by the “non-smoking nature trail,” whatever that means.

I guess what I am trying to say is that you can have your metaphorical binoculars and corporate ideological optics back, Mr. Sinek.  I guess this means you, your gypsies with their crystal balls, and your merchants with their incessant hand rubbing can get off my property now too.

I need some, uh, some Living Space, you know?  Some Lebensraum or something.

I think that’s what my crazy cousin called it a few years ago.  He called it that, and he hired one of my other cousins to train a bunch of modern day knights to make sure we got the Lebensraum.  The knights wore these S shaped things on their collars.  Another group of cousins had to learn how to jump out of planes, climb tall mountains, go on long walks in the desert, land on dangerous coastlines in small boats, use a bunch of different guns, flamethrowers, rocket launchers, and explosives.  Eventually they were ordered to go fight and murder my other cousins with these crazy looking knives designed by these two ex-cops named William E. Fairbairn and Eric A. Sykes.

Yeah, apparently my two groups of cousins suffered heavily.  People like you said that my cousins owed them a bunch of money or something, so they decided to start a war.  Just like you, these people claimed that they owned all of this fake money and debt that can’t be found anywhere except on paper in some weird looking guy’s bank filing cabinet, so they decided to start a war.  They also said that neither group was doing “enough” for their countries just like you’re saying, so they decided to start a war.

I can’t remember the details, really.  I could tell you more about it without sounding like a complete dumbass, but your corporate network administrators keep blocking me from researching the history behind it when I’m on my lunch breaks.

I think it was called The World War Two or something.

Anyway… “I’ve been here eight months, and I don’t think I’m making a big enough impact.  I quit.”

Bye, Simon.

A Disgruntled Millennial

Last Three Feet.  Win the mind, win the day.

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