🚜 Welcome to Earth: The Galactic Livestock Experience™
“...seeking truth, but livestock mistaking the cage for the sky.”
Yes, poetic. Beautiful. Depressing. Like a Banksy quote tattooed on a cow.
If Earth is a farm (and let’s be honest, it’s feeling more like one every time we pay rent just to exist), then we need to ask the logical next question:
Who are the bloody farmers?
Because someone built this pen. Someone locked the gates. And someone definitely keeps milking the herd — whether it’s your taxes, your labour, your soul, or your internet data (which, let’s face it, is mostly just cat videos and paranoid Google searches like “symptoms of fluoride poisoning”).
🤖 According to Freccedo… Things Get Weird Fast
Freccedo, a fringe theorist with a loyal cult following of YouTube philosophers and flat-earth survivors, suggests these "farmers" aren’t gods (despite all the lightning, floods, and interest in gold). Nor are they your traditional fire-and-brimstone demons — though they do exhibit classic demonic traits: manipulation, energy harvesting, and an obsession with contracts you didn’t read (looking at you, Terms & Conditions of life).
Instead, they’re... something else. Something non-human. Maybe extradimensional. Possibly just deeply bureaucratic.
Think less angels and devils, more intergalactic corporate HR department with a side hustle in soul recycling.
🛸 The System of Extraction: Not a Pyramid Scheme (except totally a pyramid scheme)
Here’s how it works:
- You’re born.
- You go to school to learn how to sit still and hate Mondays.
- You enter the workforce to fund your slow decline.
- You die.
- And then — maybe — they siphon off the juicy existential juice you produced during your little dance of suffering and hope.
All while you believed you were free, sovereign, and special.
(Spoiler alert: You’re still special. Just, you know… like a prized pig.)
🐷 Mistaking the Cage for the Sky
That phrase isn’t metaphorical anymore. It’s literal. Chickens live under UV lamps and think that’s the sun. Humans scroll Instagram and think that’s reality.
We mistake Wi-Fi for wisdom. We confuse freedom of choice with freedom from control. We think elections matter, but the farm hands don’t get to choose the farmer — they just get to vote on the colour of the feed buckets.
🔍 So What Do They Want?
Your attention, mostly. Your energy. Your compliance. Your consent — even if it’s manufactured. Even if it’s buried under Netflix terms of service and a hundred episodes of "Love Island."
They don’t want your worship. They want your participation in a system you never asked to join. Neat trick, really. A kind of divine gaslighting.
"There’s no cage."
"You chose this."
"Now smile for the surveillance drone."
😂 But Let’s Be Honest…
Even if it is a cosmic farm run by unnameable entities who treat human suffering like battery fuel — you’ve got to admit: the sunsets are still pretty. And cheese. Cheese exists. That almost makes being farmed feel worth it.
Besides, if we are livestock, we’re the most anxious, overthinking, spiritually frustrated cows in the galaxy. We meditate. We do ayahuasca retreats. We write angry blog posts at 2am while eating Tesco's own-brand custard creams.
That’s got to count for something, right?
In conclusion:
You are not crazy. You are just waking up in the barn.
And the real question isn’t “Are we being farmed?”
It’s: “Can we tip the farmer before he tips us?”
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