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Stop wondering why you're not number one. Start feeling the bottom of the sun. The things you think you deserve, you didn't create the earth, you didn't build your car from scratch, you couldn't start a fire without a match, so many generations came and went so you could own a couch, I didn't know it was an evolutionary trait, you know, the adaptability of the slouch.

Make me more like screen-mediated teen idols, make my mind like guinea pigs tossed into a snakepit of marketing gurus, make my taste portable like a digital tongue, sell my preferences to Google and say it's good right in front of the UN.

Kim Jong Il's son is set to be number one, nepotism yet again, mediocrity throughout the 'Stans, leave your country to a kid who thinks a thermonuclear toy is his birthright. What can the North Koreans do for you? They can put away their blackmail, they can turn tales through their brainwashed wailing, they can dig themselves an economy, they can resign themselves to the worst part of the Old Testament -- you know, all the circumcision and concubine stuff in the less quotable parts of Deuteronomy.

We don't ask what we don't know anymore. Siri doesn't have an answer to the question you don't ask. I could have hired a secretary instead, she'd have worked hard, you know, like everyone else in Saskatchewan. Now she's stuck in Moose Jaw, ll'never know the joy of working for the man, for me, she might have an extra three kids out there, all that space out on the plain.

Have you ever sealed out the air, with a plastic sheet, against a glass wall, on a Monday evening, just to save a few bucks, because YouTube showed you how? That's the kind of universe that's happening right now.