The Pepsi Generation in Lockdown
The soma imperative and the Secret Police, a dichotomy of despair. Food groups, food pyramids, corporations cashing in on cancer and heart attacks. But keep smiling, help is on the way. Here comes the FDA, here comes Ronald McDonald with his maniacal smile and a fist full of raw meat, here comes the whole damn Pepsi Generation beating hand drums and shaking tambourines.
All awards are political, all things political are corporate. Whose time clock do you punch? When’s the last time you woke up in charge of things?
The Pepsi Generation went to London and got tossed in the slammer. Coca-Cola is the official drink of the Summer Games,and McDonald’s is the official restaurant. The Pepsi Generation is past pull date, their hair’s gone gray, they’re arthritic and riddled with cancer, they need to get shot up with insulin just to keep on eating junk food. They won’t last long in lockdown, but they’ve lost their hype so who cares? They’re in there with fish-&-chip vendors and sellers of soda pop, charged with violating the rights of corporate personhood.
This is the real game going down in London. The Olympic athletes are corporate army ants, and we’re all entertained.
Big losses come in small increments until indignation dies on our lips.
