How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good news, who publishes peace, who brings good news of happiness, who publishes salvation, who says to Zion, "Your God reigns."
How many times have we tried to show you? How many times have you ignored us? You've even had the bad manners to get up and make tea, or worse, go to the bathroom, when we try to give you our gospel, our message of hope and light. Take a moment and consider what you're missing, because you're missing life, real life, the real world, the world that you - yes that's you - can have. We care about you. We care about your skin and your hair and your car and television and internet and your family and friends. And your phone, your mobile device, your personal mobile device, your heart, veins, nerves, mind and soul. And no, not the one you have in your hand; nice, yes, useable, but frankly, not much good for much longer, because it doesn't have fUture-gee iConnectivity©, which means that when fUture-gee iConnectivity© comes, and it is coming, you will be isolated, incommunicado, non-communicational. Lonely. No one will be able to talk to you. Not even your own family. Your own family, think about it. Speaking of family, you know the old adage, the family that Wii's together, stays together! Fathers are duty-bound to be beaten by their clever-dick kids and made to look like the bungling fools they are. Role models? Come on, so yesterday, so then, fathers are fun figures, figures of fun. Only single rich men and perfume-splashing androgonoids deserve respect, only back-slapping, seemingly-unattached, thirty-something, white-toothed males on road trips, pub trips and ego-trips are real men. So, play up and play the game; though, well, surely you can't play War Crime Car Theft Assassin 83 on that? Come on admit it, HD? H-Schmee. Flat screen, okay for some, like your granddad, and the old folks' home. Doesn't come with internet compatibility now does it, doesn't have surround-sound, three-dee, hi-viz, eco-trend image-enhancement with integral solar flare dampening, does it? No hope for your soap on that thing. And while we're on that subject, you, and your functional, yes, but somewhat outdated and dull-looking clothes...well, they smell; on a molecular level of course, but an odour is an odour, a foul miasma, a foul miasma, a stink, a stink. Look at your face, your skin, your complexion. Spots, grease-patches, wrinkles. Hag-alert; cream needed, science-appliance, succour from the laboratoire. So, come on, get with the programme between the programmes. Treat yourself, spread a little cash. Spend a little credit, raise a little debt. You want it? Have it. Save? You think you can save? Why? Hoarded money is dead money. And, well, isn't it your duty to spend, to oil the wheels? It's your patriotic obligation to the machineries of the nation. All that stuff, all those nice necessities, someone makes them, and you're not willing to support them and their wives and their kids, their cute, clever, shiny-toothed children? What about the fellas who work at the docks, the distributors and shopkeepers and outleteers, you're not willing to shell out a little bit of your money to help them? We're clawing our way out of recession and you want to hoard your lucre and to hide it away as if somehow it will work for you or do you good or buy you things on some rainy day that might never happen. What rainy day? Look at the happy smiling faces we offer, look at the gleaming and glistening and beautiful and tell me that is not real life, the real life you and yours are missing. Are you trying to tell us that you're content to be unconnected, a dirty, frizzy-haired, clog-pored, throwback, a curmudgeon, a retrograde, an anomaly with a vacuum cleaner that doesn't turn corners and a razor that has only fifteen close-shave blades on its flexible head? You're content to be an outcast, a maverick and a fucking individual? You're content that your children are unbranded, unshepherded, mocked, scorned, bullied, berated, de-rated and hated? Okay, if that's what you want, keep your money, your stash, your cash, and may you choke on it you craven, unpatriotic, Luddite, child-hating, self-centred bastard.