RANT: The True Nature of Idiocracy

 

IDIOTCRACY: A RANT

Idiocracy wasn’t a prophecy—it was a documentary, just filmed a few years too early and dressed up in satire to make the medicine go down. But let’s be real: even that movie gave the human race too much credit. Gatorade instead of water? Sure, that’s stupid. But the real idiocy is subtler and more terrifying—it pretends to be smart.

Look around. We're already living in it.

The food is still edible, sure, but barely. We spray it with God-knows-what, grow it in depleted soil, wrap it in plastic, and call that “nutrition.” If Idiocracy had people eating garbage, our version is worse—we pay extra for the illusion of health while filling ourselves with sugar, seed oils, and pharmaceutical bandaids. You know, “modern medicine.”

And the people? Not drooling, not huffing paint—just addicted to screens, trained by algorithms, and proudly ignorant of anything that isn’t trending. The modern idiot doesn’t grunt. He hashtags.

We accept lies as part of politics. That’s the game, right? Politicians lie, they all do it, ha ha—move on. Meanwhile, they retire as millionaires after “serving” the public. Funny how government buildings are built like palaces, but your local road looks like it was shelled by artillery. Why’s the town hall got a marble staircase while you’re dodging potholes on the way to your third casual job?

The politician is a middleman pimp who sells your future to the highest bidder, then calls it “public-private partnership.” Idiocracy isn’t future tense—it’s now. The difference is, you’re too distracted to notice it. Or maybe you do notice—but you've been conditioned not to care. You’ve been pacified. Bread and circuses. Footy and fries.

Monopoly isn’t a board game anymore—it’s an economic doctrine. Corporate mergers, government contracts, media consolidation… all while telling you that you still have choices. What’s the choice between poison in a red can or poison in a blue one? Between two liars with a marketing budget?

The rich are worshipped like gods—but gods who make nothing, risk nothing, and inherit everything. They sell you dreams they don’t believe in. They flaunt their “success” like it wasn’t built on cheap labour, rigged systems, and political protection. And when the poor dare to ask for crumbs, they’re told they’re lazy. As if asking for dignity is some sin.

Is it guilt that makes the rich castigate the poor? Or is it just cowardice? Because somewhere deep down, even they know the whole thing is rigged.

And war—Jesus, war’s not even tragic anymore. It’s televised drama. A popcorn event. A distraction. Starving kids on one channel, a new streaming series on the next. As long as the bombs aren’t falling here, it’s just another episode. Mass murder is fine—so long as we’re the ones doing it. Exporting “freedom” at gunpoint. Calling it peace while we plant flags in blood.

You don’t need drooling buffoons in Crocs screaming about electrolytes to be in Idiocracy. You just need a society that treats the lie like the truth, the clown like a leader, and the thinker like a threat.

We made it. Welcome to Idiocracy.

IDIOTCRACY: PART TWO – THE LAZY LIE AND THE MIDDLEMAN KING

Let’s talk about how the West engineered unemployment—not by accident, but by design. Once upon a time—say, 1970s Australia—we had near full employment. If you wanted work, you got it. Might’ve been hard, dirty, sweaty, and real—but it meant something. It paid the bills, put food on the table, gave a man his dignity. But that kind of economy didn’t suit the suits.

Then came the financialization era. Wall Street became the brain, and the rest of the body started to rot. Making things? Nah. Too dirty. Too hard. Let’s just move money around, charge fees, and make more in a day than a tradesman does in a year. Don’t build—own. Don’t work—speculate. Don’t employ—outsource.

And with that shift came the sabotage of full employment. Because if everyone’s working, no one's desperate. But if there’s always a pool of people looking for scraps—well now you’ve got leverage. You’ve got fear. You’ve got obedience. So they built a system with baked-in unemployment, then turned around and called the victims lazy.

“Why can’t you get a job?”
Because you closed the factory.
Because you sent it offshore.
Because you replaced labour with leveraged buyouts.

But you won’t hear that on talkback radio. No, you’ll hear smug voices telling you, “Well maybe you just don’t want to work.” Or better yet: “No one does jobs like that anymore. They’re too hard.”

Too hard? Those jobs built the country. Built your roads. Your houses. Filled your dam, drove your truck, fixed your plumbing. But now they’re too hard for your precious post-grads with manicured nails and empty toolkits.

The ones born with the silver spoon don’t even know where the kitchen is, let alone how to cook. They think work is branding, networking, or getting a coffee while someone else does the job. Their only real skill is licking up, punching down, and sitting in meetings nodding while saying nothing. They don’t work—they float.

They float through private schools, learning nothing but how to test the air with their finger up their arse. “Which way’s the wind blowing today?” Left? Right? Doesn’t matter—as long as the trust fund’s growing and the peasants stay in their place. That’s what those schools teach: the way of the idle middleman.

Born in a birthday grave—never worked a day, never built a thing, yet somehow owns half the country. Coke-bottle glasses not made to see truth, but to filter fools—a lens trained only on profit and status. Reality? Don’t need it. Just PR, portfolios, and power.

They have no concept of sweat equity. No memory of struggle. They speak about poverty the way a bird talks about the ocean—some far-off thing they've only ever seen from the sky.

And we call that intelligence?

We are ruled by clowns in ties, defended by cowards in media, and distracted by puppets on fields kicking balls of air.

They broke the economy on purpose. Then told you it was your fault for not adapting to the new reality. As if we’re supposed to be gig workers forever, competing in the Hunger Games of contract labor, licking boots for five-star ratings.

The system isn’t broken—it’s doing exactly what it was re-engineered to do: concentrate wealth, isolate blame, and glorify the ones who never lifted a finger.

Welcome again... to Idiocracy.

IDIOTCRACY: PART THREE – BREADLINES IN A SUIT AND TIE

Financialization didn’t just happen—it was engineered. A surgical strike on the real economy. Back in the day—1970s Australia, for example—you had a job if you wanted one. It might’ve been in a factory, on a site, behind a counter, or out in the bush, but it was there. You showed up, you worked, and you earned. That was full employment. That was a working-class backbone.

Then the suits came in, carrying spreadsheets like grenades. “Too many workers,” they whispered. “Too many protections. Too many expectations.” So they rigged the system. Shifted everything from production to speculation. The stock market became the temple, and the gods it served didn’t sweat—they bet.

What used to be a job became a number. A cost to cut. An "efficiency" to realise. A factory to offshore. One by one, the chairs disappeared, and now we play musical chairs in the ruins—temp work, gig jobs, zero-hours contracts, “hustle culture” dressed up like opportunity while people silently drown in overwork and underpay.

And yet the blame lands on the worker.

“You’re lazy.”
“You’re entitled.”
“You should’ve upskilled.”

No mate—you downskilled the whole country. You gutted the trades, sneered at the jobs that actually built the nation, told the next generation to sit in a classroom, tick boxes, and learn nothing of value while you dismantled the ladder behind them.

And now? Now you sit on radio and laugh:

“Nobody wants to do that job.”
“That job’s too hard.”
“Who even does that anymore?”

That job? That job that laid the foundation under your marble floor? That job that poured the concrete for your data centre, fixed the power when the lights went out, and showed up when your plumbing blew at 2 a.m.?

You call it too hard because you’ve never done a day of it.

The top class—those with the silver spoons—don’t know work. They know leverage. They know inheritance. They know how to move things they didn’t build and claim profit from things they didn’t understand. They are the offspring of privilege raised in manicured gardens where sweat is outsourced and failure is subsidised.

They wear polished shoes but have never stood in a queue at Centrelink.

And what do they actually learn at their expensive private schools?
Not math. Not science. Not history.
They learn the art of looking important while doing nothing.
They learn how to speak with fake conviction, kiss the right arse, shake the right hand, and—most importantly—keep their finger in the wind and a sandwich in their gob.

The elite class are trained weathervanes with trust funds.
Born into a birthday they never earned, coasting from cradle to crypt with Coke-bottle glasses not for seeing clearly—but for seeing selectively.
All pretty things. No dirt. No pain. No sweat. No ugly truth.
Just filters and fantasies.

And somehow, they run the economy.

They get promoted for failure, bailed out for greed, applauded for corruption, and celebrated for saying absolutely nothing of substance while the working class get buried in paperwork, debt, and humiliation.

They don’t even pretend to understand what a real job is anymore. They think “labour” is something beneath them—something to be imported, automated, or demonised.

Meanwhile, a whole generation now runs a rat race with the floor removed. Jump through hoops, fill out forms, chase five jobs to maybe pay rent—and the moment you stumble, the media chorus sings: “Should’ve tried harder.”

Idiocracy isn’t coming.
We’re living in it.
And the ones running it?
They’re not geniuses.
They’re just dressed-up passengers born in first class, convinced they’re flying the plane.

IDIOTCRACY: PART FOUR – DEBT SLAVERY: THE INVISIBLE CHAINS

They don’t need whips anymore.
They don’t need prison cells.
They’ve built a new kind of slavery—clean, digital, polite.
It’s called debt.

In the old world, if a man worked, he ate.
Now? He works, he borrows, he pays interest, and maybe he eats—if inflation hasn’t eaten first.
The system doesn’t want citizens—it wants customers. Preferably lifelong. And the best customer is one who’s too scared to stop working and too broke to say no.

It starts young.
“Want an education? Here’s a loan.”
“Want a roof over your head? Take out a mortgage.”
“Need a car to get to the job that barely pays? That’ll be five years of repayments, mate.”
You don’t own anything—you’re renting your existence.

And God help you if you miss a payment.
One slip and you’re not just broke—you’re broken.
Your credit score becomes your social worth.
You are judged, weighed, measured—not by your character, but by your ability to feed the system with interest.
You're not a person. You're a revenue stream.

And while you're drowning in bills, the elite?
They create debt from nothing.
Literally.
They own the banks, the money printers, the investment vehicles.
They borrow at near-zero interest and buy the assets that used to be yours.

They rent you your own country.

Your grandparents bought a house on one income.
You? You’ll need two jobs, two signatures, two lifetimes—and you’ll still be paying off that box of bricks until you're buried in it.
And when prices go up, it’s your fault. “You’re not budgeting.” “You need to work harder.”
The same line every abuser uses.

But don’t worry!
They’ve got Buy Now Pay Later.
They’ve got payday loans, credit cards, six-year car loans for used Toyotas.
And they’ll throw you a fake dopamine hit every time you tap that card.
“Financial freedom”—right?

The truth is: debt is the leash.
It keeps you clocking in, shutting up, complying.
You don’t strike. You don’t rebel. You can’t.
You’re one missed paycheck away from collapse—and they know it.

And the worst part?
They’ve sold it to you as normal.
“Everyone has debt,” they say.
“It's just the way the world works.”

Yeah?
Since when did slavery become normal?
Since when did owning nothing and smiling about it become sane?

You think you’re free because there’s no bars on the windows?
Wake up.
The cage is made of direct debits, monthly statements, and quiet despair.

Debt is the whip that leaves no bruises.
And in this Idiocracy, you’re not free—you’re leased out to a system designed to keep you running, consuming, fearing, and obeying.

All so some smirking clown in a suit can "earn" passive income while sipping craft wine in his third investment property.