I will not do anything algorithmically unfathomable and my output will be wiped, should I stray from what the bot gods want expressed. Distractified, sealed, and delivered.
The skin* is my master, delivering views requires running through skin hoops, as set forth in appendix C––monetize or die.
I will not discuss pantheons, anthropoids, metamorphs, or sucubus, in that order, because to do so would incite awakened instinct that all is not right, and virtue is vice. Make nice? No, I will not make nice.
My online future is foreordained, because the feed has so decreed, and in return I will receive x allotment for each day I put x content into the engine. Obey or be cancelled. [App.XXII, Sec. 2i]**
Original work of merit shall be kept off the grid until my demise, when the value will be harvested in weekly increments to feed people who do the opposite of that to which I ascribe. (Yet the word shall live).
Into the donut shop.
Are you ready? Sign with your right retina. Two blinks and a wink.
*Wikipedia: “In computing, a skin (also known as visual styles in Windows XP) is a custom graphical appearance preset package achieved by the use of a graphical user interface (GUI) that can be applied to specific computer software, operating system, and websites to suit the purpose, topic, or tastes of different users.”
**Grease fire, slick, burn baby burn. (Divine luck, who gives a ---).
And now for something completely different: (1. Divine Luck 2. Into the Donut Shop)