We Choose To Go To The Moon

Slavoj Žižek appeared today to give what many will surely come to consider the 21st century Sermon on the Mount. Thousands of eager youths crowded around the glowing, nearly effervescent newly-anointed king of hipsters. Women flocked to his feet, ripping at their garments to wash away the blood of battle from the soiled Slovenian. As he spoke, a slightly organic gurgling of the sort a child might hear emanating from his closet late at night, the crowd wept. He fed on their tears and continued, rejuvenated.
"I love you all... even in all this filth. I see you here, you bedraggled masses, crumbled at my very feet. You, with your fedoras and Ray-Bans, you with your Nietzsche, you with your Kant, you with your iPod and your headphones to match. I see you all and wish you well. This goddamn Wall Street can go to hell."
"We LOVE YOU!!!!" the crowd shouted.
"I see you there... you with the cameras and the soy and the bikes. You with the haircuts and the ramen and the non-fat chai lattes. I see you crowded around that Asian fusion food truck with high-waisted tight pants and ironic tees. I see you all, and yet, I feel nothing."
"You are ours" the crowd hissed.
"You need a job? Go ask Lacan."
"You are ours" as they lurched towards him.
"Let them eat iPhones."
The seething and beautiful horde came closer and closer still.
"We are yours."
"Then come my children, for I alone am yours."

The feast began.
He tasted like pork, but it felt like victory.