All around me people are being farmed. It’s all one big industrial farm, as far as the eye can see. I’m being farmed too – I’ve never known anything else, as it happens. I was born on the farm, I was reared on the farm and – when the time comes – I will die on the farm. The farm is everything.
“Praise the farmer”, we all cry out, praise be to the Great Farmer who takes care of us so well and protects us from the nameless evils which swarm so virulently upon the face of the earth. We’ve all heard about these swarming evils, you see – we’ve heard about them and we don’t want anything to do with them and that’s why we love to praise the Farmer so much.
“Praise be to the farmer”, we cry out excitedly every few minutes. We’re all so happy that the Farmer is looking after us so well and protecting us against the wild beasts that stalk the land, waiting to pick off any foolish strays that have wandered out there. Waiting to puncture their delicate soft flesh with their frighteningly sharp teeth and suck out the juices from their bodies. The Farmer will shoot those wild beasts with his big gun if he sees them and that’s how come they know not to come any closer.
“The Farmer is so great”, we say. It’s all we ever say – we’re simple-minded creatures you see. We not bred for our good sense, after all. Far from it. We’re bred for our unthinking compliance not our good sense. We’re bred for the comfort and convenience of the Predator. All around me people are happy and contented and at ease because they know that the Farmer is taking such good care of them and protecting them from evil. “Protect us from evil,” we pray, protect us from evil because evil is bad…
The Farmer protects us from evil and for this we thank him daily. We thank Him unceasingly. “Teach us what we should believe in,” we pray fervently, “teach us what the right thing to believe in is, in case we make a mistake and believe in the wrong things.” We are frightened that we might make the Farmer angry with us, you see. Always frightened, always so very frightened. Living in fear, guilty about our unworthiness. “Teach us how to be good so that we don’t offend you”, we implore, “tell us what to do because we’re not smart enough to know unless you tell us. We’re not smart enough to know anything…”
We belong to The Church of The Farmer, you see. We’re members of a registered ecclesiastic organization. We are the Faithful, we are the anointed ones. We’re members of the Congregation of the True Believers and we gratefully obey God the Farmer’s many commandments because we know that He will reward us if we do. We fear God the Farmer and His host of terrible angels. They are the Lichtors. They are the Harvesters of Flesh. They are the Robot Angels of Death and Destruction and they walk invisibly amongst us every day, alert for any sign of sin, always ready to strike down the wrongdoers with terrible vengeance. You never know when they might be watching you…
