The Propaganda Machine

Don't patronize me, Dr. Seuss, if that is your real name.

You may be able to enslave the minds of the thoughtless masses with your Whos and Grinches, but not me. I see right through your insidious, twisted veil. I must admit, it is a very clever and nuanced deception, as audaciously effective as nicotine patches in diapers. You've spread a luscious smörgåsbord of evil just low enough for our children's eager hands, and their tiny mouths feed ravenously on the morsels of human defeat.

Their parents trip on mescaline while these innocent ones devour the sickening green eggs and rancid ham, frying their young brains in your crucible of self-diminishing complacency. Your intoxicating sewage asks each of them to suffer the inevitable scourge of injustice for the sake of something as abstract as "humanity." Your apology for human stupidity requires them to tear out their own hearts with a rusty spoon at another's request to accommodate your backwards world view. Humanity does not shrink, but stands tall in an obstinate refusal to accept your ideological terror machine by its mere survival.

I shudder at your talent, Doctor. If Goebbles had such brilliance and courage one could scarcely comprehend the effects. Today I breath a sigh of relief that animation technology did not achieve such great heights in the 1930s, but remain paralyzed with fear over the droves of Seuss soldiers that will inevitably sculpt our golden years in a frenzy of moral abuse and disregard for justice.