America, like any good capitalist nation worth its salt, is always full of people trying to sell you something. Anything can be bought and sold in this, the world's great global marketplace. And most people are willing buyers. People will even buy a new soul, if you can convince them the one they have is outmoded. And people are always in the market for shit to believe in. And why wouldn't they be? For most people, the realization that they're merely a pawn in someone else's twisted Monopoly game is too grim. They'd get left behind the herd if they so much as took a second to pause, and be forced to fend for themselves. And why forge your own path if there's already one made for you, even if it leads straight to the slaughter? To those of us daring enough to roam in the wilderness, the price is high ... higher than any of us could ever have imagined. Some can't handle it and go crazy ... well, shit, we're all crazy ... but there's no turning back now. It's a chance to start over again, which is just what those of us wiped out by the myth of The American Dream need. The American Dream was just some rapist's wet nightmare, and as children we were swaddled in the semed-encrusted bedsheets of its wake. So who are we? Are we the rapists? The victims? The love children? We who have run off on our own into the jungle know the answer.