Congratulations on Disabling the Transmitter!

Your parents say you’ve got an “active imagination” but you know they’re wrong. You know the government has planted a transmitter just inside your cranium, broadcasting your thoughts, emotions and brand preferences to Big Business, Big Brother, and Big League Chew.

The last one doesn’t bother you so much since their business tanked in the mid ninties, largely because they wasted all their money on cramming chips into children’s skulls instead of creating a sustainable product that didn’t try to market chaw to minors, but the first two are major downers.

The fact that you’re 15 doesn’t help. Between that, your harsh Christian upbringing and this chip bullshit you feel pretty powerless. Aside from being able to use your parents’ shit when they aren’t around, you don’t really have a lot going for you.

But today you’re going to take it all back. You’ve thought long and hard about this and realized that even though you can’t expect to legitimately emancipate yourself from school and your parents you can realistically take back your thoughts.

That’s why you and your friend Kim are going to remove your transmitters tonight. Kim is just there to watch in case she has to dial 9-1-1, since if she helped you at all she’d be liable for either your death or your liberation, and then she’d have to contend with one authority figure or another.

You’ll assemble in your parents’ basement with the tools you need to do the job: a stud finder and a cordless drill. You’ll use the stud finder to locate the chip and then drill the living fuck out of it, hopefully avoiding your brain while you’re getting rid of it.

We’re not entirely sure how it’ll work out. We can see the chip being destroyed and the guy who’s listening in on your thoughts screaming as the drill causes a shrieking tone of destruction to echo in his skull, and we can see the good people in Big Business mourning the loss of your data.

But we don’t know anything about your physical well being either way yet. So all we can say is good luck. For what it’s worth we hope that you just crack your skull and bleed a lot instead of giving yourself a lobotomy. Either way congratulations on disabling the transmitter. Take that, Big League Chew!