Woe to men, for you shall be replaced by machines and shall lose your manhood.
Woe to women, for you shall have no men to shelter and comfort you in the wasteland to come.
Woe to children, for their cuteness promotes their self-love, and they lack the reason to see that love is a puppet string.
Woe to consumers, for you’ve sucked the earth almost dry.
Woe to advertisers, for you’ve made an art of deception and manipulation, and are cursed to wander as cynics in a herd of dupes.
Woe to movers and shakers, for you’ve moved to outer space, making aliens of yourselves, and have shaken the peasants from their slumber, endangering your material foundations to which they tend.
Woe to environmentalists, for you love wild animals that wouldn’t hesitate to eat you for breakfast.
Woe to Americans, for your time has nearly come to join the legions of peasants in other lands whom you’ve squeezed and exploited since the end of the Second World War.
And woe to anti-Americans, for your sanctimonious rage betrays the ugly American within you.
Woe to liberals, for there’s no longer faith in your worn-out myths, and you’ve become scholastics idling until the next renaissance.
Woe to conservatives, for your talk of old-fashioned utopia is a smokescreen for a return to the primitive state wherein the dominators succumb to the temptations of godhood, are swiftly corrupted by their power, and drag their slaves down with them.
Woe to you professional philosophers, for your title is an oxymoron: a lover of knowledge must cower in angst rather than adjust to the horrors of nature to make of philosophy an academic field of study for charlatans, pseudoscientists, and bored young transients in colleges that have turned into mere businesses.
Woe to the gods, for they’ve failed to grace us with their existence.
Woe to monotheists, for you have poor taste in fiction.
Woe to optimists, for you dishonour the multitudes that have fallen.
Woe to pessimists, for you waste your life in grief.
Woe to Hollywood, for your creativity is as bankrupt as that of the Chinese market you seek to plunder with remakes and superheroic trivialities, which market is a giant, ravenous copying machine.
Woe to the computer, for digitization drains the value from that which is encoded, and the internet and the smartphone erase the humanity from their addicted users.
Woe to pornography, for it proves that sex is a ridiculous spectacle.
Woe to sex, for its pleasures must be kept secret to preserve the sophisticate’s illusion of superiority.
Woe to the large, for it is comprised of myriad small things and is at their mercy.
Woe to the small, for it is confined within the behemoth and is blind to the latter’s grandeur.
Woe unto the earth, for once it has killed off the wise apes, there shall be none to cry foul at its monstrosity.
And woe to dabblers in prophecy who pilfer the language of the fictional Jesus, which has become a cliché.