State of the Union Address

I want to travel to the nucleus of the epidemic, wherever that may be, and run roughshod in the belly of the beast, hopefully discovering a cure in the process.
The American Dream, at its inception, was about freedom, not just comfort. Many of the early colonists were indentured servants in the Old World, fleeing serfdom and expanding west against royal decrees to live as self-employed farmers and craftsmen, independent from a master or a boss. They worked long and hard and their standards of living were poor, but it was all theirs. They answered to no one. That America of generations past is now dying, hooked up to a respirator with its vital signs dropping, and the medical staff in charge is preoccupied with other interests.
The middle-class is not free; we are dependent on a corporate entity paying us a salary. We are dependent on interoffice politics and upward-mobile ghouls who would piss down our collective throats if it would result in a promotion and help them obtain new status symbols. We hold jobs that are dependent on factors beyond our control. We do not own our work. We are under the direction of others. We fucking resent the time we work under the supervision of someone else, some asshole, so we spend our free time at play like children – self-absorbed, watching TV and consuming, not giving a hot fuck about anything outside of the tiny spheres of life that belong to us.
The vermin have turned us into miserable, hollow vessels for human life powered by our own self-loathing. We are indentured servants and our souls are dog shit.