Like for Death

By Gordana Malasic Lazic

The Dark Side: Does Facebook stand for the perfect manipulation, a doctrine, the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse...? Is Facebook the best media for the promotion of fear, the Inquisition, the control of the mind, thoughts, emotions and behavior? Is it an ideal platform for establishment of the Absolute Power? How many days does PR machinery need to make people on Facebook to kill someone - only seven! Death has taken a selfie...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gordana Malasic Lazic
• Release date: May 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463136256

Gordana Malasic Lazic

Gordana Malasic Lazic was born on September 17, 1974 in Zagreb. She is married and a mother of two children. She published two novels and many shorts stories. She is also writing poetry. Gordana is Chief Editor of news media portal Scena.hr in Croatia. ‘Like FOR DEATH’ is her first novel published in English, intended for the world market.Visit page www.likefordeath.com or contact via mail: [e-mail]

Book preview

Trilogy

LAJK ZA SMRT

LIKE for Death

Published by GML

Copyright © 2016 Gordana Malasic Lazic

All right reserved

Published by: Smashwords

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.

Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Prologue

The Dark Side: Does Facebook stand for the perfect manipulation, a doctrine, the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse…? Is Facebook the best media for the promotion of fear, the Inquisition, the control of the mind, thoughts, emotions and behavior? Is it an ideal platform for establishment of the Absolute Power? How many days does PR machinery need to make people on Facebook to kill someone - only seven! Death has taken a selfie…

Contents:

Beginning of the end

Money laundering through PR – mental orgies by the chosen ones – chosen for the grandma, the dad, or the lover

Drunkenness

If you swallow shit a thousand times, you get used to the smell and the corruptions. And you become indifferent to whether you are swallowing shit or chocolate

A project 'a day with a pork shoulder in Kozari bok ' – 100 % homemade Croatian product from Hungarian piggery

UFO

Weaknesses of a kinky gravedigger, Mrkonja and a gay lobby

Flip flops and a reality show

The Ustasha, the Partisans and dollars

Like, money, Like, money...fucking likes

Freedom, whores, abortion, condemnation, love and revelation – until the last Like

Crucified Jesus Christ - The Son of God, witness of virtual lies

Everything is ready for the hostage crisis – Holland

1st Day

2nd Day

3rd Day – Journalists, madness and batman

4th Day

5th Day - Miss Z and Mister X

6th Day

7th Day - Unlike

Political farting, the wedding of a woman entrepreneur with a deer hunter

Madness

Ten more hours

Four more hours

One more hour

About the author

BEGINNING OF THE END

Man, time has rushed past you. Are you out of your mind? You can't be choosy about jobs, man. That's not the way it goes these days. How can you tell a guy who wants to give you money that you will not arrange chicks for the after-party? That's simply not the way it's done. No wonder we're broke", Zelimir was trying to explain angrily, nervously waving his hands. Zvonko was listening to him with half an ear. He was staring at the bottom of the whiskey glass, too tired to argue with his childhood friend and a long-term business partner.

I see you're angry, but I simply do not have the guts for these things any more. I'm sick of it all. What's wrong with the world? Zvonko said more to himself.

What? It’s all gone to hell. That's what, but this is none of our business. Do you know how many PR agencies been founded lately? Everyone does PR and now you think you'll make it right after 20 years of work. We're in a rut, my old man. We can't even pay the fucking utilities. Let's earn some money and pay our debts and then you'll make things right, continued Zelimir.

Right, let me go now. I'm going home, see you tomorrow.

Zvonko interrupted his monologue, finished his whiskey, paid the bill and got out of the coffee bar. He felt worn out and exhausted. While he was moving sluggishly to the city garage, he came across war veterans who had been protesting for 200 days in tents located in Savska Street. It was a confusing time of an accidental Croatia that was struggling with debts, whose people were becoming increasingly poor, closer to waste containers day by day, closer to the Sava River Bridge and collecting plastic bottles. It was the time during which Croatia was going back to the past yet again, while mummified saints were being driven along the streets of Zagreb reminding of the middle Ages. It was the time of the golden calf for the hungry, while the miserable masses bowed down folding their hands in their loud prayers, prayers for a miracle. He could almost feel the smell of horses in his nostrils and horse-drawn vehicles rolling down the muddy roads. And the wind carried the scent of incense from the nearby chapel. The past was stifling the Croatian future, while he was drowning in his glass and in the mire of an uncertain reality. An uncertain world. On the one hand, the 19th century without the sewer system, without electricity, the century of the greedy noblesse, while on the other hand in this same world, the same I guess, one could hear the sound of the 21st century weapons, satellites in orbit around the Earth, drones above our heads and threatening nuclear weapons buzzing from TV screens. The alleged Third World War was also being announced, although the famine war had started long ago. But, the hell with that, who cares about the hungry, the bloody, the dead, the corpses and cadavers in some countries on the edge of the planet. Who cares about the bodies collected after terrorist attacks committed by suicide bombers on behalf of the faith in concert halls, metro stations and airports, unless they strike on the holy and mighty Kingdom. That is why announcements of another world war were so appealing. Convenient, aiming to continue the enslavement of the civilized world, with fear of the bombers inside our bones, of greedy bankers, enforcement agents, public television bill collectors, power centers, invisible to increasingly loud members of secret societies that took the liberty and the power of speech more and more arrogantly, while keeping people silent by stuffing mud into their mouths. Fear was visible, clear and colorful… Depression became finite, not only in Croatia, in modern Europe and in the humane world of the West. The world was returning to nationalism in its sick and monstrous form. The nationalism that does not love, but divides and kills, but that was the principal aim. Alcohol, evil, even those pictures of death became superb components of Zvonko's life. Just like the incense in the chapel. Yet, he had, had it all for some time. He had money, a 100 m2 flat, a BMW, a holiday cottage by the sea, a pretty wife and a cute child and then it all went downhill.

Could I please get some change for my child? God bless you, he was stopped by a woman beggar by the parking ticket payment machine and interrupted his train of thought.

Zvonko met the brown eyes of a young woman holding a child in her arms with one hand and begging with the other. He was puzzled by her calm. He could not feel her fear, nor pain, nor poverty that made her stands by the parking ticket payment machine and beg. Neither could he feel the smell. The child wasn't crying either. Actually, the child looked cheerful and happy. He was caught by surprise in that peculiar moment and reached out instinctively with his hand full of coins towards the young woman. He gave her the change from the parking ticket. Only few bucks. The woman smiled softly and thanked him, while the child waved to him cheerfully. This almost holy image of a woman with a child remained impressed on his memory. It was like a Revelation. Still, he was puzzled by the child's happiness - the happiness of a child without the future. He is not aware of this fact and that's why he's happy, but when he grows up, people will show him a park bench where he belongs and turn their heads. He will perhaps be used by a journalist aiming to faithfully depict the face of poverty, yet with a considerate, piteous aloofness on the verge of squeamishness. This world spoils and knocks you down. Depending on the circumstances. Yet, the child is happy for the moment. No one can take away from him the moments of security with his Mom. At least not until the social care services have got hold of him. Oh my, the poor and the wonderful charitableness. He wanted to feel that moment of happiness once again, the secret shown in the boy's eyes. However, it didn't always use to be this way. Only a few years ago, he would swear at the sight of such a poor woman for having interfered with his aura with her presence and he would just walk on by her in full composure. He was afraid of the poor people at the time. He did not consider them as human, but rather as contagious evil fate that could stain him. Full of viruses and bacteria that could infect him. They simply stood for disease. On the other hand, he was convinced that most of them were fraudsters counting on human pity. They were all a part of a criminal gang. He was convinced of that because of hundreds of articles written over the last several decades. An excellent PR for manipulation of a new food chain. They were of great use for profit, when required anyone would just reach out into that well through their foundations and take out whatever was needed; diamonds or mud. It all depended on the objectives and the requirements of the profit. Yet, as the times changed, he changed, too. He changed because he had seen more debauchery and abnormality than one life could bear. After all, everything was fraud, everything is a lie. The world was living in a huge lie. A backstage game. Not only he saw the lie, but he also participated in it. During one phase of his life, he was obsessed by evil, controlled by it and it would not let him go. Yet, now he faced with himself, with the lies he was creating for years. And the lies affected his brain, his heart, kidneys and primarily the liver and kept consuming him slowly. He could feel that horned beast gnawing away at his tissue, bit by bit, chewing it and swallowing it slowly. It was painful, but bloodless.

MONEY LAUNDERING THROUGH PR – MENTAL ORGIES BY THE CHOSEN ONES – CHOSEN FOR THE GRANDMA, THE DAD, OR THE LOVER

Before turning towards the city district named Gracani, Zvonko pulled over by the ATM. He wanted to check his account balance once again. The ATM coldly spitted at him a thin piece of paper – your account balance is ZERO.

Fuck you jerk!

In despair, Zvonko hit the cold insensitive bank's tin bucket. During the last several months, his agency had not concluded any significant deals. Most meetings would begin: We are a successful company… We provide excellent products, we are aiming for market expansion.... We have been focusing on marketing, we need advertising, yet the budget is limited. Perhaps in the future... Compensation is an option... Compensation implied a vast array of items and issues, he was even provided the opportunity to work for construction materials.

What on Earth shall I do with your fucking fert ceiling beams? What are they, anyway? stated Zvonko showing irritation during some similar business negotiations.

No one was prepared to pay, yet they all needed him. In those fine, elegant, expensive suits, delivering presentations, holding round table discussions, long coffee meetings, as lunch was too expensive, they used to meet in luxury hotel lounges, significantly persuading about the value of their large projects that are supposed to provide everyone with substantial amounts of money in the future. Nevertheless, the market was unstable at the time, Croatian credit rating was downgraded to junk status and the political situation was tense... On the other side of the same unstable, distracted market, large companies had substantial budgets that had to be spent for diverse reasons and so they threw their money away to unnecessary and fictional companies. They paid for that to a well-networked interest group, to people who were connected with them in different ways, blackmailing, political suitability, the Church, Opus Dei and some other sectarian sects with ritualistic whipping ceremonies depending on those who were in power at the time, nepotism and friendships for a reason. And money was laundered! Zvonko witnessed such money laundering on several occasions. The company would pay a large amount of money to the PR agency it had a deal with and the PR agency would take a 20% commission, while the remainder would be returned to the company owner's hands in cash. In this way millions were laundered. Promotion and marketing agencies had become an ideal ground for malversation and transactions worth millions. And it all functioned. Moreover, they enabled the creation of parallel dimensions. The pattern was comprehensively planned to perfection. Almost. And the so-called PR agencies were involved in all types of work. From projects for EU funding, consultancy services, search for oil fields, intermediation services from Croatia to New Zealand, while the Arab countries were considered as some of the most important business destinations over the last several years. They were involved in consultancy services, another undefined concept that was used when the true idea behind the job needed to be concealed, market research (diverse types), energy sector, as well as real estates. All in all, Croatians had a vast array of ideas for malversations, as well as concepts used to refer to them in their language. In case there was a lack of wording concerning some new financial malversation, English terms were always resorted to and they sounded wonderful, while their meaning could be interpreted the way anyone wanted to. Certainly, there was some serious PR agencies who had worked some important events and advertisements. Yet, against the backdrop of such chaos, Zvonko no longer had the clue - who was the fucker and who was fucked up. PR agencies were allocated the task to sell and they sold everything - from information of state importance, cheap bags by new designers who were presented to the public for a reason, to even women and men. The objectives of PR agencies dark sides are – control of the mind, emotions, behavior’s and thoughts. PR has become a doctrine, psychology with a unique goal – the ABSOLUTE POWER. The absolute governance. These were mental orgies by the chosen ones, chosen because of who their Grandma was or who their Dad or their lover were and Zvonko dropped out of the game.... There was money for the chosen ones, but not for Zvonko and Zelimir! There was no money for them. They dropped out from this powerful circle, the table with the mighty cards. Perhaps time has rushed past them. They were insignificant. Zvonko