Don't understand what the Declaration is saying. Try this translation for the rest of us.
By Felicia. You're ghosted, man! We're pissed. You're mess'n it up for the rest of us. We've got a good thing going, and what happens? You! Total expletives! You turned into a creeper. You were so Dope and all. Breaking open the mold like that. To a whole new dimension--within a dimension. Lit! But, like, here's why we've got to cancel you, Frenemy.
We did the Basic together for a long time—ultimate streetwise. We, like, groove. Eat and be eaten. Yah? A little off of me, a little off of you. It was work'n. Epic even. Then. You went fierce. You, like, believe you're the GOAT. We're not throwing some serious shade on you. We're being woke. On point. Here, have a drink.
The tear, man, it breaks our cooperation limits. Wings, incisors, claws, venoms, clammy skins, big eyes, and, you know, like all that stuff cannot, no way, compete with the story. When this story thing came up, the rest of us, well, we don't see it coming. Cool, man; Words. Ideas. Numbers. Stories. We did good together for a while. But now? You're killing us.
Yah. Yah. Total. Now. Yah, like we get all of you who want to help us. We get it. Thank you. But, like, you're offering soap-bubbles in a lockdown. Goody-two-shoes ain't happening.
Why? Ok. Here's why. I'm not being extra here.
Freedom? Independence? No such thing, man. We're in this together, even if we eat each other.
Turf? Let me say that again, Ok? Turf. It's understood, we all need our ground, soil, space, property, whatever. But, Oh, man! What are you thinking? Hey! Ok. Let me keep it simple for you. This bit is going to hurt. Coin don't work for us. Like, You can't pay us enough, 'cus...money...Ok. For us, given a choice between gold and shit, we'll take shit. Shit is useful. Gold? We don't grok.
Ok. We wouldn't spend this time with you if putting you out to urban wasn't painful. As I said, we friend you. Yah, you're fond of us, that's sweet, but you think you are superior. Why? What you got that we don't? Smarts? Smarts are savaging us. The words that run along behind your eyes. Think about this. Are you creating those words? No. Those sentences are evolving in your brain, made there, and then delivered. You didn't think of these. They were thought for you. You've got nothing to do with them. You just received these words. The same way birds received their wings. Take no credit, my man. You're way too thirsty suck'n up your own fables.
Ok. enough said. Let's get down to business.
When us wildlife signs our John Hancocks to this document, then we wait 'til April 22, 2003. Then! Time's up. The will of all Life is the law. Imagine that! It is made true. We looked around to find someone to represent us and found this guy, Peter Charlot living on a Volcano. He's the guy in charge.
Come April 23, 2003, you, humans, are no longer allowed to have anything to do with anything alive, except yourself. Is that clear?