Per 
Memetics, to me they’re literally the code of the universe. A programming language I call INFINITY. A few hours and a computer and I can make you never feel anything but joy and happiness, I can make you remember things people would rather you forgot, I can cause mass hysteria or mass peace… or I could simply send it out in a chain email and stop everyones heart with a single image or sequence of notes.
You’d call us artists, we are and we aren’t. We’re not the fucks who went to art school and came out with a feather in their ass that shakes like a leaf whenever they sniff their own farts. We’re more like programmers of the illusion you call reality. It’s fake by the way, really fake, and if you know the right things to do then it’s yours.
Miss Mary quite mentally fucked doing bad at work? Stop paying your therapist 200 bucks an appointment and pay us 200 bucks once and we can cure that forever, we can make you better.
That group of problems you created giving you a hard time? How about we send them some fake orders from the boss that melts their brains and makes them rip out one anothers lungs to turn into a parody of a birthday party? We can kill as easily as we can heal.
If you’ve a mind to join us, we can make you better than your best. We program the mind, the body, the world around us. It comes with a price, but let's face it, noone our age will be cashing in on social security or retirement anyways. We’re a home for those who have no interest in being a part of the human race, we’re the Sick Brain Collective.
Join us.
Let us teach you how to see a better world.
A brief history of Sick Brain by SickDog
The Sick Brain Collective started in 1998 with the original leader, LoveDragon. A high school graduate who had moved on to graduate from university with a degree in fine arts. His friend in college who is now a fart sniffing fuckwit wanted them to work as a team and together they created some half OK art.
LoveDragon became interested in technology while his friend began gathering others to do more art on the street. The two started to fight, with his fuckwit friend informing him that art made with computers wasn't real art, that it was cheating to do it on the computer and that anything made with computers would be weak.
LoveDragon like a fucking real lad took to making a masterpiece. A viral memetic that haunted its users like a ghost. Instead of just being a loud piece of paint, vomit and knives, it was an elegant piece of data that could infect the brain like a virus. Ruin the brain, ruin the body. The art of memetics was born and its first Memologist was made.
Well, it was revealed that LoveDragon had gotten his ability to make mad code porn from a laser he found in a warehouse and tinkered with. It blasted him in the face while he worked on it and gave him a fucking brain tumor. He knew he only had so much time left, so like a real badass he began making mad money. He partied all night and worked on memetics all day. Everyone wanted his work from the Foundation to Crystal from marketing.
But time caught up with LoveDragon, he got critical as we call it, too critical to retire himself. He was a sick dragon with a sick brain. That's when that fucking lich, Marshall came in like a corpse on a clothes hanger. He pretended to care for LoveDragon, getting him medicine and while Dragon was drugged out of his mind Marshall made him sign a contract that would doom everyone.
This sadistic piece of shit tricked our founder into signing not only the group into Marshall's ownership, but the members too. Where we once had independence, we now had slavery. They shove money into our pockets, pills into our mouths and knives into our throats. If you're lucky, you might be sold off to the Foundation. Maybe killed instantly by your own memetic.
I try and tell myself that it's not that bad everyday. We're paid so much money each day is another afterparty, those fucks and all their handlers only come around when someone wants something from us. We can do our own work and we try and at least forget that they hang over our heads. But each day I get worse and I feel Carter tempted to crack open my head to see what my brain actually looks like.
Current Known Members
Sickdog
HelloKitty
PlagueEater
StrangeLove
GhostBuster
The Meeting
Sickdog absolutely despised helicopters.
They were noisy, rickety machines that shouldn't even be airworthy but here is was, riding in one on the way to have a meeting with Boutique and Butler. The two men were big wigs in Marshall, Carter and Dark and were effectively the handlers for the Sick Brain Collective. Even though they were unbearable pricks most of the time, the group of leaders tried to be their best around them. They were effectively the groups lifeline.
Every four months for the past few years, Sickdog was forced to put on a velvet toxic green suit and be airlifted to the nearest gaudy ass location the organization called a Branch Headquarters. To him it was more like a Foundation site, with all their things in nice little boxes and you go in like it's some sort of luxury store and tell them what you want. Some artificial (If shes not actually a robot) girl will get it and they'll wrap it in a pretty box with a bow and make you feel like you're a royal getting some sort of holy relic.
Sickdog hated it, he hated them all. They were worse then those fucks who made these stupid, ugly art pieces that killed people and called it a "Statement".