I wear my heart on my sleeve like a wristwatch, a fashion accessory with a pulse, exposed for all to see, and it's a fake.
I bear my carefully moulded self to the public, rebelling against society in ways calculated by middle management PR men.
My lips speak other people's opinions, lies drip off botox.
Sincerity masks my narcisstic disregard for those who worship me, at charity functions for people I'll never meet, drinking champagne that is worth a week of food to them, as I watch Barbie dolls pose on blood-red carpets, sliding along like they're on a conveyer belt.
They wear clothes tainted with the sweat and tears of women and children in sweatshops around th world, desgner clothing made to stand-out from other designer clothing, manufactured individuality.
Screw the public, but don't tell them. Slip rohypnol in their Ok! magazines and drench their hate-spewing newsrags in chloroform.
Weapons of mass distraction overpower weapons of mass destruction: Give them TV, give them the internet, give them heart disease, give them aneroxic sex dolls with fake breasts, give them a tube strike, and give them Big Brother. Literally - Strips them of their personal freedoms and wage war on invisible enemies.
Hate the mosques and don't trust your neighbours; they don't like McDonalds.
If only we had a hero, someone to save us... One more person to hate. Sorry, not hero, a team of ethnic heroines with disabilities. Be diverse!
Feeling good about yourself? Go to your local GP, quickly, and demand that he prescribe you something for that, with the medical expertise you scraped off wikipedia. You oblivious fucks.
| My Profile
Society blog
:
