Wednesday, 14 December 2011

I’m going to destroy the world.

I could say that I’m going to start with the morons and then work my way up. But let’s face it, once I’ve finished with the morons there will be no one left. The cities will be left to become empty, desolate waste. The countryside will be left, once again, to the badgers, kings of the wilderness. Giant, oxygen-excreting worms will evolve and live in the tube network (you’ll only get that if you’ve seen Dune and even then it is a very dubious joke).

Why this sudden hatred of morons?

Well it’s not flippin’ sudden for starters but I’m all riled up cos of all this chatting malark.

Yeah that’s right, chatting. Mindless, uninspiring , vapid chit chat. I have noted in the recent past that I am not a fan of talking to people. But I am even less of a fan of people talking to me.

Banter is fine. Conversation is good. Chit chat is inane and hurts my face. Like sharp pins gouging out the last crumbs of intellect from my mind.

“Oh I put lots of hairspray on this morning.” So? I don’t care. Don’t do it again. It should burn well. What do you want me to say to this? It isn’t a question it’s a random, pointless statement. Are you looking for reassurance? “No Dahling you have placed the perfect amount of spray on your hair, your likeness to a bouffant with a cretin attached is purely coincidence.” I am at a loss.

“Oh I’m always forgetting how hot super noodles are.” ...Erm... well try to remember. Don’t burn your face off. You should work on avoiding the glutinous mass of pre-digested food in the first place; if indeed it can be called food when it clearly isn’t fit for human consumption. Sod off and leave me in peace to consume my gluten free, dairy free, taste free misery meal of hate on a plate.

Stop it. Stop the chittity chat!

The whole thing was only started so that soldiers had something to do while they were picking the body lice out of their clothes in the infestation ridden trenches. They needed to take their mind off pain, misery, hideous living conditions and the horror of war, not fill their vacuous minds with banality. They had an excuse.

I do not tolerate it. I cannot tolerate it. I will destroy you all. But first: Lunch. Then maybe a nap.

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