Feeding The Egos

I was full of bad energy but I didn’t know it. I was running here and running there and as I ran I sang a little song to myself, a little song that I had made up on the spur of the moment. ‘Feed the egos and make them fat,’ I sang. ‘Make them big and make them strong / make sure you always keep on singing this little song…’ It was a stupid song but I liked it. It was a stupid song but I couldn’t stop singing it! ‘Feed the egos and make them fat,’ I sang, just as you might sing if you were doing some kind of hard, repetitive manual work and you needed something to take your mind off the ordeal of it. I was doing some harden repetitive work, after a fashion – I was feeding the egos! Sometimes I like to imagine that those old egos were like big fat alligators in a swimming pool and I was there with my rusty bucket full of chopped up pieces of meat and I’d be throwing handfuls of the stuff into the pool. Boy did the alligators love it – sometimes they’d lunge up right out of the pool and grab the meat in midair! The pool would be positively boiling with their feverish feeding behaviour. Well, that’s how I imagine the old egos to be when they get fed. Just like that – in a feeding frenzy. They’re big and lazy-looking just like the alligators but boy can they move fast when they want to! It doesn’t do to think that they’re slow just because they’re so big – it doesn’t do to think that at all! Don’t ever let yourself be fooled my friends, don’t ever let yourselves be fooled like that… Those old egos love to feed, no matter what else you might say about them! Probably you won’t think of anything actually good to say about them, but you have to give them credit for one thing – they love to feed! Boy do they ever, boy do they ever. That’s why I love singing the little song that I made up – because of my admiration for the pure virulence of their feeding behaviour. Although I suppose ‘admiration’ isn’t quite the right word here – it’s more like ‘admiration tinged with fear’. Even that isn’t quite accurate, I suspect; maybe it’s just pure fear and nothing else. Maybe that’s closer to the mark. It’s my ‘fear song’, it’s the song I sing out of fear! It’s a dirty, low-down, unclean gut-wrenching type of fear, the type of fear that can very easily make you soil yourself. It’s not that feeding the egos does me any good after all – it’s not as if the egos respect me for feeding them as diligently as I do! Does a psychopathic bully respect you when you capitulate to them for the thousandth time? I think not my friend, I think not… Those dirty old egos don’t respect me at all and I can tell you that for nothing! ‘The feasters,’ I call them. I call them feasters because of the way that they feast. You should hear the unholy racket that they make when they feast, too! It’s unspeakable, words cannot convey it. The appalling din of it. And yet somehow – now that I come to think of it – I do harbour some kind of perverse admiration for these rotten old egos. Perhaps it is their remarkable single-mindedness, their flawless dedication to their purpose? I mean – after all – you’ve got to hand it to them – those old egos certainly love to feed….





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