‘Do you know that thing where demons come to live in you?’ I began tentatively, but my audience wasn’t having any of it. Expressions of disdain and disapproval were evident on their distinguished faces. Expressions not just of disdain and approval but also of contempt. ‘Do you know that thing, do you know that thing’, I said, but they weren’t having any of it. A nest of demons, a host of demons, a clutch of demons. A rabble of demons.
People are always talking about ‘the superior product,’ aren’t they? That annoys me no end – people talking crap about ‘the superior product this’ or ‘the superior product that’, it’s so sickening. I despise everything about it. Or do people go around talking about ‘the superior product’? I find myself suddenly suspecting that this may not be the case. Maybe people don’t say this at all? Maybe that’s all nonsense that I’ve got going on in my head? Maybe that’s not reality at all. When self-doubt strikes it strikes hard you see. It strikes very hard indeed. You wouldn’t believe how hard that old self-doubt can strike. Or maybe you would, maybe you would.
Expressions of disdain and distaste surround me on all sides. The atmosphere is unpleasant, to say the least. Things have become very uncomfortable for me and I have the feeling that I’m in rather a tight spot. ‘Do you know that thing where you’re a total bloody narcissist,’ I venture to say, ‘just like all the other total bloody narcissists that make up society? You’re totally into yourself and you think that your life is just so bloody great even though you’re nothing but a toxic self-obsessed little bastard.’ I was warming to my theme but my theme wasn’t going down too well. Just my luck, I said to myself, there’s a crowd of narcissists in tonight and I’m rubbing them up the wrong way. ‘Do you know that thing,’ I started again, ‘do you know that thing…?’
A nest of egos in your hat, a nest of egos in your coat pocket. Sorry, I meant to say ‘demons’. That was a Freudian slip for sure but I think I’ve got away with it. You can cultivate them quite easily – they’re a fairly hardy breed when it comes down to it. Hardy perennials, you could say. You can try to pull them up by the roots but once established they always grow back. They’ll grow back every time. In fact the funny thing here is that the more you try to cut them back the more vigorously they will grow. When you make a determined effort to get rid of them once and for all (which is to say, when you try to totally expunge them, as it were) then they will bounce back again with absolute ferocity!
You can order the seeds online, you know. Just sprinkle them on any available bit of ground and before you know it you’ll be inundated. They’d grow in your ear these little bastards, I’m telling you. They’ll grow up your nose and send their roots right up into your brain. That’s what they do every time, come to think of it. That’s what they do every time. You’d feel sorry for your poor old brain wouldn’t’ you – having to support all that bullshit. Having to host all those toxic egos. The brain gets all the nutrients sucked out of it by those nasty little roots. They’d leach every last little trace of precious nutrient out of your brain and that’s no word of a lie.
‘Days of sorrow, days of joy, huh? But mainly sorrow of course, mainly sorrow…’ I say that just to piss off the egos of course – nothing pisses off the egos more than hearing about sorrow and misery and despair and suchlike, you see. They sure do hate that sort of talk. They like the sparky, upbeat kind of talk – that’s like rocket fuel for them. They snort it up like cocaine so they do. Snorting it up, snorting it up. The reason those old egos hate hearing about sorrow and misery and suchlike is because they relate to that kind of stuff only too well. They like the positive talk but what really hits home with them is any kind of exploration of the darker side of life. Talk about the unending blackness of despair and the irreversible putrefaction that sets in when you really hit rock bottom…
Misery really hits home with them and that’s why any talk on that or any related subject offends them so much. They love deluding themselves that they’re having a great time and that’s why they get so pissed if anything comes along to bring them down. ‘Don’t bring me down, man!’ they say. ‘Don’t bring me down…’ It’s good to bring them down though – it teaches the little bastards a bit about the reality of their true station!