I was praising the Memeazoidal Universe. I was praising it and praising it and praising it. I was praising the crap out of it. I was my praising my damn head off. I had my best suit on and I was as smartly turned out as a brand new shiny pin. I was dressed up sharp and no mistake. I was dressed up real smart and I was praising my damn head off. Praising the Memeazoidal Universe – praising the memeazoidals for being so great. ‘Oh great Memazoidals, I shouted, ‘please hear me praising you and saying how great you are…’ The meme memes were swarming through my brain, filling me with fervour. The me me memes. I was so full of fervour that I was practically spitting. ‘The future is so damn bright I can hardly bear to look at it’, I enthused manically, ‘it’s chock-a-block full of prime quality Memeazoidal bullshit…’

I was meming the Meme World for being so Memetastic. I was wearing my special Sunday suit and I had my very best smile on, a great big shit-eating grin. You never saw the like of it before I’m telling you. It would frighten you if you saw it so it would. A great big old shit-eating grin that’d hurt your face if you kept it up too long. Even if you didn’t keep it up for any appreciable length of time it would hurt your face – that’s the kind of a smile it was. It was one hell of a smile. I was praising the memes like there was no tomorrow. ‘Praise be to the memes’, I bawled at the top of my voice, ‘praise be to the dirty old memes…’

Those were the glory days of course. The good old glory days. We can do nothing but lament their passing. Those were the days that were – the good old meme-praising days, when the world still seemed as if it had good stuff in it. We all have happy memories of that time, I know. Of course we do, of course we do – why wouldn’t we? But if you weren’t there then you’ll never understand that I’m afraid. You won’t have a clue as to what I’m on about, you just won’t get it. We were all so in love with the Memeazoidal Universe back then; we were so inspired by it, so enthused by it. People these days just don’t understand. They laugh at me when I try to explain how great it was but that’s something I need to learn to accept. I’m not doing so well learning to accept it admittedly, but I know I’ll have to. I’ve got to try to move on.

Life’s not so much fun these days – that’s what I’m trying to say. That’s what I’m getting at, basically. That’s what I’m trying to express. I’d like to have the verbal fluency to try and describe what life is like for me now but I just don’t. My words are flat, formulaic and mundane; they emerge painfully, reluctantly, slowly, and then they sit on the floor around me, doing nothing apart from looking stupid. They do nothing apart from looking back at me with dumb insolence. They refuse to transform into poetry. ‘What can I do with words like this?’ I rage. ‘How am I supposed to work with shit like this?’ Everything is working against me and I don’t know why. It’s as if the whole universe is trying to humiliate me.