I haven’t worked six years in Psy-Ops without learning how to be distressingly weird from time to time. And I choose my words advisedly here, I can assure you. I have many tricks at my disposal, as you can imagine. No shortage of tricks, no shortage of tricks. Even my tricks have tricks. ‘I’ve got no friends and the others they hate me’, as your man says. They hate me cordially. Nobody can stand me, and would you blame them? Would you bloody blame them. I’m such a Goddam freak…
I’m huddled up in the corner, eating stale Welsh cakes as if there’s no tomorrow, as if the world is coming to an end. I know that it’s going to make me horribly sick but I just can’t help myself. I know that I’m going to regret it – the same as I always do – but I can’t stop. I’m disgusted with myself, nauseated by myself, and yet I still can’t stop. What’s wrong with me?
The world has reached its unhappy end – there can be no doubt about that. No doubt about it at all. We’ve fallen into some sort of collective trance, a trance in which we deny all that is true and wholesome and instead worship the Lord of Effluence. We’re so pleased with ourselves for the being the devoted devotees of the Repulsive One that it is really quite sick-making. It is impossible to countenance this hideous spectacle without becoming physically ill. Gobshites of the very worst kind spout hideous garbage on a continuous basis. Once there was such a thing as wisdom; now instead we have untold reams of generic gobshites spewing their filth in endless webinars. ‘That’ll do’, we say, ‘that’ll do the job nicely’…
Damn right it will. We are devotees of the Malignant One and we will sing hymns of praise to Him until our voices crack from the effort. ‘The Lord of Effluence will reward us’, we chorus delightedly. We bathe in his outpourings. His fragrant outpourings. We’re on the money here and no mistake. Bang on the money. Chasing the Mother Lode with our social media branding and marketing strategies. ‘Do this simple thing every night before you go to bed.’ Do this simple thing. Our endless celebration of the banal and the odious. I’m just so damn angry, so damn bitter. I can’t even bear myself. Why did life have to turn out like this, I ask? There’s no one more toxic than me and that’s the fact…
