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Friday, March 03, 2006

There’s Our Catastrophe. In the Bag

One minute I was jacking off to daytime TV, the next there were people dying everywhere I fucking looked.

One minute I was marking some crappy essay, the next it was smallpox virus coming through the letterbox and cars blowing up, for all the fucking sense that made.

If my town councillor has got an opinion on all this shit I for one want to hear it.

Unless the smallpox only affected paedophiles and asylum seekers – imagine – sorry, you expect me to have a coherent answer to that, you bigoted scum?

So you’re the most wanted man in the world. Which do you choose: a hole in the ground in Afghanistan, or up my arse with a suitcase bomb and a bottle of anthrax? Exactly!

So the bomb goes off while I’m playing with my wire-cutters and duct tape. Do we tear down the road to the school or heed the public safety warnings and write off our sweet little angel to those murdering sons of bitches and their big fucking bomb?

And the topic for tomorrow’s daytime TV show is: one minute I was jacking off to this crappy show, and the next there were people dying everywhere I fucking looked.

You, sweaty, ugly guy at the bus-stop I’d rather walk to work than have to sit beside, it’s at times like this I realize just how fucking important each and every one of us is.

(Homage to David Rees)

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