Monday, June 03, 2002

Oh, well.

Lessee: We gots footie, we gots jubilee. Two flavours of windbag, while the world creeps closer and closer to NUCLEAR WAR, and guess which one is on the front of the papers? That's right. And who chooses what goes on the front of the papers? People who are trying to sell papers to you lot.

Apparently some of you need your bloody priorities adjusting, so I'll explain this in a way you might be able to grasp: A NUCLEAR WAR DOES NOT STAY IN ONE PLACE AND IF YOU'RE DEAD YOU CAN'T WATCH THE FOOTIE OR WAVE AT THE UGLY WOMAN IN THE POSH FROCK OR GOOGLE FOR BOOBIES AND DEAD DOGS.

Get it? No, of course you bloody don't. You think you're all going to be sat on a hill somewhere, watching the fireworks from afar and laughing whilst eating a burger and groping a model, because you are Hard And Big And Clever and everyone else is part of the Sheeplike Flock of Common Humanity.


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