God, if there is one thing I fucking hate it is people who make a virtue out of being “self destructive”.
“Ooh, that’s just me, that is. As soon as things start to go well, I just find myself pressing the “destroy” button and it all goes wrong. There was I with the wife and a great job, and I just jacked it all in because I couldn’t handle happiness”.
Or
“fame is so hard, all that money and hot chicks wanting to sleep with me, I’d better be an arsehole, just in case anyone thinks I am not being self destructive”.
There’s a name for these sort of people and it begins with a C. Cunts. Fucking cunts. People who can’t just fucking get on with being ordinary, who have to excuse their moronic, attention seeking fuck ups with a stupid name. “self destructive” Fuck off and finish the job then you muppet. Oh, no, you can’t because finishing yourself off would constitute a success, and that wouldn’t be “self destructive” enough of you would it. Fuck me. And how is it “art” to dick yourself around just enough to keep life and limb together, but not quite enough to stop being a total drain on the world, and the emotions of anyone who crosses your miserable path. Fuck I hate those bastards. Women readers listen to me. If your boyfriend is a “self destructive” person, always just falling short of usefulness or fucking things up in order to look like a tortured poet, kick him in the nuts, shag his dad and nick his wallet. Give him something real to whine about the little bollocks.
Vagina Dentata
VD is right!
My god is she not magnificent when she is really angry? I think what got her going was Robbie Williams, he is always on about being self destructive. I wish he would just get on with destroying himself and stop whining about the process. A shotgun operated with your toes would do the job very nicely, Mr Williams. Anything to spare us any more of his irritating, babyish songs. By the way, I know a famous Irish actor who knows Robbie Williams and says he is definitely gay. There was a time when people thought George Michael wasn't gay, can you believe that?
Bilious Pudenda
1 comment:
The tortured artist is just an excuse for fey indolence. As a young man, I was not so much tortured, more the torturer. Our band of brothers used to inhabit the literary cycles of foppish fancies and deposit a good dollop of well-deserved criticism by dropping the ‘nut’ on the bridge of the nose of anyone not well-rooted in this world. O we did laugh. There is something cathartic about the release of bright red gouts of blood. The hippy chicks loved us. I can still smell the vague niff of patchouli to this day.
I’ve always considered a youthful excess of mindless violence a sound prerequisite for entry into the esteemed halls of academia later in life.
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