Reality, reality, reality. Steaming poo on your plate beside the cutlery. So long no one had laid eyes on them as they plopped into the pan behind and swam merrily away. Well, here they are now laid on at every turn, no banquet could be complete without. Turdie, turd, virile turds all in a row. Stinking. Ugly. Unavoidable. Talking outta turn. No pretence about any of it any more. Like new in-laws you gotta get used to, become a fixed part of yr life. Cosy up snug, now! That's it. In the icon the rising whiff of steam is integral, at least the one Morrie G. regularly deployed in his jeremiads on Linked, where it was first brought to notice. (Schoolboy & sporting friend, Morrie, transformed into bizman, not the worst example on the platform.) No easy ID at first, in its innocent, reptile-like costume, watchin' out. Suck it up, guys. Gulp it down. Brace every time the sidebar gives you your newsfeed. Today was our Mel in her groundbreaking dress for Xi's reception at the regal dinner. The D&G pants, what a trailblazer. Giant bow on her blouse standing like a shield — a banner, the journo had meant. NYT. NY Trash. Otherwise, M. was devoting herself to saving children from somewhere (not Gaza). Mr T's recent colouring had seemingly raised second thoughts. A serving the other day was Xi being escorted along a picture gallery, with elaborate gold emblems overhanging each frame, a joke about Biden and Mr T’s own mug in flattering light. Swallow that down with your toasted muffin. Go on. Jackie K had played along in the role, but here the Slovene fronted the cameras like a new age Cleopatra. Husband extremely proud of her, of her performance. Every bit as good as his own postures. Steaming foulest muck, no getting round it. Daily. Of course it wouldn't hurt so much if the gal wasn't one of our own.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment