Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Sod off.

Dear person,

Screw you.

You disgust me. What makes you think you can sit next to me in crowded movie halls and take your shoes off and assume that I will put up with the smell? Sitting there with a pathetic bunch of people, discussing server loads and client requirements in a fucking restaurant? Queuing up like bloody ants at fast food joints, pushing and shoving so you can have a better and more efficient weekend than others? You pathetic bunch of slimebags! Have you seen the uninspiring, banal nonsense you write in the “about me” sections on your networking websites? “I am a contradiction, I am unique and sweet. I’m still trying to figure out who I am”? Really? Have you read the poetry you write in your blogs? The moon shining down gently upon the soft cuddly teddy bears gently floating on a soft pink pillow on the gentle waves of that big melting-pot of human creativity, blogger.com? Melting pot my foot. People like you are what make blogspot what it is – an organic soup of human bile and excrement. Have you never read any poetry in your life? How can think and write nonsense like that and go about life as if nothing was wrong? Can you spell implication without making two mistakes? Can you form a grammatically sound sentence in the language you write poetry in? And since you ask me for it, here is my carefully considered opinion – your "creation" looks like an obese orangutan’s backside. Even the orangutan would want to hide it from view. And you flaunt it on your websites.

When I read about the Uncertainty Principle or listen to a Bach fugue, I want to kill myself. The standards are so high it would be futile to try to live up to them. It is so depressing. If you have heard about any significant human work at all, how can you write such shallow nonsense on your blogs and continue existing as though nothing was wrong? Doesn’t the immense corpus of human accomplishment have ANY  effect on you? How can you bring yourself to upload pictures of your car trip to Nandi hills if you have even heard rumours about Ranulph Fiennes’ trips to the south pole, north pole and across Antarctica, an entire frozen continent all on FOOT? I’d be ashamed of myself if I were you.

Among the other things I’d do if I were you, the ones that readily spring to mind are spiking my own coffee with strychnine, hanging myself from the ceiling fan and shooting myself in the head just to be sure. What I feel towards you is beyond pure hatred. I pity you. From the bottom of my heart. And if you are still reading this and don’t feel offended or surprised, I love you.