Do my head in, fuckwit!

Words are vastly fucking over-rated, are they not? Empirical observation? Fair enough. Poetic lyricism that gestures toward our metaphysical life? Fair play to you. Conversations we engage in in our day-to-day lives? Cuntitudeness to the Nth degree. If you are not an intimate of mine and you talk to me, as your mouth moves and sound comes out, the pure revulsion I feel for you emanates from my brain like a biosphere-wrecking ray from DAARPA or some shit. The only reason you can't feel it is because you are as thick as fuck.

Alright, maybe I shall direct my antipathy not toward cunts, but toward what we call 'small talk'. After a lifetime of being a right gregarious geezer, 'shooting the breeze' or whatever you N.American bastards call it, and generally being mildly stimulated by individuals who would express themselves with charm, wit and self-deprecation, I reached the point about two years ago where not even a brace of beers would enamour myself of a small-talking cunt. The kernel of this has been growing in me for years in fact. I remember teaching a bottle of absinthe a good fucking lesson in Portugal about ten years ago with two intimates. I wound up conversing with a nano-talker from New Zealand. One of the intimates who I was particularly close to recognized the danger as my eyes flashed, I sat up straight, and looked confrontationally into the man's mug. He'd had the audacity to say, "It's hot here, isn't it?" Artfully, I was moved from the man's immediate vicinity. He was in my sights the whole fucking night though.

This is why, now, most avenues of life are closed to me. In my early years I worked briefly for a PR company. Jesus Christ Almighty. I thought my head would explode. What an utter waste of life. "This coffee's shit, innit?" "I hear we're getting a new account." "You see that film on Channel 4 last night?" "What d'ya make of (insert some wanker professional footballer here)". Acquaintences would see me walking to and from work, and I would remind them of Michael Douglas in 'Falling Down', but better looking. I was ready to kill, and knew then that I could in no way tolerate people who fill their lives with small-talk shit that meant nothing. "But it's necessary", you crow. "To get on in life, one must bear this festering cacophony of bollocks". Fuck getting on in life. What the fuck does that mean anyway? Having renounced most cunts views of what it is to 'get on in life', I am one happy fucking chappy. Having spent twenty years being tolerant and gregarious, I am now in a position to be wildly happy, unsociable, and free of the infantile bollocks that most cunts spout.

So if I ever see you in a club, and every cunt's on really good E, and I ask you for a sip of your water and a smoke, and we're both gurning, smiling, and rubbing our hands up and down our (own) thighs, and the bass is bassing our innards to fuck, do not turn to me and say, "These E's are really good, yeah?" Because, mashed up as I am, I will do my best to sneer and walk away. But in reality will grimace strangely, stumble backwards, and fall over someone's outstretched, unfeeling limbs. You will appreciate my sentiment though.

Anyway, treat words with respect, is all I'm saying. Know what I mean?

Sirrah!

"Words are leaden shite". Any seer you care to talk to.