it’s better to apologise than to thank, for it leaves the one you’re apologising to without any clue as to why you’re sorry, which makes the thanks all the more obvious, when they’re no longer in you life, and you haven’t said ‘thank you’, but merely said ‘sorry’ - makes all the people you’re congratulating on your existence and your thanks like this unnecessary quest for a tip in a restaurant, the genesis of money, the way people were “civilised” by money... a civilised state of affairs that bred the pauper, and lost the community spirit... well thank you for breeding the angst against the Poles... did former colonials take you you take that up, or were former colonials ready to forget the Polish R.A.F. involvement with the dog fights over Kent and Essex? oh sure, get us out... i’ll be the perfecting geneticist of the purest xenophobia with antidotes for Sharia; YOU, MADE, ME; but obviously, a box with a lid, then some pop culture idol and mass acceptance, the way all internet pseudonyms end with the no. 666... killing off the idiots will not make you realise a sabotage for the need for supermarket cashiers... one of them knows my name, we're on first name terms; they could have dispersed that tsunami wave by bombing it into shrapnel... the army could have intervened for environmental reasons, they could have carpet bombed that tsunami wave, like they water-gun and gas the riotous crowd... they didn't... there was bound to be a profit margin somewhere... no wonder old Yoko Chi Chow wants to resign... he wants to eat the sushi like westerners: with chop sticks and not mere fingers... he wants his grave to be scented in Coco **** Chanel rather than jasmine... the basic ineffectiveness of the army... able to prevent a natural disaster, unable to prevent unnatural investments in the clearing and recycling processes... or as Urban the Second said: cut the first head of the Hydra; truth ascending to envelop itself as merely an envelop with the necessary letter included; the postage stamp of truth being expressed ruthlessly? in ridicule, the envelop is there, the letter also included, but the postage stamp will cost you all sanity: it's not what you know, it's who you know - forget being able to cure cancer, once you prescribe the profiteering "miracle" drug, cancer doesn't exist unless it's an advert for some charity group, that pays for the life of its bureaucrats and the advertisement agency P.R., than that poor ****** wheezing to death from lung cancer; you think that African royalty doesn't exist? must have been glorifying African-American culture for too long, without hope or chance of revisiting jazz, getting sick of rapping, the cancerous form of poem: mm, yeah, peace town, Usher is in da housing queue on a council estate... mm, yeah... unless he be mm yeah... bumming off an advert for Niké...
oh ****... look! i just ruined your logo and copyright laws -
so you saying it was a French conspiracy after all?