Hello, hello old friend!
How's the weather up there on thy lofty perch?

Does it neither thunder nor rain?
Do you too not experience unexpected storms that toss and tumble things about just so?

Does your upturn nose not itch from the stench of your own narcissism?
Do you not fear the arbitrary nature of your own will, that it should grow a life of its own and tumble you down like a potted plant from a high rise window sill ?

Does your *** not hurt from how stiffly you sit? Fixed in your stance, relying solely on your own crooked opinions?

Hello, hello old friend!
Do your ears belie the sound of the condescension in your voice
And your eyes blinded by your own pretence to hide you from yourself?

Oh,
no wonder you cannot see further than your nose.