Distinction, subtlety and the sublime are strangers to Simples' just as honour, integrity and decency are unknowns to anodynes vacant unprocessed dusty minds un-reading encyclopedias samples holds them and us as the panacea of a drama in Power play tunes innate inferiority in wasted fractal minds begets aggressive gambles lacking insight the fevered warriors project their venom as dragoons busily flaying in fascistic parades professing we are gods of shambles
We are in control, asinines' yodel like drunken maddened Swiss playing the juvenile gambit of the cockney oafs in low level bazaars stitching unconnected to fantasies in dim irrelevant fantastical remiss pigswill and hogwash for pigs the uninvited hosts and ****** Czars commander of falsehood, Baldericks of Twerpdom says its a promise as foolish as foolish does, persistence is the key we'll soon have cigars what tops honour, integrity, decency, who wagers with nits in demise
Power is not a means; it is an end. One does not establish a dictatorship in order to safeguard a revolution; one makes the revolution in order to establish the dictatorship. The object of persecution is persecution. The object of torture is torture. The object of power is power. The wise know, with power comes responsibility, the fools sees power as bullying, its got to be used to batter and maim because they have no magnanimity, its a crude display by crude primal minds to booster the emptiness and inadequacies of their mediocrity. Now you begin to understand me. George Orwell, 1984.