Far be it for me to wish to spout hatred upon these fair forums, but "she who's name shall not be mentioned" has turned 80 and I feel it as an obligation...nay...a duty to say a few words to commemorate this special occasion.
I hate her. I seriously, seriously, seriously hate the bitch and I hope she suffers a slow and VERY painful death.
I know, it's not nice, but life isn't nice and a lot of people I know's lives were made absolutely miserable, sometimes even intolerable, because of this specimen of Satan's cruel working's doing.
The mere fact I moved to Holland in 1982 was because of her. My father, bless is good soul, was a union man and his union (the printworker's union) was, besides the coal miner's union, the most targeted of all. In fact, the whole printing industry, along with many other industries, was targeted by that no good female scumbag.
Luckily for me my dad was Dutch and we could get out.
A lot of my friends didn't. With no work, bad schooling, drugs on the increase and absolutely no future prospects, it was no small wonder they cracked under the strain.
Anybody who has her face so far up Ayn Rand's arse deserves nothing but punishment and death.
If it was up to me I'd have her set free in the woods and hunted down by packs of savage anti-hunt lobbyists. Or even more enjoyable would be setting my family on her.
My mother spits whenever the "evil one's" name is mentioned.
Let it be told that should I ever be chronically ill and dying and should that conservative slag still be alive, I will personally take her out.
A friend once told me: "Mark, your hatred will turn you sour."
This is not true. I can confine my hatred to certain subjects and 'she' is one such a subject.
I would hope that she gets cancer and dies, but that's too fast for my liking.
I would hope that someone shoots her, but if it's not me, it's not fulfilling enough.
I would hope that she gets run down by a truck and is laid out on the side walk bleeding, with chunks of her intestines flowing out on to the street. That people walking by would not help her, but stand at her pointing and laughing. And that one of my friends would walk by, or myself, and urinate over her as she gasps for her last breath.
She may well have turned 80, I can but hope this is the last birthday she ever has.
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I forced myself to read "The Fountainhead" in high school; there was a $5000 essay scholarship on it.
So after plugging through it, it became time to write the essay.
The subject spelled out in the contest was, "Pick one of these 5 main characters (names here...) that you admire most. Then write about why."
I found all the main characters appalling; their materialism being their most repugnant feature.
I was perplexed by the problem; after all I had just read this long-ass book just for the purpose of writing the essay. I ended up writing about "Why none of the 5 main characters are worth admiring."
I never heard back from the contest people....
--tmetzler
From Elvis:
I saw a newspaper picture from the political campaign
A woman was kissing a child, who was obviously in pain
She spills with compassion, as that young child's
face in her hands she grips
Can you imagine all that greed and avarice
coming down on that child's lips
Well I hope I don't die too soon
I pray the Lord my soul to save
Oh I'll be a good boy, I'm trying so hard to behave
Because there's one thing I know, I'd like to live
long enough to savour
That's when they finally put you in the ground
I'll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down
When England was the whore of the world
Margaret was her madam
And the future looked as bright and as clear as
the black tarmacadam
Well I hope that she sleeps well at night, isn't
haunted by every tiny detail
'Cos when she held that lovely face in her hands
all she thought of was betrayal
And now the cynical ones say that it all ends the same in the long run
Try telling that to the desperate father who just squeezed the life from his only son
And how it's only voices in your head and dreams you never dreamt
Try telling him the subtle difference between justice and contempt
Try telling me she isn't angry with this pitiful discontent
When they flaunt it in your face as you line up for punishment
And then expect you to say "Thank you" straighten up, look proud and pleased
Because you've only got the symptoms, you haven't got the whole disease
Just like a schoolboy, whose head's like a tin-can
filled up with dreams then poured down the drain
Try telling that to the boys on both sides, being blown to bits or beaten and maimed
Who takes all the glory and none of the shame
Well I hope you live long now, I pray the Lord your soul to keep
I think I'll be going before we fold our arms and start to weep
I never thought for a moment that human life could be so cheap
'Cos when they finally put you in the ground
They'll stand there laughing and tramp the dirt down
From Morrissey:
The kind people
Have a wonderful dream
Margaret On The Guillotine
Cause people like you
Make me feel so tired
When will you die ?
When will you die ?
When will you die ?
When will you die ?
When will you die ?
And people like you
Make me feel so old inside
Please die
And kind people
Do not shelter this dream
Make it real
Make the dream real
Make the dream real
Make it real
Make the dream real
Make it real
I'm not for or against Maggie but my ex-father in law (now dead) was a printer in Scotland and was forced to seek work in about 1970 in South Africa when Scottish papers were forced to close down under the then Labour government. I don't think he changed his political inclinations as a result, but Labour didn't do much for the printing industry either.