Elect me your leader, motherfuckers and non-motherfuckers, I have but one
policy: all bottles containing alcoholic beverages will be made of
sugarwaxglass or whatever the fuck it's called. I want every single one of
you to be able to smash your bottle over your head free from fear of blood
and associated brain damage, or even shard-induced death. Hang the
consequences of waxy wine, it's not like France lets the good stuff leave
the country anyway. Smash the fucking glass over your head motherfuckers,
it's not like you've never wanted to do it before, hell I'd do it every
single time if I wasn't so attached to my scalp and my life. Smash
motherfuckers, smash like you've never smashed before. If it takes two men
three minutes to drain one bath, how long will it take two men to drain one
bath? If it takes six or seven hundred deaths from people smashing wine,
vodka, whisky, tequila bottles over their head to draw attention to this,
then that's how many people must die before you'll elect me your leader. I
don't mind those people dying if it benefits me, and as long as you aren't
them or don't know them I guess you don't mind either.
If we analyse, as all good analysts must if they wish to continue being paid
for analysis and blowjobs, then humanity is doomed and the only potential
way to salvage any form of engine with which to make a diving bell is to
kill everyone, especially people. Why, people? Why people? The driving force
behind humanity is not the perpetuity of genes as that retarded Dawkins cunt
says, no no no, it's violence, self loathing and shattered glass. Come here,
motherfucker, and I'll smash your fucking face in for you. I love violence,
you love violence, I hate you, you hate you; gimme something glass and I'll
grind it in your face for you. Tell me you've never wanted to smash a bottle
over your head and I'll show you a house with a very messy carpet, and I'll
also smash a fucking bottle over your head, you retarded forkfucker - the
tines they are a changin'. It's just human nature: get drunk, break glass.
I'm looking out for you, I want to save your pitiful little, some say
ineffectual, life; I may not know you, if I do, I surely don't like you, but
for reasons best left unexplained I'd rather you didn't die of smashing a
wine bottle with a delicious little hint of vanilla over your delicate
little head that hates being sliced. I have your best interests at heart,
much more than anyone else ever did; they try and deny your lust for smash,
but I know you, I know what you want, I want what you want, and I want to
save your life too. Elect me your leader, motherfuckers and
non-motherfuckers. Smash the fucking glass. Smash it over your head, smash
it over someone else's head. Try it now, they lock you, try it in my era,
it's just another night. It's safe, you smash, they smash back, you're both
happy, you're both alive, you re-elect me, I'll keep you unlocked, and I'll
keep you smashing.
I've picked glass out of my hair, and it's not a pleasant experience,
believe you me... no no, I, you, he/she/it, we, you (plural), them. Far more
pleasant to melt out the sugarwaxglass, Theodore. Wax melts before hair
melts; hang upside down sufficiently above the flame so hair doesn't catch
and smell, the sugarwaxglass (where wax should be capitalised, and the rest
probably shouldn't even be unlocked capitalised) will drip down and out of
your hair. The alternative to the alternative of what we have now is what we
have now - it's just a question of semantics - and it hurts fingers, so much
so that they might even bleed, and nothing gets that out, not even henna. I
bled once; green it was. Fucking dragons.