A WEIRD BITTER LITTLE POEM REALLY, DEESIGNED TO ACCOMPANY 1ST PERSON PERSPECTIVE VISUALS THAT ARE SLIGHTLY BLURRED AND A LITTLE FIDGETY. THINK CHRIS MORRIS' 'JAM'.
SCENE OPENS WITH A MAN EATING AT A CHINESE RESTAURANT, LOOKING ACROSS THE TABLE AT A RELATIVELY GROTESQUE WOMAN WITH WHOM HE IS EATING.
NARRATOR (MAIN CHARACTER) SPEAKS IN BITTER AND HATE-FILLED TONE:
Numb nosed and shout proud, all rowdy and louded in they glided and table-sided us mild dining, romantic hiders.
Clown-glossed, freshly thought showered, high powered darlings all, they ball and twitter hard and 'oooooooooh' at 'Morgan Stanley Dean Witter' card like retarded arse.
A menu meeting, competing for celeb bar-propping, name dropping and fashion flopping riddles, all giggles and fidgets and class-A frustration for exemption from the mutual masturbation of their salary digits.
Noodle disposing, my hand ear enclosing, I sonic spy their talkslime all 'prime time' and 'viewing'. Nodboxers they be, all life sucking piracy, no art on their part for our licence fee. Bungling BBC.
So now, in my own hands their course be, most literally, as I Jagger stagger past mild mannered janitor to hot slop coop and stoop to find the mouth-filler chopping the soup.
Pony exchanged and scheme arranged I snigger off to low scoff and brave eye their troffing of my offering.
Steaming piled their mockery cookery defiled it arrives, freshly salived, to their wide eyes. I cock a hoop as they woop off trite delight about 'ethical, ethnically, organic' shite and mock ingested I peek and clench with revenge as semen-soup is tested.
Their gullet moistened by piss poisoned lager I stifle my laughter as more and more of my seed ridden morsels are devoured with speed.
For low runged shadows like us I fight, use good cause nausea bites to battle their endless twattle these fat cat prats, all frothy milked moguls, culture sucking dry they grow greedier.
But this time I came first, not the media.
