Boy, oh boy, it must be nice to not only be morally superior to 97% of the population but to also hold the position of Grand High Poobah of Reproach and Chastisement (Value Judgements Division). How does one get that position, anyway? It is appointed? Is there some kind of election I missed out on? And how are the health benefits?
I suppose I’m getting old and crotchety what with these youngsters and their duck’s ass hairdos and hula hoops and baseball cards. But I have a YOOGE problem with having my conduct policed by someone whose worldview is based on one factor and one alone and who has, at best, a distorted approximation of what goes on in the real world. I do not, I must admit, appreciate being gently chastened like an out-of-line four-year-old every time I have something other than a happy, shiny, praiseful, sunshine-blowing-out-my-bum thought or feeling. Sometimes stuff doesn’t go right. Sometimes people, even people I love, get on my nerves. It happens to everyone. If you’re honest, you admit it. If you’re insecure, you refuse to acknowledge it — ever — and then prattle on, incessantly, about how PERFECT you and everything that happens to you is. Oh yes, and don’t forget to throw in a dash of condescension to make sure the unclean masses know how sorry you are for them that
God doesn’t love them as much they aren’t carbon copies of you.
If this makes absolutely no sense to you, don’t sweat it. It’s not supposed to. If it does make sense to you, don’t sweat that, either. It’s highly unlikely it’s you to whom I’m referring. (I’m speaking, obviously, about Britney Spears. That b*tch won’t stop calling me to brag about how her husband is more ferret-like than mine, how her new baby is going to grow up to be more in need of therapy, and how lack of visible talent didn’t stop HER from getting a career, so what’s my problem? I’m just sick of it and it’s got to stop. Do you hear me, Britney? Leave me alone! The next time, I’m calling the cops!)