Don’t tell me what to do…
Don’t tell me what to do, because I, myself, have 10 times of advice value (bursting out). 10 times of what anyone could ever tell me.
How fast are we to advise other people on what to do and how to live their lives? Oh, we are Bugatti Veyron Super Sport fast. In red. (Or maybe yellow, yellow is fast, man.)
Oh no, it’s not a personal attack, my friend. It’s a collective state of mind. Just like everything around us, really.
Government should lower our taxes! (Who is government?)
Oh, I am not happy at my job. (Who is job?)
Our society tells us to adore skinny. (Who is society?)
Ok. Hey, you, society, in black pants and red worn-out V-neck T-shirt. Yes, you. What’s your name? Oh, right. Society. Where are you from? Where? From “here?”
Who are your parents? Me??
Which school did you go to? What did you eat for breakfast today? Hey, I went to that school and that green kale smoothie was MY breakfast. Are you spying on me?
Now you, government, and of course you “the evil corporation”. Stop squeezing the hell out of “PEOPLE.” Well, and let’s, please, not forget YOU – Sir Unaffordable Housing (Hi5, Vancouver. Wink.). How dare you to stand here and obnoxiously point at me with your moss-filled eavesdrops. Go talk to Society, and Government – you all are a so worth each other. Hey, did you all grow up together? Are you all from the same family? Because it sure does feel like you have the same genes…
No? Where again did you all come from? Here? Seriously? And who is your mother again? Me?