Get a degree, get a job in canary wharf.
Swan around on your own self importance, shout at staff at Pret a Manger because you're important, and late for a meeting.
Sorry mate, if you're late for a meeting, don't get a f*cking coffee.
You have a suit, a car, a house, maybe a wife even more narcissistic than yourself, rinsing you for stability and a nice care home
Screw every other country, who cares who made your shoes, they're peasants anyway. Oil, money war, why not invest in weapons manufactures?
Ignore the receptionist, and everyone with less than 100K. Frown at the peasant cleaning the windows on the tube, because of your precious armani suit. slightly bigger than your fragile ego..
Move into a posh estate, where the only form of communication is buying a better car than everyone else.
Travel on train first class, leather seats and a poor soul wondering what on earth has happened to their lives whilst serving you.
Go to church, speak of Jesus, moneylenders and the temples. whilst checking your share portfolio on companies known to exploit everyone (including the weapons manufacturers in your share portfolio)
Frown on everyone, the poor people in Sainsbury's who've done more manual labour than you ever have, laughing as you get dividends for them putting up with your demands to "check out back".
Buy the right wing papers, believe every lie they tell you, because hai, you have money, and therefore your right, despite points of view to the contrary you'll never reference.
Rage at the problems of the world, the justice in public schools not paying tax. the rights to declare war on countries because of your precious share portfolio.
Piss it away in a care home, with mo one visiting you, shouting at the staff beneath you, and hoping they don't secretly poison your lunch.
Wonder why, when your family are gone, not a soul wants to see you, including your carers.
The Irvine Welsh Trainspotting sketch, the "choose life" poster, I bought that when I was 15. Not because of the joys of heroin addiction, but because I never wanted to be some corporate boot licking person.
You can frown upon drug users, the homeless, the poor, the mentally ill, the immigrants, everyone without asking if your lay-off of staff, the outsourcing of the labour providing your bonus, has contributed to.
Screw everyone, you're at the top, surrounded by no one, nothing, but cold hard cash, the amount of which, will never be enough to by back your soul.
Anyway, if you get big time, what about politics? what about switching political parties? Ror money, status, and noting more?
What about the entire investment market, where businessmen clock an idea on a 10 minute pitch for 30K, another 10 minutes os sounding people out, for millions on the virtue of having a spare bit of cash
What about swanning about, tax dodging, saying you and you alone have made it, to you and the cretins around you, that you can't even trust.
Do it from a private education, a stable family, the ability to work though your uni coursework, maybe Master's and PhD, without being that poor man, who one day, will serve your coffee, wishing it was a brick in your face.
You may not like this if it relates to you, but then, that's not my problem, and you're not everyone else's.
We live in world of difference, it makes life more interesting, and I'm not saying I'm right.
Why should I dress up in a suit, have shiny teeth like a Mormon, get a hair cut, to play fickle game of small talk, with no influence, or effect on the world?
Having the same bullshit coffee machine conversations about the weather, Sharon's new car, complicit in dumbing down of out society, our self enforced banality.
Signing a leaving card, and a teddy, to someone you never cared for, around people you don't want to know, pretending you care, in this vapid empty family called an office in Carnary Wharf.
Asking no questions about the injustices of society, shackled to some corporate businessman, the views of whom I may personally despise, because, hai, money.
Virtually piss on people, threaten to downsize IT departments, claim profits are down, and threaten to outsource to India.
Wait for that person Cheryl maybe, who didn't sleep with you you for a promotion, to finally have enough, and become yet another person to jump from the 4th floor of the shopping mall in Canary Wharf, because of the stress, and it's better than a soulless conversation about new socks at the coffee machine
Claim "that's really sad", despite contributing to this yourself, for a bonus of 100K. Sad not out of your contribution to her suicide, but because she did it before you got a chance to sleep with her.
We're all different, for me, passing away shackled to empty, vapid people I describe, using my money to pretend to care about nothing with money, on the idea that that, and that alone is success, without saying anything, to rock the fast sinking, of the unjust boat of life, thinking ...
I could have done something of meaning, for others instead of myself.Anyway, here's a song to take the pain away, from the next big star with millions of followers, who I may disagree with, who says nothing of meaning, on what to him, or her, is important.
If this page upsets you, that's your problem, you can shout at the next person, or you can seek help.
PS, we also do corporate events.😂