What the Fuck?

This is a cheerful little number that I just found in a un-looked-at folder hidden in numerous folders somewhere in the matrix of my computer. So, here goes....


WHAT THE FUCK?


By D. Jonas Laurence



What the fuck am I reading?
Five o’clock in the morning. Beer in my veins looking at pictures from last nights Golden Globe Awards. And didn’t Brad and Angelina look nice? No, they fucken didn’t.
They looked like fucken airbrushed wax-dolls.
And there is Justin Motherfucking Timberlake and where is his new girlfriend ‘cos he has dumped what’s-her-skinny-arse.
And I am on websites looking at celebrities in swimsuits saying to myself;
“What the fuck?”
What the fuck am I doing?
Am I reading a book?
Fuck no! I am reading about some fucken asshole who is banging some skinny fucken Hollywood whore.
What the fuck?
What has this world made me?
Who cares?
What is the point?
What the hell am I writing?
Nothing.
Air.
Farts.
Ball-sack fluff in the night.
Dreams of skinny arse cutting slabs of roast beef into milk white fluffy bread.
Mustard.
Pus.
Vomit.
Yoghurt.
Now I am freakin myself out.
‘Cos I am getting weird.
But that is better than reading how that Latino chick from Desperate Housewives battles against cellulite…isn’t it?
About how she fucks him and he fucks her and is she on drugs and Paris is kissing him and his brother and making sex films and he is divorcing her because she had an affair with him who is cheating on her and how it all means ab-so-fucking-loosely-nothing to me right at this moment.
Isn’t it better?
Shut up.
Watch the Oscars.
Be envious.
Want.
Want clothes…
And cars…
And hairstyles…
And dogs…
And skinny arses…
And stupid awards for shit that makes my brains turn to jelly.
And I have no idea what I am taking about right now.
So bye bye.
I am off to read the book I should have always been reading.
Before I was brainwashed by your airbrushing.



THE END – (for now…)