19th April 2013
You know, it’s odd down here on the ground, because even though I am surrounded by workshy scrounging plebs who deserve to be sent forthwith to Poundland with their walking sticks, I can’t help but feel sorry for them from time to time. You see, while the tax-avoiding, profiteering corporations are the backbone of our corpocracy (obviously), the folk down here who are ‘fit for work’ and need to eat are… folk. They seem to have feelings and they seem to be absolutely unique and irreplaceable, each and every one. They are honest but sick, poor but kind, and I can’t help but support them emotionally, with form filling, with a fiver here and there if I have anything in my pocket, because I know what it’s like to receive that dreaded brown envelope, to feel like a criminal for being disabled, to be found fit-for-work when you are so fragile that you simply don’t know how you will make it through another day. Forgive me, my darling, for loving them and for helping them win back what they are entitled to, because I know how much money you need to save, and I know that you have to do it this way.
It’s easy to see these people as numbers, it’s easy to look on them as plebs and fakers, but, inconveniently, they are human beings. You know that Oscar Wilde quote, the one where we are all in the gutter but some of us are looking at the stars? The irrefutable problem with human beings is that we are all looking at the stars. It is human nature to want more. Take your friends, for example, with millions in the bank, and yet it never seems to be enough for them. Take my friends, with a few Pot Noodles and a disability or a minimum wage job doing something that destroys their souls through and through and leaves them with nothing. Damn them for being human, because they seek comfort and warmth and have aspirations and dreams. Damn them for looking at the stars, too.
I suggest a cull.