Sit in your ivory tower, and marvel at the scum toiling for the man.
Kick back and philosophise, guru.
Know it all and know it good.
You remember back then with purity and misty-eyed fondness. Bless!
Espouse, pontificate, critique, bandy.
What fools are they toiling for the man? What fools! How could it have been, this thing of ours?
How good, how dignified, how brilliant?
If only the bad man and his two-backed agents hadn't stuck their grubby mitts in. Eh?
Spoilt, spoilt by spoilers. Bah.
Muddied by suits, shammers, spivs and snake-oil fakers. They don't remember back when, the shits.
And now look! The picnic is ruined, and instead, the world has moved on.
The picnic may have be ruined by the snakeoil merchants...but look.....a soft drink, a cheap Ozzie Rose wine, a snadwich chain and a picnic rug manufacturer want to be your friend on Twitter, so that's alright then!
Posted by: michelle goodall | June 01, 2009 at 10:57