People Who Say The System

In England, We Have Such Good Manners That If Someone Says Something Impolite, The Police Will Get Involved.

People Don't Realize That The Future Is Just Now, But Later.

I Keep Hearing In My Head "you Are The Messiah, You Are The Messiah." I Think There's Something Wrong With My Headphones.

A Halloween-haired, Sachsgate-enacting, Estuary-whining, Glitter-lacquered, Priapic Berk How Dare I, From My Velvet Chaise Longue, In My Hollywood Home Like Kubla Khan, Drag My Limbs From My Harem To Moan About The System? A System That Has Posited Me On A Lilo Made Of Thighs In An Ocean Filled With Honey And Foie Gras'd My Essex Arse With Undue Praise And Money.

Rebel Children, I Urge You, Fight The Turgid Slick Of Conformity With Which They Seek To Smother Your Glory.