We made money. We made God.

Are we all to bow down to the force of our imaginations for the rest of forever?

FUCK inflation, I don’t give a fuck about inflation because it’s not real, it’s just

another way for them to keep a handle on us.

I like to get drunk and text men asking, ‘why we can’t just print more money’, and

I trip over myself laughing at them tripping over themselves to mansplain the

fucking economy.

The old gold standard, Jeff Bezos=Jeff Pesos and we’re closer

to being millionaires than he is, that’s how rich he is and

isn’t that terrifying?

He’ll never spend all that money and I just want a nice slice pan without worrying

about how much bread I’ll have to eat a day so it doesn’t go off—otherwise it isn’t

worth buying.

My God all that money, junior ministers getting raises and parties that weren’t voted

in in power, I mean,

come on Leo just come out and say you hate poor people.

No school dinners anymore, parents should be telling children it’s prime cut for dinner

when really it’s the tongue of the petty bourgeoisie and the wage gap now is worse

than it was

in revolutionary France, and one of the worst bits of it is the:

What do your parents do? Vapid blinking, here, listen, I’m not stupid because I’m not

posh and full of notions.

In the end death is unnatural to thought but is it really that thought is unnatural to the

essence of life? There’s none of this nonsense with animals. Maybe consciousness is

the curse.

What do my parents do? FÁS, the dole, take your pick—and stick it up your fucking