Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, apart from Andy, you cunt, there was never a house in St Tropez. Do you realise Greta used a toasted sandwich machine to straighten her hair? As for Sue, she can sod off back to Norwich, all she ever did was whine and moan about her abusive parents: so they hit her with a bath loofah? Jemima was murdered by those toffs, she swears she wasn’t, but I’ve seen her blue and bloated head buried in their books. Gorgeously unclean, the twins are really just one woman called Angela: some evenings she thumbs me like a Holy Bible or Koran or whatever, but mostly lies about stupid things like can-openers or where the treasure is. Saul, what were you thinking? She gained a degree in avoidance addiction: seduce, revel and flee. Jean needs a married man. She’s not like you, Saul. Where’s your backbone, Florence? Being gay, shouldn’t you curb your racism? Perhaps rivers don’t flow like that, perhaps Dominic was right: that baby belonged to nobody, it was a hoax, a hoax in a pram to beguile him into empathy. Empathy? That’s a consumer tool if ever there was a Mecca, which there isn’t, otherwise what are we doing in the supermarket? Meet me in Greenwich village, Delilah, and we’ll recreate the sixties. Burn this bra. Is that right? No, burn this chair. Is that right? What are we supposed to burn again? I arrived for the revolution with my lunchbox. There were sheep. You people promised to be my loud generation. I regret everything. Derek is a contented dentist.
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