Are you just clowning?
This is what they say. This is really what they say. Honestly, it is. They will accuse you of "clowning." What they believe your motivation is in "clowning" is to avoid taking responsibility for your actions by creating a diversion.
Let us go over this together (but separately) in our heads. Shall we? Proceed.
Thanks for joining in on that. Much appreciated.
We're glow bangin' it, daddy.
Join with us now as we stare mercilessly into the television set (now available from RCA). Join with us as we let the people inside of the television manipulate our thoughts and feelings. See that funny ad about the dating app? Oh, you want some quality (insert mate of chosen identification) that will turn into something meaningful? Start forking over the greenbacks, baby. You are going to get some good shnunta TONIGHT! And it will still be cool on the shelf in SIX WEEKS TIME. Perfect for you! What you want! Want you need! What you would bleed for!
It goes without saying.
So, the answer to whether or not you, or someone like you, is "just clowning." Let me put it to you this way... bend over, Simone. Tartar sauce is headed your way. Creaming down the crack.
It goes without saying.
And we know this much to be true because of experience. But even that volume of experience that you have in your library is NO MATCH for the furious mind control powers of the people who are very much inside of your television. They provide FRIENDS for us to have. Special friends who are always there for us, at the regular time, unless they go on vacation (or if the bad people make them go off the air for reasons).
It goes without saying.
My new tracks drops Saturday. It be called, Don't gett fresh wit me, bishes. I can't wait for it to drop. So cided.
Like a kid. On Saturday. In Detroit. In 1977.
Things change. They really, really do.
Turn off the television. Don't invite those people inside.
Anymore.
Gadzooks! What do we have here? Something quite interesting.
We see it unfolding in front of us, this life we lead. And we are drawn to the mountains, or the ocean, or the call of the wild.
If we are very quiet, and creepy as all fuck, then we can sneak up to the copy machine where two of the office ladies are talking in low tones.
Oh, lawdy lawdy, Cathy's forty (said in a Massachusetts accent).
And we know how that goes. We all know.
We have overheard many conversations at the copy machine, the water cooler, in the fucking toilets. We hear it everywhere. They are quite often talking about the people inside of their televisions. They believe these people are real. They believe these people are their friends. They believe that Dr. Oz has an interest in their overall well being. They are eating Fritos.
Shake it out. That is what the people inside of the television are telling them to do. And they are listening. And they are learning. They are learning what the people inside of their televisions are wanting them to learn. They are servants to Dr. Oz. They do his bidding.
And this is the nature of it. The size of up. Beat on the brat with a baseball bat.
Put 'em in bad prisons with no food and creatures from deep within the earth's core with giant cocks that come up to rape them in their sleep. Put 'em in there! Yeah, and nuke the Middle East. That is what the people inside of their televisions tell them to do. Not Dr. Oz. They do his other biddings. They do the biddings of those people from inside their televisions command. They are bitches to the people inside of their televisions.
We were warned about this by shows that started in the 1950s. Other shows would follow. Too many to name. Many, too many, were highly derivative.
And that is where we are. Like children.
Who gives a toot if a celebrity is wearing calico underwear. What difference does it make? Maybe he has a huge johnson. You never know. Unless you peek. Do you peek? Do you peak when you peek? Pervert.
Enough said.