I'm hanging out talking Tom Stoppard and Travesties
Lenin, James Joyce, Tristan Tzara and me
We're smudging the line between the workers' calls
And the petty bourgeois with beer, graffiti walls...
The Lowest of the Low, 'Beer Graffiti Walls'
I love that song.
Anyway, I found this today on a bathroom stall at my University (Sheffield... the men's toilet near Coffee Revolution, if you're in the area). I had to share it with you:
Are you Satisfied with Satan?
To which I found this response was thoughtfully added:
No. Not really. Many people say I do the Devil's work; so far I have had zero pay and the hours are long. Meanwhile, he minces around, all cloven-hooved, giving it the big 'I Am' (Satan) when he is supposed to be preparing the Armies of Darkness to take over the world. I haven't received so much as an unholy water pistol yet!
'The Devil makes work for idle hands'. Well, he should start with himself, the bone idle cunt.
Sir, I salute you. ('he minces around, all cloven-hooved'. Brilliant.) And to which list of complaints we can add that is not an equal opportunity employer, quite obviously favouring (like all other organisations) white Über-men.
Though I hear the dental plan is not bad, actually.
I think it's a funny day when even those worshipping the Lord of Evil, Prince of Darkness, become disillusioned. Doubtless Daily Mail readers (I just cannot stop reading the Daily Hate Myself -- see my previous post) will soon be writing in, complaining about how this Inferno of Eternal Damnation isn't the Great Force it was once and is going to the dogs because of the namby-pamby, work-shy, bureaucratic, anti-social Politically Correct, New Labour-voting ASBO-wielding celebrity paedophiles. (A new tag, J? 'severe disappointment in pledging your soul to Lucifer and His Evil Minions'?) I, for one, will toast the day, raise a champagne flute of blood and turn the lights out as the last one of them scuttles out the country.
No doubt this will become a new game for me to play here... I've always liked the wisdom one can glean from the bathroom stalls and beer graffiti walls, as the song goes. However, I appreciate that I then risk further confusing my purpose: the more I write about shit, the more I say shit, the more I talk about toilets and bathroom stalls, the more strange Google hits I'll incur and the more the casual reader really will think that this is a blog about poo.
Well it's not.