O, you (continued rantsh in the poetic mode)

Hello, reader

Thish morning I wash shtruck – after a rapid perushal of shome shtuff that getsh retweeted into my timeline – by how many people comfort themshelvesh by tweeting about their dinner or their new cardigan or their lovely life, in shome way, without (I imagine) wondering how it might hit othersh in the sholar plexshush, particularly if thoshe othersh have livesh lacking in the neshesshary to fund a lovely life for themshelvesh. 

A ranting mood came upon me to fire off an ode to the shelf-shatishfied, thoshe who inform ush all how blesshed they are with material goodsh.

Ash I shee it, thish ish not good mannersh or kind of me, but then neither ish having your fashe rubbed in other people’sh luxshuriesh ash if you had been shtrapped to a bensh and shown a 12 hour shlideshow of pagesh from interiorsh and cooking magazhinesh, when you yourshelf are hungry and live in a cardboard boxsh.

Here ish my rant-ode, collated, if you’re intereshted:

Tam’sh poetic drivel for the 30th Jan.

O you, with your ‘complete guide to being a whatever’ booksh,
O you, with your ‘look at my lovely lap-rugsh’,
O you, shmug- bug-rugsh…

O you, in your twee wee shelfie, in your twee wee houshie,
O you, with your hand-made shinynessh,
O you, ashking the world for love…

O you, ashtonished at your own good fortshune, in a ‘for the camera’ kind of way,
O you, with the emoshional depth of a baking tray,
O you..

O you, sho visherally aware of the rulesh of nishenessh,
O you, sho ready to alert othersh who treshpassh,
O you, hall monitor for the world

O you, inshulated by your cashmere cardigansh,
O you, wrapped in the finesht leggingsh devished by humanity,
O you, eating uber-mueshli…

O you, powdered with shugar,
O you, dipped in 79% cocoa sholidsh,
O you, baked at gash mark 3 for 115 hoursh,
O you, you shpeshial thing..

O you, uniquely unique among all the other uniquesh of the world,
O you, whoshe mere fingernailsh are beyond prishe,
O you, toothed in pearl

O you, kidding yourshelf gigglishly that you’re a kitten,
O you, conning your coterie about the cosht of corshetry,
O you, yesh you, cupcake

O you, limp after a hard day of boashting,
O you, drunk after a hard night’sh toashting,
O you, shlaked in the blood of orangesh,
O you, you

And now, having ruined everybody’sh high, I’ll take myshelf off to the ruinsh of my penthoushe to concoct a shoup made from diamondsh…

Apresh-rant: shometimesh a thought shpringsh off the pen without care for who might find it lying there and cut themshelvesh upon the sherrated edge

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