It’s been a short week on Doc40 as June busts, the tuna in the Pacific turn radioactive, the relentless Jubilee grinds on with all the false luster of a counterfeit gem, and hiding under the bed is a cheap but easy metaphor in a world where greed-driven and wholly unprincipled market manipulators and petulant bankers yet again run us into the ground and Goldman Sachs have the gall to actually advertise their spurious wonder on my Gmail page. While, at the same time, a constant media drumbeat of evil tidings drive the already daunted to depression and worse, and I worry that, even in my decrepitude, I am not able to more which is why, when the following showed up on Facebook from a friend called Nick I felt considerably cheered…
"From the comforting/alarming presence of the Deviants back in the day to the aspirational ID with the DNA Cowboys whose jouissance pierced the gloom of the merseyside methadome in which we dwelt (courtesy of the DHSS) - a simple message of thanks. You gave us (what's proved to be well-founded) hope that our creativity could be more than a source of shame."
But if you believe I’m drinking lady-looking mimosas for breakfast, please think again.
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