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Monsieur_LeBehemoth

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The radio [Aug. 14th, 2006|11:00 pm]
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And so I was on the radio. I think I was OK, though it's for those listening to say rather than me. I only got a few minutes. Bryan Brown got half an hour. Freaking favouritism, that's what I say. Still, for those of an inquiring turn of mind, this is the piece I read:

Insult Me

When you put me down, I don’ want to feel
Like I’ve been lightly stroked by a friendly badger
When you insult me, I want to know I’ve been insulted
I want to feel like several major digestive organs have been extracted through the top of my head and beaten to millimeter-thickness to form the pages of an intestinal volume of the complete works of Oscar Wilde

Don’t call me fat
Call me elephantine, oleaginous, dugongesque
Call me a vast savannah of pustulent Rabelaisian dimple-bacon
Inquire politely as to how long I’ve been out of Seaworld
Carefully note the effect I have on the tides
Subtly suggest that last night’s dinner was an entire moose and for dessert I inserted Bert Newton into the centre of Safeway pavlova
But don’t call me fat

Don’t call me ugly
Call me a Karloffian vision of semi-bovine Cro-Magnon industrial smelting-accident frypan-to-the-face-osity
Tell me I look like the love-child of a wildebeest with eczema and Judy Nunn
Say I’d look better if I put a paper bag over my head, then filled the bag with rocks and threw it off a cliff
Question what wart-crusted egg of the nether dimensions could possibly have hatched such a terrifying physical representation of all that is foul and rotten with the universe as myself
But don’t call me ugly

Don’t call me stupid
Call me dunce, ignoramus, imbecile, medulla oblangatally-challenged
Call me a beetle-brained, grunting, drooling evolutionary throwback
Point out that there are purely hypothetical quantum particles with more self-awareness
Tell me that when God was handing out brains, I must have been around the back, rubbing dirt in my hair
Tell me my mind is a vast Sahara of stupidity, and every camel is another misfiring neuron
Tell me that if the world is a barnyard, the human race is a stately Clydesdale grazing in a pasture, and I am a gibbering farmhand
Trying to milk it

Call me a creep
Call me scum
Call me the universe’s debilitating weeping sore
An ulcer in society’s stomach
The tick burrowing into the ankle of civilization
Call me the human dregs of a particularly nauseating box of lukewarm Riesling
Tell me the only reason I’m not universally regarded as the most annoying, unpleasant person on the planet is that I smell so bad nobody can get close enough to find out
Tell me every time I open my mouth grown men drill holes in their own skulls rather than listen to any of the incoherent, semi-literate bilious maggot-dribble I call conversation
Tell me I wouldn’t know decency, sophistication or talent if it leapt onto my lap and stabbed me in the eye with a crochet hook, and you hope someone does just that because I am such a completely appalling, utterly disgraceful waste of a census form that severe ocular wound is the only way to get me to wake up to myself

Go on, say it. I can take it.
But please, don’t call me a so-and-so. It would be so cruel and so hurtful
That I just might break down and cry
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Comments:
[User Picture]From: auntyallie
2006-08-15 02:46 am (UTC)

(Link)

You were GREAT! I would rather listen to you than Bryan Brown, that's why I turned the radio off after you left.