Death Rings A Mellow Bell
You know, there’s a lot of nonsense spoken about the how will I ever and the what do we all do now? Well, I am living proof that speaking plainly and honestly results in catastrophe and biblical plagues.
Who among us, while talking to a woman at the job centre giving it the old “this is the way things are” routine, hasn’t wanted to leap up out of their chair and attack a security guard? And who among us, when in that position, hasn’t wanted to gouge out that security guard’s eyes with a pen, and then laugh and laugh and laugh at the horrified terrified faces that are now swirling around you, screaming, screaming, please don’t gut us, please don’t gut us like big fat pigs?
I don’t know that you don’t know. You know that I don’t know. Is this a common complaint? Are we making any headway? Of course not. When I say I don’t know, I mean I don’t know about that shade of purple, and that other shade of purple, and that shade of grey. Well, then, what do you want me to do about it? A very simple answer: Stuff your head right in that socket and give it a good tug.
When she says something about it being your obsession, tell her to talk to the spleen because the beak isn’t responsible. And if she refuses? Tell her that death rings a mellow bell, and if she doesn’t know what’s good for her she’ll force the spear into the Roman soldier’s sternum.
I’m going to meet the Minister for lunch. I may be sometime.