Right, now the Olympics are pretty much done people can go back to talking shit about nothing like they did before and we can all be happy and calm and normal once more instead of frighteningly patriotic and revealing how quickly and easily they are drawn into a nonsensical fervour about some people who were born in a particular place* doing some stuff.
If we were in the midst of a financial meltdown that could still ruin the lives of many people the world over I would be worried that this inability for people to function as anything other than a hive mind could lead to some drastic, mass-lunacy either in support of or against those who have caused the world’s economy to be fucked. But we’re not, so we oh wait.
I’m being slightly facetious, though only slightly, as I am tired and hungover and enjoy being exaggeratedly cynical about You People and the Things You Like. It’s fun to highlight the fact that I don’t blindly accept enjoyment from the same things You do, as if this makes me better than You in some way when it clearly does not.
Then I’ll harp on about not judging people for what they like or some other shit, then I’ll watch wrestling even though I’m 29 and I’ll dress like I’m six years old and I’ll have a mild crisis of self at 11pm on a Sunday but hey it’s okay I’m suffering from this Bangover so I’m going to cure it with fried chicken.
Sorry body. I’ll fix you up and make you svelte again at some point.
Sorry wallet, but to be honest we haven’t been on speaking terms in years.
What the fuck am I on about? BYE.
*Or, as the Daily Mail enjoyed pointing out, people who were born in another particular place and went to another particular place and were given some legal documents allowing them to be officially accepted into the latter particular place.