Eurovision: the Return.
Hey, how about encouraging 20 dipshits into believing they can sing, patch up a shitty contest and call it an event? Fuck yeah! That’s what everybody craves to watch on television today, another Eurovision Contest. “No Alex, it’s not just a contest. It’s an event.” Oh pardon me, I was misled from all the SHIT floating around.
This year the management of the public channel, decided to ruin, not just a day, but a whole week of my life, with prolonged festivities and even more untalented singing, creating an extravaganza of uncontrollable bowel syndromes and diarrhoea.It seems that these jealous types, don’t take it so kindly that I am the centre of the universe, the emperor of all, and they want to ruin it for me. I shall hate them forever. Forever I say.
Ahem… There is this one guy (more like a girl with a wee wee) whom I loathe and hate more than anything in the world. Yes!, even more than mirrors. Those evil mirrors, trying to get me, following me everywhere. GO AWAY!!!...
Anyway, back to the “guy”. He is sixteen and oooohh so handsome; he gets all the girls with his voice of gold, THAT SHIT! I hate him. He always ends up singing in front of me. I don’t know how he does it. Everywhere I go! One time he hid in the back sit of my vehicle while I was driving super-sonically fast and ambushed me with a swift chorus from hell. I crashed into a tree and I broke my tri-cycle. My dad promised me another one so I stopped crying.
Since then I have the same dream every night:
I’m always on my tri-cycle and he is running away frantically. He knows he’s no match to my muscled legs of steel but he gives it a try. I play with him, like a cat playing with a mouse but unlike a cat, I laugh. He runs and he screams and he cries. Then he accidentally trips and finds a hidden weapon. It’s a microphone. He rejoices and begins "fighting" back with his measly voice. I laugh as I pump-up my Pantera album and his shrieking voice crumbles under the weight of the heaviest riffs known to man and alien alike. Then I’m bored, so I run him over.
“What’s that?” I say, while looking back over my shoulder. “Let me back up so I can hear you better.” ... *Thud, thud*
I laugh for a while. Then I yawn… Some half-naked mannequins come to congratulate me. I love me.