Lord, I thank my lucky stars. Went out last night, some nice man said he wanted me to own him, said he wanted me to set him in the corner for his punishment, said he wanted to kneel down on the hardest concrete for me, said he couldn’t wait to be disciplined by someone as all-knowing immensely superior bloody fantastic! like me. Well, thank you, Ms Lord!
The nice man knows I know what’s best for him. I’m so enlightened so bloody in the know it’s a wonder I’m not in charge of EVERYONE! Cos I damn well should be! In this world, there are people that own other people and there are people who are owned. The owned people are at my disposal… they feed and enlarge my pathetic, um, I mean, my damn superior ego. Christ, it wasn’t easy being born so damn special! It falls to few… it’s an enormous burden and god entrusted this GOLD to me and no one else. I part oceans too. God lets me, no, come to think of it, I damn well am God! True! Omnipotent all powerful all knowing and damn well everything else, too! Truly, damn it!
I’m so damn special and magnificent my damn head won’t fit in the door! My head is larger than life! True! My head is huge and has to be huge cos it holds the answers to absolutely everything and everyone!
Go fetch me my mascara and feather boa, that’s a good boy. No, don’t walk through the kitchen to the bedroom!, you must walk through the sunroom to the bedroom! That’s paramount, now get it right, or meet with punishment in the silent corner! There is a way to walk the rooms of this house… and you need me to show you the way. Poor thing, you must have been banging into walls when you didn’t have me to navigate your life. Hang on, that’s no way to carry my mascara to me! You must thank me for allowing you to bring it to me! What were you thinking, to bring me my mascara and then go mute? Off to the corner for you!
It’s time you showed your overweening respect and eternal gratitude for the noble, larger than life WOMAN of the house. Get your act together, silly man, or face the punishing corner once more.
Seems you haven’t bowed to me in some time. That’s a grave offence, so more punishment for you, little chap.
What’s that, “Get your beer out of the fridge?” Whatever does that mean? Why, you poor chap, you’re reading from the wrong script. The woman of your dreams that fetched beer and served your every whim, racked off. Said she couldn’t stand you, said you were a blockhead of the highest order. But off you go, to the furthest corner of the earth, cos you’re sure to find the dodo-brain there to compliment and service a supreme dodo-head like you.