I am talking about the bottom of all pits, a nothingness so vulgar and offensive that a punch in my face would feel less personal rather than this riotous madness by a fucking poorly designed bin liner (garbage bag) by a fashion house in Paris, Texas.
I must tell you, this very phenomenon of appropriating, or rather completely raping a thing of virtue inside-out by a no-thing, which is the fledging symbol of unintellectual capacity on two-feet, pumped up by the speeding, daft impulse of paying money to look like every other twat on the street who is trained for detecting and equating a bag, dress, or a watch with a fucking identity. Louis Mutton bags, eh!
I don’t mind if they do that in the corner over there and look like a bunch of identity-less tits in the diminishing vortex of everything ignoble dying out from the face of Earth. But, unfortunately, since they have all the cash in the world and they love to make a fanfare, we often find the jets of this erupting disease spreading in broad daylight. Well, then…
In the magnitude of the guardian rage circling my vessels for the determination and defence of children and youth, and their minds bombarded by these perverse, dumb and idolatrous waves of indulgences which are manufactured to substitute reality, it becomes my very business to annihilate every inch of these moronic agents of absolute amnesiac, raging madness. In case you are wondering what New Vague City is about…
Ahem, ahem, this dollar laced rendition of Leonardo da Vinci is brought to you by a microbe, whatever his filthy name is (look it up), who made that keyring bunny and stuck it on up the arse of a masterpiece, now, a fucking bag after a no-name mug at a museum. Well, get a load of this you, buggered wankers, 9 is beckoning the wild beasts for your necks hanging off your thin skins.
— 5th Revenue, New Vague City