By Mike James in Germany – 22 January 2011
So you sit there in front of your flat-screen plug-in-drug and angrily chomp your way through microwaveable food manufactured for pigs by anti-humans. They’ll tell you this and that. And you believe them because they all look so cute. The Sunshine Girl with the Pan-Am smile your wife lost the day after you married. She always gets the weather right. The grey eminence whose expert take on economic affairs you would trust with your own life, if only you had one.
Cut to the commercial break. Happy-happy time. Jingle-Jangle, La-La land.
“God, that could be me, if only. Boy, does that kid eating genetically-modified milk chocolate make me cry when he loses his heart to the one girl he truly loves? The cat in the tree. How the neighbours rally to support that kindly first-responder. It’s all so sad, a real tear-jerker. I want to buy that insurance scheme. I feel so warm, so fuzzy. I really wanna cry. Where are my meds?”