Man, I feel like a cheap hooker with too much lead-poisoned cheap make-up on.
For my work, I have engorged myself with a hearty dose of fakespeare. Been spending some time with the Victorian Sex-Cry Generator as much as old books.
The thing is, I do not understand why there are so many passive sentences in ye olde books.
Everything is happening to ME! ME! The people of the past are a bunch of crybaby wankers.
And the spelling! Nite Owle mayhap bests Ozymandias in matters of the heartE, forsooth Adrian Veidt is his superior in more physical matters.
What the fuck?
Oh well. First, sleep. Then, my onslaught against popular opinion. There must be balance in the Farce!
