Friday, August 30, 2002

Now I'm thinking that actually the best time to hit the Bookfair would be Monday morning, so it would at least take out of the picture all those fucking yuppie shits who think they know poetry and literature because they read Pablo Neruda and Paolo Coelho and have thumbed through One Hundred Years of Solitude and/or The Unbearable Lighness of Being (take your pick). This way I'll only have to compete with unemployed pseudo-intellectual pretentious writer-wannabes who really just need a) to get laid, b) a functional family, or, barring that, c) a decent therapist. The other group I'm dreading is the rich spoiled kid-fucks who're "slumming it" by going to the bookfair instead of buying their shit online with daddy's credit card. And they'll be there because they're unemployed too, living off their family's ill-gotten gains.

I hate rich people because I want to be them.

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