In tabloid articles where you will also find Antipodean actresses mixing with media moguls and formulaic alliteration to excess.
The success of the press depends on the public who, in the past, believed the world was flat.
If shit smells it can’t be shit, even when it smells and when a celebrity kisses and tells in newspapers their circulation swells.
The public’s preference for titillation over information makes a heavyweight broadsheet seem an elitist source of reference.
Making vapid fools drool’s the popular press’s game.
When greedy, unscrupulous editors are apportioned blame for their underhand activities, do their journals’ readers feel no shame?
No sense of complicity or feeling of guilt?
For creating the demand their rags supplied?
For having the taste for the bilge from the monsters their appetites built?
Is their surprised indignation at corruption in the media plausible or genuine?
Was their astonishment over MPs fiddling their expenses for real?
Or is the public outrage seen merely orchestrated—as their end of the deal?
I don’t understand how most people think, nor see how they must feel.
But it seems they must be playing a game with an inevitable outcome that’s always the same.
The ignorant, mentally lazy pursuants of sensation are repulsive, self-indulgent wastes of space clogging up the nation,
Worshipping footballers and looking to celebrities for inspiration.
Their lowbrow taste saturates our culture with the facile, the pedestrian and the mediocre—what a choker!
The suffocating volume of pap drip-fed to prevalent cretins spoils life in general,
Reducing everything to marketing ploys and supplying materialist morons with hi-tech toys.
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