Your Rubbish

Your Rubbish

Stayed up 75% of the night hearing your save the planet pitch.
In the morning found all 9 of your San Miguel bottles in the bin, the one clearly marked non recyclable.
Heard you’d flown to the Maldives to chill out. Heard you tell me you’d carbon traded but I know the trees you planted would only take you as far as Antwerp. Unshredded paper bank statement in same bin as the bottles. Yeah, you’re a cheapskate too.
Upsets me. You never offset. All your hot air, your sophomore words less substantial than a descending vapour trail. I hope the sea levels rise on your beach, wash your shorts away, those £90 a leg Vilebrequins sweated up in some dump the wrong side of Hanoi.

Heard you’d left it all behind but all you left was all the lights on. You said it keeps the criminals out but you’re one too. Planet murderer. Heard you explain you can turn satellite boxes off standby without losing your presets but found you crashed out in front of MTV honeyz with the sound on mute. I mean what do you care about ‘cept you?

Heard you boast you’d taken the Land Cruiser back to the dealer, lectured the guy without a tie that you couldn’t justify it any longer, then heard you spent the afternoon burning up the bypass bypass courtesy of the dude’s S class talking torque. Can’t think what the S stands for, or why someone like you is in a car called ‘ class’ at all.

Heard you’d given up burgers , so why’s the Whoppa wrapper in the bin next to the San Miguels? You ‘re so rubbish you can’t even make a choice about the right bin. And no, I don’t have to explain what I was doing in the bin anyway. No, YOU get a life. Exactly what is your point? Yeah, I heard what you said. I said I heard you.
Planet’ll be bloody toast before you listen.