Guy Who Doesn't Know The Queen Died

Standing Filming Himself Outside The Palace With His Middle Finger Up

Oy!! You binty old minge!!! You twiddly old bint! You mingy old bint!!!! You smingy old whinge! You winty old bat! You — you winter home owning, summer cottage loving, rich old tart! You twiddly old thumb!! You thumb — you thumb-having hand-loving prehensile twat! You sicken me, you colonizer. You—you minge. You freaking MINGE. They ought to call you the damn Minge Dynasty ha ha ha. Oh god, my middle finger is stuck. It’s stuck… I can’t put my middle finger back down. Oh god, what will I do with my life? I’ll have to go into hiding. Where can I hide? What kind of sick place or society would accept someone who can’t put their middle finger down?

I should have thought this through. I knew that I have sticky joints. I just never knew I’d actually get stuck in this type of position. I feel pathetic. I’m lower than a fucking worm. No, I’m lower than the dirt the worm eats. I’m the Earth’s mantle. Or no, lower than that even. I’m the inner core of the earth. Strong metal ore with a powerful magnetic field. Hey, it ain’t so bad down here! I could make a life down here. Here among the iron. No people. No people ain’t so bad. As long as there’s a bird to sing me sweet songs each morning. No birds? Well, that’s rough. As long as there’s food though. No food? Eh, food was pretty mid anyway. As long as I got sweet sweet oxyge-

Nabeel’s Footnote

Is that a bad word? I’m not sure