God, look at you all.
Sat there in your ostentatious Ivory Towers looking down on us in our hecklerspray hovel as we scrap around trying to pick a living from the meagre bones of underweight celebrities. You sit in judgement of us like a Feudal Lord views his peasants with seeming omniscience.
You sit there with your lucky dip box at the ready, it loaded with randomly generated insults and put-downs designed to make us feel like the lowest of the low, like the dog dirt on the shoe of the internet, like Tim Westwood. Your words are designed to cut, to hurt but are said with the best interests at heart. You want to protect your favourite celebrity because you know- deep down- that they’re too disinterested or stupid to defend themselves.
