Well, some may call it satire, but like with most things in life, poor Mr. Scarlett seems to make it almost a poisonous and bitter observation of the human condition. Sick people may think that he is funny, but unfortunately, there are many out there who, if were given a single brain cell, would be terribly lonely and will not be laughing at all.
Most people do not take enough care and attention to the things that happen around themthe wool that gets pulled over their lives with the propaganda and brain washing machine that they live inso they get tumbled around in the machine of life’s events and are too lazy to look for the end-of-cycle button.
So please forgive this poor prick, but he feels the people of the world need a kick up the arse and he mistakenly thought that with his disgusting words he may achieve this.
Over de auteur
The author is a knockabout bloke. Some might say that he gets knocked about a bit. Some may say that he knocks about a bit.
He was born in Melbourne, Australia, and currently lives there until his health improves and he can return to Kangaroo Island and, of course, Vietnam, where he belongs.
He was told by his English teacher the day before his year-twelve exam that he had absolutely no chance in hell of passing the test as he was almost illiterate.
He is a painter, musician, and chef as well as a lousy writer.
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