My kind and me are growing in number and it is all your fault. You have created a generation of people who truly believe they are special (and believe me they are not). They have an unshakeable sense of entitlement. They believe they are above criticism. Look at television programmes such as the X Factor and (insert country name’s) Got Talent. You have thousands of people (usually young) who really believe they can sing, dance and entertain. The level of delusion is so great it even forms at least two episodes at the start of every series where the thick-skinned fool as ridiculed as they caterwaul through another Whitney Houston song or they bounce around the stage like a maimed walrus. Yet they argue and they cry and they back answer the judges because they have been told they can sing. Their family paid for dancing lessons from a top choreographer. Sorry but you cannot polish a turd.
Social media gives a platform to the mundane. Look at me, here is what I ate, here is a picture of my new shoes. Look at this trout pout. Me, me and more me. In sports, every member of the team receives a trophy for being special. Nonsense. Winners win trophies. You do not by just turning up.
Lacking on the looks front? Not a problem. If you have the cash (and if not well beg, borrow or steal it) you can remove the fat, iron out the lines, straighten the buck teeth and convince yourself you are devastatingly beautiful. L’Oreal tells you that you are worth it. My ass you are.
Every child is told, too often, they are special. They believe the hype and my goodness me, don’t we know it. Demands for special treatment based on no discernable talent? Failed to make the grade? Oh don’t bother to study, hire a lawyer and sue. It’s the school’s fault they failed to harness your special creativity.
You enable this charade to go unchecked and with it you are creating wave after wave of mini-mes.
Thankfully there is a solution. I will soon cut them down to size. There’s only room for one ultimate champion here and that vacancy was filled along time ago. By me.
The concept of something being off limits means nothing to me. I am entitled to take what I want. That promotion at the office ? My name is already on the door. I won’t secure it by working hard. Oh no. I will take the credit for the endeavour of others. I will embark on a rigorous campaign to derail your own attempts to secure the advancement. Bought a new car which I regard as superior to mine. Not much good with the tyres slashed is it? Or strange how the police keep pulling you over on suspicion of drink driving isn’t it? Everything is a legitimate target to me. Everything is in play.
I will engage in repeatedly reckless behaviours to get what I want. I do not care whose lawn I park my tanks on, I go where I want. I will not respect your boundaries because I just do not see them. What I love to do most of all however is take something precious belonging to you. On the lesser end of the scale I will hide possessions which you value or I will break them. Naturally, I will blame someone else, usually you. The scale of hurt increases. I will worm my way into your friendship group and cause them to like me more than you by a combination of a charm offensive (call in the love bombers) and a carefully orchestrated smear campaign of nasty whispers (you’ll never guess what she said about you) with the ultimate aim of you being edged out of the group. I will then walk away from the group because I am really not interested in them, I just wanted to get at you. At the top of the tree is the forbidden fruit of stealing someone else’s partner. Often these people will be in a solid and decent relationship but such is the level of my charm, such is the attention to detail I apply in tracking my prey, it is just a question of time before I pull them away from you. I will wreck relationships. I will shatter marriages. All to feed my hunger. As ever, once I have drained the flesh and juices from the forbidden fruit, I shall discard it and leave a battered, empty husk as I move on to the next piece of low hanging fruit. Now you know what the serpent in the garden of Eden was. Me.