You pull a face, and poke it towards the stage, and we la-di-dah, we sing and dance and tumble around. And all you see up here, it’s not people, you don’t see people up here, it’s all fodder. And the faker the fodder the more you love it, because fake fodder’s the only thing that works anymore. It’s all that we can stomach. Actually, not quite all. Real pain, real viciousness, that we can take. Yeah, stick a fat man up a pole. We laugh ourselves feral, because we’ve earned the right, we’ve done cell time and he’s slacking, the scum, so ha-ha-ha at him! Because we’re so out of our minds with desperation, we don’t know any better. All we know is fake fodder and buying shit. That’s how we speak to each other, how we express ourselves, is buying shit.
Black Mirror [2011-Present]