I've tried. I tried shouting at a recording of Andrew Marr yesterday, but what with it not being live I somehow didn't have the enthusiasm.
I've done Europe to death. I've ranted myself hoarse over the diversity and leftification of a once independent Britain and there can barely be a raggedy-arsed, fake-Roma, pikey metal thief in all the land who has not raised my ire.
I've had it with politicians, I've railed all I want about the monstrous children some of you are raising and the pointlessness of your moronic welfare-fuelled existences and I've come to the realisation that pretty much the entirety of modern society isn't worth a weak wank into the winceyette .
Then, just when I'm thinking it's all over, the Daily Mail gifts me with this: a young woman is described as "A woman addicted to lip filler injections " FFS Addicted? Addicted to having poisonous fillers pumped into her lips to make her look like she's wearing a pair of bloated pink slugs on her face? Get out of here. Oh my giddy, piss-soaked aunt - what in the world of sweet Jesus-fuck do these deluded princesses think they are doing?
Leslie Ash, Meg Ryan, that ridiculous Jordan woman, Patsy Kensit, Amanda Holden... the list goes on and on and depressingly on.
Fortunately, I harvested the article before the DM pulled the link. It goes on to say: "[Her] problems started while growing up in Hampshire. At the age of 12, she was diagnosed with acute anxiety, insomnia and obsessive compulsive disorder. Poor self-esteem saw these problems develop into body dysmorphic disorder - a mental illness in which people become obsessed with perceived physical flaws or imagined ugliness - by 15. Following a breakdown, [she] was admitted to Warneford Hospital in Oxford and was prescribed anti-psychotics for her increasingly obsessive behaviour. At no point did any of the doctors who administered the injections attempt to stop her, despite knowing that she was taking medication to combat mental illness."
They give this look the cutesy epithet of The Trout Pout, as if wearing the rubbery-lipped look of a young Mick Jagger gurning like a malevolent, thwarted child was a desirable thing. In case you didn't get it the first time - it looks bloody ridiculous. You want to look like that, you're seriously screwed up and it doesn't take a deluded shrink to say so.
But the body-chop-shop industry really doesn't give a shit either, does it? You want to have a nose shaped like a shovel, Jodie Marsh? Go ahead! What else awaits the poor woman? Tummy tucks, tit jobs, arse-implants, botox... cut it out, stick it in, move it here. Picasso wasn't just an artist, he was a prophet.
And talking of profit - it's this sort of shit that passes for industry these days. If we just took a step back down the road to simple, fruitful and worthwhile endeavours, such as making stuff we actually need, the whole country would benefit from better prosperity, dignity and - who knows - we may even recover our once-proud sense of humour.
Angry? Don't talk to me about angry! Grrrr!