Oh Steven. Part One.

What is it about you that makes me watch you as though hypnotised,
on one of those channels that switches to selling me steam cleaners
and shit Country and Western compilations
(sold by Americans who were famous in the 50s) after midnight?

Oh Steven, let me count the ways:

Is it your repulsive (the idea of touching it makes me
want to cut my hands off) felt pelt?
Hair so unnatural that even robots eat their own brains rather than look at it?
Hair so dark black matt, that it's a like a black hole sucking the brains
out of anyone who comes near you?
Hair so anti-light, that from a small distance it looks like you
have a cave where your hair should be.

And the fucking shape. The fucking shape!
Did you get a cartoonist with a penchant for drawing vampires
to design it for you? Does he paint your head with glue every morning
in a big v shape and throw iron filings at it?

Did god not bless you with the gift of fucking vision?

Even Donald Trump laughs at your hair.

I'm tired now, you've drained the life out of me.
I was obviously sitting to close to the fucking telly.
And you've made me forget my bit of the presentation
for tomorrow morning damn you.

Coming soon: Oh Steven. Part 2. Your acting.