Oh dear. Nearly 80 years ago Dorothy Parker wrote a bleak poem entitled ‘Resume’. Back then she must have thought she’d been fairly comprehensive in covering all possible self-inflicted exit routes.
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren’t lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
Times have changed — as indeed has the toxic cocktail of doom. Were Ms Parker alive today and living in England she might have felt the need to add a few revisions that attempted to embrace the withering wheels of misfortune that now precipitates not just our demise, but threatens to blight our very existence.
Conkers pain you:
Pools are damp;
Sunbeds stain you
And organics cause cramp.
Cars aren’t lawful;
Botox gives;
Cigs smell awful;
You might as well live.
Everything one does nowadays seems to come with a stark government health warning. From sunbathing to snacking, from smoking to overstressing, Big Nanny is just waiting to put you on the naughty step and insist you have a time out.
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