Yesterday, when I washed my hands in the blood of my enemies, it became clear that I should really invest in some handwash. The blood of my enemies isn’t particularly good at removing grease and it doesn’t half stain the towels. My wife is livid at the dry cleaning bill, not to mention the funny looks we get from the staff. Fuck them I say, I don’t pay people to like me, I pay them to serve, and this ridiculous castle we live in isn’t going to clean itself.
Since becoming the dictator of this godforsaken country and moving into the castle overlooking the capital, I feel I may have lost some of my usual empathy towards other people. Whenever i see someone now dressed in the usual rags of this ex communist state, I can feel the bile rise in my throat and I just want to spit at them and tell them to get a fucking job and stop expecting the state to support them. The revolution was a lot of fun. I watched most of it on TV as my speeches riled up the mob and they toppled their own government. Well, I say government, that rag tag bunch of inbred fuckwits couldn’t organise a bread queue, hence my meteoric rise to power.
It was easy really. Show the people what they could have if they got rid of the corrupt elite and give them the impetus to do it themselves, and here I am. In a castle. Slowly becoming one of Orwell’s pigs.