Thursday, 27 April 2017

So there I was carrying out my daily

ablutions when I reached that point involving
some cotton balls. I stood before the mirror
and, almost pleased with what I saw, began
to cleanse my handsome, nearly perfect face.
I took a cotton ball and dipped it in
some cool, clear, refreshing cleansing liquid
(bought from a store in Paris by a minion,
then flown ten thousand miles to where I was).
And as I drew the half-soaked ball across
my face, I realised that if I wanted
to buy, let’s say, a thousand cotton balls
a day, then that was my prerogative.
But why stop there? I thought; I could afford
fifteen times that amount! But why stop there?
at fifteen thousand cotton balls a day.
I could make it my thing and be the man
who bought a million cotton balls a day.
I’d send my forty employees around
the world in search of cotton balls which they
could buy in crates and ship to my address.
I’d end up owning billions of the things,
my multi-hundred-million dollar fortune
reduced to one, vast, pointless cotton mountain
in which I could luxuriate forever.
I basically need saving from myself.

[After Mark Waldron’s ‘So I was at home doing the washing up’.]

'If I want to buy 15,000 cotton balls a day, it's my thing' - Johnny Depp


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