Get in the bin
Alex. Alex Alex Alex Alex Alex Alex Alex Alex.
Alex Alex Alex Alex Alex Alex Alex. You’re on your way out, aren’t you? You’re basically gone. You’re basically completely gone-ers.
Can we just, can we just have a little chat please mate? Before you go? Yeah. Yeah, I think that would be nice, wouldn’t it? I think that would be just swell.
Alex. Basically you have failed Love Island. You have completely failed. You have passed life, obviously. You have done well for yourself. But on Love Island? You bottled it mate. You absolutely fucking bottled it. You weren’t even close to passing.
You had attractive women fancying you, Alex. Do you realise how ridiculous that is? Somehow, despite your personality of just sort of barely existing, of just kind of being around like a bush or a hedge, attractive women with good personalities somehow fell for you.
Do you realise, bro, I’m going to call you bro now for a bit now bro, do you realise just how high you were punching?
You were uppercutting God, Alex. Right on the chin. Right on his big white beard. Right on his big beardy chin. That’s how high you were punching.
Do you realise this? You don’t do you? You don’t at all.
You have the personality of a tall, white, well-spoken Doctor, Alex. Do you know what that means Alex?
It means you have no personality at all.
Your life has just been one yes, yes, yes, nod head slightly, yes, fake aha! laugh, yes, yes, lovely to see you, peck on the cheek conversation after another, with absolutely nothing of depth or actual humour ever happening.
Surely you realise this? How can you not realise this?
Alex, bro, I’m calling you bro again, bro, why did you go on Love Island?
You are the exact opposite kind of person than the kind of person that should go on Love Island. You barely have abs, Alex. You just have a bit of a line, like the vague suggestion of abs. Very similar to the vague suggestion of a personality, actually.
Alex, why are you so pink?
You have literally been in Spain, in the scorching heat, in the garden with the sun beating down upon you 12 hours a day, and somehow, somehow you are the same colour as shrimp.
How does that happen Alex?
How the fuck does that happen?
Tell me. Are you wearing Factor 200, a thing that doesn’t actually exist, or are you just so intrinsically boring that even the sun can’t even penetrate your thick, pasty skin?
Naked, you probably look like a drumstick lolly.
Alex.
Did you realise that Alex? Have you looked at yourself in the mirror naked and thought you looked like a drumstick lolly, Alex? Have you?
What was all that about with Alexandra, by the way?
Mate.
Obviously, we’re not mates.
But maaaaaaaaaaaaaaate. Maaaaaaate.
What are you doing son?
She was lovely, Alex. I know I’m circling the same points, but she was lovely.
And you. You big undercooked sausage, Topman mannequin, definitely definitely presumably Tory-voting, Sparrow-eyed, Sparrow-nosed, Ken doll in a floral shirt, sincere Coldplay listening, hair gel abusing, Angry Bird playing, flat white ordering, open-toed sandal wearing, brunch organising flannel.
What about you?
The thing is, bro, mate, bro-mate, you are a Doctor. Yeah? Yeah, you are, and that is good. Unequivocally, that is a good profession and you should be proud of that. You should be really pleased.
But also, how? How can you be the person responsible for the health and wellbeing of sick people? I wouldn’t leave you in charge of my leftover work lunch of a half-eaten sandwich and some Maltesers I don’t even really want anyway. I just don’t want anyone else to have it. I wouldn’t even give you that responsibility.
You crashed a plastic baby into the concrete because you couldn’t run properly, Alex.
What do you do on the ward, Alex? Do you just sort of stroll about, chest puffed out like an arrogant pigeon, looking very, very serious and professional, despite the fact that you are, all things considered, you are just basically a Sim.
Yeah. You’re a Sim. That’s you. Not even the kind of Sim that we control, and build a nice house for. Nope. You are the AI Sim, part of the game’s background information like the choices of wallpaper you can pick from and the way you need to go to the toilet now and then.
You’re that weird overly friendly neighbour Sim with green trousers for some reason that comes around knocking on the door, asking if you fancy coming over for a barbecue as part of some weird side quest. We might go, because that’s the game, and it’ll help develop that character of our own Sim, and we might even make our Sim snog you, just out of boredom.
But that’s it. Then we’re done with you. That’s all you are to us.
That’s all you are.
Why are you so big and weird Alex?
Why are you so big and weird?
Look how pink you are.
I’m done with you Alex.
Get out of my sight, Alex. I’m never writing about you again.
