Mature People Need Less Love

So, another 256 hours of labour to produce work that turns out to have been stolen. And has anyone copied and pasted them elsewhere in the last twenty-four hours? I'll tell you why. Because it produces the kind of hate that I heard stuffed in my head at seven o'clock this morning. Here is the question that I heard a woman's voice ask me: how old are you gong to be when you grow up? It is the second time I've had to address this very same question and I think it belongs to a violator of my copyrights or some other property of mine - perhaps my page views. I see another production being set up at that college this morning. Did work start at seven o'clock this morning? I think people should check around today on the web and flag anything that is copying my content. Perhaps I'll even have a look myself, once I address this ugly question and make my last answer current with some new examples. I'm going to speak directly to the inquisitor here, so don't take my anger personally if you're not her. Here is how real maturity is measured: Mature people work. Do you see the 256 hours of work I have done since I started re-posting the Obelisk last month? How much are you paid for 256 hours of work? But immature people want everything handed to them like babies. Saturday Night Live, for instance, took all the pay for thousands of my labour hours with a couple of mere mouse clicks. Mature people don't need attention: Who wants to be a star? I'm going to court, getting paid, and probably disappearing to a remote island somewhere after this. I think the attention seeking behaviour of stars is really childish. I just want my money as their unfortunate victim. And if anyone wanted me to perform after, I guess it will be your fault I didn't want to do it. Mature people don't throw musical tantrums: Have you heard your crooked metal stations lately? I've heard jackhammers with more melody. Sounds like an overgrown band of toddlers who are upset because someone took away their security blanket - in the form of my hit songs. But you must fall for this kind of ludicrous posturing and think it's 'manly'. You're even more of a joke. I shouldn't have to even argue with these criminal assholes. They should be in prison, finding out how tough they're not. That's what lawyers and judges are for and that's why I'm surviving to take this to court. Mature people have their own opinions: What's your opinion? Oh, I'll just switch on the TV that robbed me and see what it is today. Gee, I wonder if it's through pretending it has my opinions yet. Maybe I still need to rewrite some. Mature people face the world: Your TV and radio are guilty of thousands of hours of fraud with my web posts. That's a serious accusation and if you can't get the cops to silence it, I won't let you get away with contradicting it on the flimsy support of some half-assed web shenanigans. That's why I'm here right now, talking about my suspicions over your remark and suggesting some possible crimes that are behind it. You know my face and name, right? Why don't I know yours? Can't you do better than talk about me behind my back? Why do you go to my readers and avoid me? Aren't you 'grown up' enough to face me directly? Mature people need less love: Here's something maybe you don't know about mature people. They need love too. The love that was coming to me for my music and comedy was intercepted by greedy, corrupt stars and look what I'm getting in its place: your cutting question! We all need love, but mature people only need the love that's meant for them. I don't need the love that Coldplay got for Yellow, for instance, but they apparently needed the love I was supposed to get for Canopy. Do you think they're grown up? How about the Rolling Stones with my Nothing but Ashes, over twenty years my senior? Do you think they're grown up? I want some checking done to uncover any new fraud that has occurred in the last twenty-four hours. If anyone knows the person who asked this question again, can you please see that she reads my answer? Make a note of it somewhere, so I don't have to write it again for her a third time.
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