I feel no affinity with the people of this society. Wherever I go I’m surrounded by moral corruption and wickedness. Throughout my life I’ve suffered misery in many places. The dark clouds of abhorrence follow me wherever I go. My pain is immutable.

When I first flew into Los Angeles I was taken aback by its people. For it was then that I first realised that the vapid materialistic culture I had seen my whole life on television actually existed. I thought it was fake before. But now I know it is real. Which has led me to the dismal conclusion that the depths of human depravity know no bounds.

Los Angeles was teeming with a disgusting group of scoundrels, obsessed with status signalling, for whom no fame could tame the empty chasm in their hearts. I noticed there was not a single crumby car on the road, because everyone was quick to dispense with their money to maintain a façade of illusory luxury by driving fancy cars. I saw perhaps one clunker on the road the entire time I was there, driven by a man named Lot. But the rest of them were simply living outside their means—in traffic jams.

Everyone was trying to be something that they’re not. No one who was there, was actually from that crumby rotten hellhole. It was not a place that people called home. There were no roots to be found in that society. It was a meatgrinder for vacuous souls who sought to sell themselves on television.

And they sold themselves alright. Even when people didn’t want to buy them. Those wretched overgrown children just jumped into the meatgrinder to see what they might become. They were like the black blobs of deathly corruption slapping together, with toxic slops of affliction flying all over, creating sewage to be consumed by the general populace.

This is what we call popular entertainment and it’s sickening. The vulgarities exported by Los Angeles are a cancer on our culture.