And the way you become just another paper-bag for my meatballs at the street vendor.
I hate the way you print pictures of dead bodies, right underneath half-nude young ladies.
I hate that you report ridiculous stories.
I hate your big dumb fonts
And the way you grab my attention.
I hate you so much I let my dog poo on you.
It even makes me rhyme… badly.
I hate it…
I hate the way you exploit and exaggerate stories.
I hate it when you put ugly blocks on the chest of half-nude young ladies.
I hate it when you print maimed and bloody bodies;
Even worse when you make me turn to the celebrity gossip stories.
I hate it that you’re around everyday
And the fact that you make more advertising revenue than I do.
But mostly I hate the way I can’t stop reading your sensationalized stories, or staring at the half-nude young ladies;
Not even close;
Not even a little bit;
Not even at all.