Vi o Whatever Works este fim-de-semana e não resisto a pôr este monólogo aqui. Há gente que escreve muito bem. Genial.

I’m not a likeable guy. Charm has
never been a priority with me.

And just so you know, this is not
the feel-good movie of the year.

So if you’re one of those idiots
who needs to feel good,

go get yourself
a foot massage.

What the hell does it all mean
anyhow? Nothing. Zero. Zilch.

Nothing comes
to anything,

and yet there’s no shortage
of idiots to babble.

Not me. I have a vision.
I’m discussing you.

Your friends, your co-workers,
your newspapers, the TV.

Everybody’s happy to talk,
full of misinformation.

Morality, science, religion,
politics, sports, love.

Your portfolio,
your children, health.

Christ. If I have to
eat nine servings

of fruits and vegetables
a day to live,

I don’t wanna live. I hate
goddamn fruits and vegetables.

And your omega-3′s and the
treadmill and the cardiogram

and the mammogram
and the pelvic sonogram

and, oh, my God,
the colonoscopy!

And with it all, the day still comes
when they put you in a box

and it’s on to the next
generation of idiots

who’ll also tell
you all about life

and define for you
what’s appropriate.

My father
committed suicide

because the morning newspapers
depressed him.

And could you blame him?

With the horror and corruption
and ignorance and poverty

and genocide and AIDS and
global warming and terrorism

and the family-value morons
and the gun morons!

“The horror”, Kurtz said at
the end of Heart of Darkness.

“The horror”

Lucky Kurtz didn’t have
the Times delivered in the jungle,

then he’d see
some horror.

But what do you do?

You read about some
massacre in Darfur

or some school bus
gets blown up,

and you go,
“Oh, my God, the horror!”

And then you
turn the page

and finish your eggs
from free-range chickens.

Because what can you do?
It’s overwhelming.


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