If they can be called people, I don't like blue people; - why so, I know not, I care not; and, such, to see them, perceive them, is to conjugate them into worth (which is not so);--but, indeed, I do hate them so. I hate them. It may be because they do not look like me or like anyone; or it may be that they are like flies, buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, looking at all, feeding on all... too much. Or it may that blue people are neither flies nor people, but a grain of fake livery dancers, pretending as much to dance as they are to ride as equestrians down treachery's road by yield's whip, tossing and turning as they do so, having little to caution. And if this is so, then the blues certainly have more self-care than they have right as peoples.
Disagree.
Argue.
It matters not. (It never does.) We are alive and well and not concerned with the individualism and remains of blues. We are not able to their undulating equality lavishing needs. They, the blue, those insects, do not need, they do not need to be seen as the flag of brotherhood among man. They do not need to be regarded; to be seen as anything. They have body and mind, but nothing more connecting them to us. They are not people. "
--But they are people!" the offended fellow said.
I answered: "How are they people - how?"
"They have feelings; they have..."
"--Blue people do not have feelings of any kind."
"What? Why don't they?"
"Well, they never have: they can't and they don't and they won't."
"But why?--; why don't blue people have feelings?!"
"They're blue people! - please--tell me--how can blue people have feelings?"
Which brings me to my point: a fraud, that charlatan Megamind: he is the very definition of the stereotypical blue alien--and he has no sensory emotionalism. He is, then, entrapped in vermin animation, the ill sorted kind, in which the players are conditioned to the most precious conditions--: good is good; bad is bad; bad and good will be good and bad. This is so. And now it seems to me from a monarch perspective that this vile creature, wit(less) creature, whizzing to mediocrity, is hapless and denigrating to its species. But, anyway, blues are not people nor are they even the disjointed flying flies they aspire to be; but they are the cemented failures of yore and of all and failures to all and in all. Blue is far from yellow.
2.5 out of 5 popcorns.
