What a Dick . . . ens!

First off, Charles Dickens
was a breeder.
Ten kids he brought into this
miserable world.

The Dickens kids were a bunch of
whiny snotbuckets, too, let me assure you.
Just like daddy. A perfect example of how
a poor man who makes good will raise
annoying assholes for children.

And here's a story for you idiots who think
Dickens was some sort of moral icon
because Oliver Twist was so damn good
with its perfect little protagonist:

Dickens left his wife and
messed around with her sister.
(All of her twist.)

According to you human beings, that's a strict
violation of your moral code, but somehow
I bet you'll manage to forgive him
because he's so famous, and you
think his writing is so "good" and "witty"
and "wonderful" and so many other pathetic
adjectives that can't even begin to scratch
the surface of your stupid, inane views on literature.

Dickens was so naive,
with his zest for life,
and all of his idealised characters,
and his concern for social welfare.
His gravestone will tell you
he sympathized with the poor
and the suffering and the
oppressed.

I will tell you big deal.
The guy was such a crybaby,
always whining about poor working conditions
and poverty and yet
despite all of his popularity,
all he did for poverty and
suffering was write about it,
which proves the theorem that
writing accomplishes nothing.

Big deal, Charles. You certainly
put the "dick" in Dickens.