How privileged, your wondrous life must be. I envy you the marble and ivory walks you must be able to tread in this, your halcyon paradise, where you can merely tell these ignoble peasants to eat cake. I pity you your ignorance. When the silt on which you’ve built your grand temple to your own ambivalence washes away, I wonder what you will say, then?

Get down off your fucking high horse and fight, or fuck off, Marie Antoinette.