I sit in the green room, watching my bright image on monitors. Carefully calculated tousled hair atop a young unblemished face.
I've been here before; different clothes, different styles, different times. I don't need to introduce myself. You know my name.
I peddle my platitudes with anodyne pop and somehow I reflect your vanity, your yearning to be adored.
Your children voted for me in their millions.
You may think it's their love and adulation that I thrive on; their faces smiling with naïve and fickle idolatry, but that's His bag.
No, it is your hate that nourishes me. The bile and impotent rage I inspire. Your futile, scathing envy makes me grow.
Makes me stronger.
And I walk on the set knowing you're going to just loathe my Christmas single. Haters going to hate; I shall not go hungry.
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