Being bad is an art form.
Some games, some works of art — it actually takes a certain kind of talent to make them that bad.
Badness is a level of its own.
There’s something strangely down-to-earth about it, like watching an ordinary person suddenly end up on television. You laugh at it, you don’t quite understand it, you mock it — and somewhere underneath, there’s even a hint of envy.
All those feelings blur together until the badness becomes strangely universal, something everyone can recognize and absorb.
At some point, it stops being merely bad.
It becomes an abstraction of the absurdity of life itself.
It’s you. It’s me. It’s them.
Badness is all of us.