"I pictured fifty tiny angels in white robe and tinsel halo. Long-haired, hosannah-singing beauties, perfect and wingless. Half of them rolling around in gales of idiotic laughter: LOL, they cry, ROFLMAO!, the tears rolling down their alabaster cheeks. A half dozen or so wander around individually, holding up pictures of their cat, their shoes, their bedroom furniture, at random. One particularly excited character dashes about screaming !!!!!1111one!! until he runs headfirst into a wall. Several cherubs offer to tell you which Brady Bunch character you really are. A group forms in the corner, a little clique of choppy-haired, bespectacled angels in ironic t-robes and chucks. All of them are gabbling about how miserable their lives are, how their heart is the first to ever have broken, how girls are mean and boys are idiots. Their chatter is so loud that none of them can hear the others; but they seem to gain some comfort from the communal caterwauling. Here and there, a scattered few survey the crowd with barely-restrained sarcasm, eyebrow raised, as if to say, I am in this, but not of it."
There is more but that is the choicest selection.
F-locked and QWP. Context can be found here.