BETAMAXNOMATES
'All she can do is dial and yell...'20050224
Came on Eileen
What, as Marvin Gaye famously asked, is going on?
Actually, the ‘is’ was conjoined with the ‘what’ and the ‘g’ at the end of ‘going’ casually omitted, but for the sake I’ve clarity I’ve cleaned up Gaye’s diction and consequently avoided paying royalties. Something is certainly going down though. Strongly-worded letters pouring through the door, people in suits calling to ask me questions: either those children have talked or it’s election time again.
This morning I had a visit from our town’s mayor, a woman who’s been mayor for as long as I can remember and looks not so much like she was born but rather evolved from a compost heap. There’s a curiously ‘mulchy’ air about her, like she crawled out from beneath layers of compressed garden waste, and slathered herself in a business suit and sensible specs. Anyway, she was round hassling for votes for one of her candidates. Now, I like talking politics, even though I know next to nothing about anything, and don’t tend to be exactly welcoming of any challenge to my hard-crusted prejudices and assumptions - any questioning of my own beliefs generally elicits only a terse ‘mind your own business’, ‘I’m entitled to a private life’, ‘I’d like to terminate this discussion’, or else hysterical threats of legal action.
I complained to her about the recent proliferation of election posters and overall she was reasonably sympathetic to my concerns, though she hesitated on committing to a motion excluding ugly candidates from running. I’m particularly perturbed by an enormous Fine Gael poster recently erected on my route to work, which I now have to pass by every other day. There’s something palpably unsettling about walking under the gaze of a giant-size Enda Kenny, as he squints with his weird featureless Fig Roll head, flanked by Scully and his suspiciously spongiform square pantaloons. Kenny’s face looks one of those police photo-fits: all the pieces are in the right place but it still looks like no one you’ve ever seen in your life. And I’m not saying that Darren Scully is some kind of asexual ocean-dweller - but let’s just say that if he was found to be co-habiting with a big pink starfish I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.
I don’t ‘get’ Enda Kenny - he may as well be holographic for all the personal charm and charisma he possesses. But I suppose anything’s preferable to the current leader, Bertie, a man who I understand is made almost entirely from liquorice. There’s always Pat Rabbitte, I suppose - a man with a cartoon name and an alleged wit - but we all know what happens to Labour when they get into power: the supposed revolutionary’s inner policeman is unleashed and they go riding around on Spice Girls bombing every country ending in ‘stan’ or containing the Countdown-unfriendly ‘x’, ‘z’, or ‘q’. And while the diplomacy of the baseball bat may work a treat north of the border if our nation is to achieve any kind of credibility in the world we have to keep the Shinners as far away from power as possible.
So, as per usual I’ll be giving (read: wasting) my vote on the very beardy Greens and any other number of unelectable left-wing lunatics. Let’s see more T.D’s in tweed suits and tofu footwear. I want to see our nations leader ride into parliament on a motorised scooter fuelled by recycled avocado rind. And lots more single-issue independents looking to ban paedophilia, arm the homeless, and award ambulance driver privileges to single fathers/national heroes.
Speaking of stupid people doing stupid things, you may by now be aware of the newly launched Freedom from Pornography campaign. That’s right everybody! Put down those Hentai rapetoons, you’re free to go! No longer will you be oppressed by those underage cum-guzzling sluts of the Ukraine! At last our nation is free from the sticky grip of the despotic porn lords that have enslaved us for so long!
The Freedom from Pornography team’s argument, if you could call it that, is that pornography, in our society, has become too ‘pervasive’. What they mean here is that pornography has become more accessible, as it should be: anyone who wants porn and pays for it is entitled to it - as far as I’m concerned that’s their right. People are free from pornography - it’s in shops if you want it, and is readily available online if you seek it out. What people have less freedom from - and what this bint-headed retro-feminist talkshop only pay lip-service to - is the pervasiveness of pornographic iconography in mainstream advertising and the cynical appropriation of pornographic imagery to associate sex with everything from cars to shampoo to Shane Ritchie. And that’s just plain wrong, bitches.
One final grievance: I was dismayed to hear yesterday that Smarties are to change the shape of their box, abandoning their trusty tubular design in favour of a ‘funky’ new hexagonal model. Normally there’s nothing that excites me more than corporate rebranding but this just smacks of desperation. According to the press release, the new tube will be an obnoxious luminous orange in colour and made from the same ultra-light fibre glass material used in the undercarriages of snowboards; it also comes equipped with image capture/MMS technology and the facility to download idiotic mobile ringtones direct to your Smarties box and play Java-based games on the lid, all for six yoyo’s.
Far from this we were raised, I can tell you. In my day we were happy to eat carbolic soap out of an old toilet roll insert. Backwards. In the snow. With no shoes, and only the radiation from a Sega GameGear to keep us warm. These were the days before child abuse was even invented. And our mother, Kirstie Alley, wouldn’t have had it any other way; she’d turn in her grave now if only she weren’t still alive. Things were different back then: there was a war on, Bill Gates Vs. The National Council of Churches. Gates, you may remember, was tried in a plastic box in Geneva and sentenced to orbit the moon. Still, we didn’t complain, complaining not being decriminalised until the end of the years starting with 1.
Actually, the ‘is’ was conjoined with the ‘what’ and the ‘g’ at the end of ‘going’ casually omitted, but for the sake I’ve clarity I’ve cleaned up Gaye’s diction and consequently avoided paying royalties. Something is certainly going down though. Strongly-worded letters pouring through the door, people in suits calling to ask me questions: either those children have talked or it’s election time again.
This morning I had a visit from our town’s mayor, a woman who’s been mayor for as long as I can remember and looks not so much like she was born but rather evolved from a compost heap. There’s a curiously ‘mulchy’ air about her, like she crawled out from beneath layers of compressed garden waste, and slathered herself in a business suit and sensible specs. Anyway, she was round hassling for votes for one of her candidates. Now, I like talking politics, even though I know next to nothing about anything, and don’t tend to be exactly welcoming of any challenge to my hard-crusted prejudices and assumptions - any questioning of my own beliefs generally elicits only a terse ‘mind your own business’, ‘I’m entitled to a private life’, ‘I’d like to terminate this discussion’, or else hysterical threats of legal action.
I complained to her about the recent proliferation of election posters and overall she was reasonably sympathetic to my concerns, though she hesitated on committing to a motion excluding ugly candidates from running. I’m particularly perturbed by an enormous Fine Gael poster recently erected on my route to work, which I now have to pass by every other day. There’s something palpably unsettling about walking under the gaze of a giant-size Enda Kenny, as he squints with his weird featureless Fig Roll head, flanked by Scully and his suspiciously spongiform square pantaloons. Kenny’s face looks one of those police photo-fits: all the pieces are in the right place but it still looks like no one you’ve ever seen in your life. And I’m not saying that Darren Scully is some kind of asexual ocean-dweller - but let’s just say that if he was found to be co-habiting with a big pink starfish I wouldn’t exactly be surprised.
I don’t ‘get’ Enda Kenny - he may as well be holographic for all the personal charm and charisma he possesses. But I suppose anything’s preferable to the current leader, Bertie, a man who I understand is made almost entirely from liquorice. There’s always Pat Rabbitte, I suppose - a man with a cartoon name and an alleged wit - but we all know what happens to Labour when they get into power: the supposed revolutionary’s inner policeman is unleashed and they go riding around on Spice Girls bombing every country ending in ‘stan’ or containing the Countdown-unfriendly ‘x’, ‘z’, or ‘q’. And while the diplomacy of the baseball bat may work a treat north of the border if our nation is to achieve any kind of credibility in the world we have to keep the Shinners as far away from power as possible.
So, as per usual I’ll be giving (read: wasting) my vote on the very beardy Greens and any other number of unelectable left-wing lunatics. Let’s see more T.D’s in tweed suits and tofu footwear. I want to see our nations leader ride into parliament on a motorised scooter fuelled by recycled avocado rind. And lots more single-issue independents looking to ban paedophilia, arm the homeless, and award ambulance driver privileges to single fathers/national heroes.
Speaking of stupid people doing stupid things, you may by now be aware of the newly launched Freedom from Pornography campaign. That’s right everybody! Put down those Hentai rapetoons, you’re free to go! No longer will you be oppressed by those underage cum-guzzling sluts of the Ukraine! At last our nation is free from the sticky grip of the despotic porn lords that have enslaved us for so long!
The Freedom from Pornography team’s argument, if you could call it that, is that pornography, in our society, has become too ‘pervasive’. What they mean here is that pornography has become more accessible, as it should be: anyone who wants porn and pays for it is entitled to it - as far as I’m concerned that’s their right. People are free from pornography - it’s in shops if you want it, and is readily available online if you seek it out. What people have less freedom from - and what this bint-headed retro-feminist talkshop only pay lip-service to - is the pervasiveness of pornographic iconography in mainstream advertising and the cynical appropriation of pornographic imagery to associate sex with everything from cars to shampoo to Shane Ritchie. And that’s just plain wrong, bitches.
One final grievance: I was dismayed to hear yesterday that Smarties are to change the shape of their box, abandoning their trusty tubular design in favour of a ‘funky’ new hexagonal model. Normally there’s nothing that excites me more than corporate rebranding but this just smacks of desperation. According to the press release, the new tube will be an obnoxious luminous orange in colour and made from the same ultra-light fibre glass material used in the undercarriages of snowboards; it also comes equipped with image capture/MMS technology and the facility to download idiotic mobile ringtones direct to your Smarties box and play Java-based games on the lid, all for six yoyo’s.
Far from this we were raised, I can tell you. In my day we were happy to eat carbolic soap out of an old toilet roll insert. Backwards. In the snow. With no shoes, and only the radiation from a Sega GameGear to keep us warm. These were the days before child abuse was even invented. And our mother, Kirstie Alley, wouldn’t have had it any other way; she’d turn in her grave now if only she weren’t still alive. Things were different back then: there was a war on, Bill Gates Vs. The National Council of Churches. Gates, you may remember, was tried in a plastic box in Geneva and sentenced to orbit the moon. Still, we didn’t complain, complaining not being decriminalised until the end of the years starting with 1.
I have to go now, my planet needs me.
Anonymous -- Passing up a free ticket to Snoop to wage War on Error.
Anonymous -- Passing up a free ticket to Snoop to wage War on Error.
Comments:
<< Home
I was horrified to find that Eastenders villan Graham had decided to run in the North Kildare By-Election. Under the moniker 'Paddy MacNamara', for the Labour Party. However if you look very carefully you'll realise that 'Paddy MacNamara' is actually an anagram of: 'I am Little Mo's rapist'!
Wow, you are most deifnitely back.
Vote for the Green Guy that looks like Hagrid!
Your post reminds me of an excellent episode of South Park where the children are forced to vote for a school mascot. They have to choose between a Douche Bag and a Terd Sandwhich. The moral of the story being, of course, that ALL elections basically leave us with only those 2 choices. So who do we choose? The Douche Bag or the Terd Sandwhich???
Vote for the Green Guy that looks like Hagrid!
Your post reminds me of an excellent episode of South Park where the children are forced to vote for a school mascot. They have to choose between a Douche Bag and a Terd Sandwhich. The moral of the story being, of course, that ALL elections basically leave us with only those 2 choices. So who do we choose? The Douche Bag or the Terd Sandwhich???
Sadly this isn't the only 'dirty little secret' in Paddy MacNamara's past.
Apparantly he went on to rape Viv from Emmerdale, Fair City's Eunice and Bethany from Coronation St. And that one's only three.
Bloomin' disgrace.
And Hagrid had me at 'hullooooow'!
Post a Comment
Apparantly he went on to rape Viv from Emmerdale, Fair City's Eunice and Bethany from Coronation St. And that one's only three.
Bloomin' disgrace.
And Hagrid had me at 'hullooooow'!
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home
Archives
200410 200411 200412 200501 200502 200503 200504 200505 200512 200601 200602 200604 200606 200607 200608 200609 200611 200702 200703 200704 200705 200706 200707 200710 200801 200806 200807 200808 200809 200811
Subscribe to Posts [Atom]