BETAMAXNOMATES

'All she can do is dial and yell...'

20050208

Got Croutons?

More shocking blog neglect.

Social services’ll be called in next; things’ll really grim up if the journal gets taken into care. The blue template will have to go for a start, replaced by a coat of local authority green, and some bland landscapes. Updates will be daily and the style strictly regimented: it’ll be like Anne Frank, only with more swearing.

To be honest (rather than 'Frank'), there’s no real reason why I haven’t been posting. Essentially for the past week, my life, such as it is, has been rather boring and unblogworthy. Without realising I seem to have become some kind of slow, stuttering dullard, working profusely, falling asleep at meetings, suffering through reruns of The Bill on UK Gold, and putting odd colours in my hair. I also think I pulled something doing an ill-advised Michael Jackson impersonation on Saturday which has limited my movement somewhat and may mean I can never have children. That’s OK though, I’d only neglect them anyway - them and my misguided slag of a wife. I’m joking of course. I’d never neglect my kids: I’d be too busy beating the living shit out of them for that.

I have been thinking a bit about the future though - and domestic abuse definitely features. Mainly I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do with myself next year. My contract with my current job runs out at the end of September at which point I had planned on returning to college but to do what I do not know. I’ve also come to realise that I enjoy bowling a lot and am actually sort of good at it. I’m not sure it’s a viable career, though the idea of living as a minor character from The Big Lebowski is appealing.
Still, I hear there might be a vacancy coming up...

So the Pope is dying. Thanks be to God.
I’m not having a go at the Pope here, I’m just saying I hope he dies. Like, I don’t mean to be insensitive, it’s just I think he deserves to rot. There’s going to be a lot of empty proselytising over the next couple of weeks when, just like with Reagan last year, people will come to confuse the deceased Pontiff with Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. I thought long and hard about this but it really is hard to find anything positive to say about such as thoroughgoing scumbag as John Paul II. From carpet-bombing Cambodia after the supposed end of the Vietnam War, introducing AIDS to San Francisco in the 80’s, and more or less inventing S Club 7, the litany of charges against the Pope is as extensive as it is incriminating.

At this stage it’s probably too late to have the Pontiff face a show trial in Poland - plus the Jackson trial has the February sweeps sewn right up. No, a clumsy, spluttering death in a hospital somewhere with only some opera singers on commission and the Vatican’s vast private army there to see him out is the only end befitting a man of the Pope’s colossal evil. There’s a place in Hell for this monster, between Princess Diana and Mother Teresa, and there he can moulder, keeping a seat warm for Crazed Racist Mel Gibson and a space at the head of the table for this man:

Oh, how I hate U2. For most of the idiot population of Ireland this is tantamount to treason. Regardless of what we think of their music or Bono’s role as celebrity beggar for Africa, we as a people are supposed to rally around U2 and their lead singer's arena-sized ego, and let ourselves be whipped into some kind of nationalistic fever any time Bono and the boys deign to set foot on these shores to fill a stadium with their insufferably earnest corporate-rock anthems. Look, their up-tempo numbers sound like songs to be played over sportscasts; their ballads are written to accompany slo-mo shots of shattered villages and the kind of cynical televised ransom notes that pass for charity infomercials Channel 4 shows before midday. My God, U2 are soundtracking the fucking news! All they’re missing is an instrumental interlude mid-tune allowing Bono to ream off some Googled statistics about poverty and urge the rest of us non-millionaire rock stars to give everything we can to the Third World.

U2 make me ashamed to be Irish and Bono makes me ashamed to give money to charity. I blame Bono for the way I scowl at those blue-plastic-jacket-clad crusty’s collecting for Concern: ‘Minute for Concern?’ ‘Why, yes, I have lots of concerns. Now push off will you, I’ve to see a man about some scatter cushions’. Charlie Brooker, TV critic and co-writer of the upcoming Nathan Barley, got himself into some trouble before the U.S election for calling for the assassination of George W. Bush, but I’ll echo his sentiments here: Mark David Chapman, where are you now when we need you?

Normal service will resume as soon as other people stop stealing my signature sign-off. I don't care how funny you are with it, that’s my thing! My thing that I say! You can’t say that! Screw you guys, I’m going home! Oh. I am home. Well, I’m going out to the shed with a gallon of rubbing alcohol and a short length of hose. See you in the funny pages - if not the obituaries.

Anonymous -- Got croutons, have you? Well, we’ll see about that.

posted by Fergal # 22:32

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BETAMAXNOMATES

20050208

Got Croutons?

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