spiffingwheeze

Another Oldie.

I Even drew this the wrong way round but whatever – here it is…

SA Man with no legs in shooting incident fights for a leg to stand on.
Plane missing now declared lost 2 plus weeks on, in massive expanse of water, but British boffins cleverly narrow it down to a mere 1 million sq kilometres.

Publicist not enjoying publicity via court-reported humiliation.

Photos of early morning makeup-free shockers accidentally sponsor polar bears.

Disgraced ex bank boss minister caught doing naughty stuff in sin confession guilt assuaging. Boo de fucking hoo.

Cold war bunged back in microwave to heat it up. Try watching laugh a minute BBC sitcom ‘Threads’ to relive growing up in the 80s. Sleep well.

Ebola virus spoils taste for eating bats. Insert own insensitive Ozzy Osbourne wisecrack here.

70s glam rock group Mud now unlikely to launch comeback tour in USA. (Own insensitive wisecrack really not needed here)

Generally news full of depressing shite, repeated speculation ad nauseum, magazine style titbits, and bitesize analysis by a ragtag bunch of random experts dragged uncomfortably before a camera.

Next!

The mysterious disappearance of the Malaysian Airways flight shows that whilst electronically the world may be turning into a global village, physically, there’s still sodding loads of square footage. Particularly true if you’re an aerial spotter looking for something that doesn’t want to float, amongst thousands of square miles of shining blue sea.

If the mysterious flight did indeed carry on flying for 5 hours after losing contact, it could be almost anywhere.

In terms of the size of that plane v the amount of ocean, it’s a speck. If it has gone under the waves it’s probably not going to turn up soon.

I doubt some of the conspiracy theories. If kidnappers forced it to try and fly somewhere, then it looks like it never made it. But I don’t think ET and chums are responsible. Pity the poor souls onboard. I doubt they are awaiting rescue. It’s not an episode of Lost.

P.S. whilst on the topic of air travel: Given the Norfolk helicopter crash today taking out another millionaire, maybe rich folk should reconsider getting helicopters to shuttle them about. I would say ask Colin McRae, but… Hmmm. Just don’t do it. All that money’s not much use when you realise, far too late, you should’ve spent some of it on a statue or something, rather than a fragile lightweight box slung under a big whirling blender blade.

This is nothing against Russia in particular. Let me make that perfectly clear.
But frankly, 30 billion pounds for a bunch of elite athletes to fuck about on snow and ice is a lot.
Last year, in the UK, that annoying twunt  bear Pudsy raised 31 million pounds for children in need,and everyone was gushing with amazement.
Just look at the scale of difference. It is nauseating. The amount of good that could  be done with that money. Think. Smiling athletes in a 30 billion pound backdrop, guarded against terrorist attack and scary gay people by a massive security force. Or one donation of staggering scale, able to make a difference on this planet for decades to come.

Next time, whoever is hosting this conspicuous cash spunking, just give the money to cancer research or something. Tell you what. As a token gesture, hold back 1 billion, and let everyone on earth  download a copy Of Horace Goes Skiing, for some kind of winter sporting experience. (Look it up)…
Wake up everybody. Fucking wake up. This is terrible, terrible, terrible.
Shame on us all. A monumental insult to common sense.
Stupid humans…

Gazing into the swirling cess pit of general drudgery, not altogether convinced that non-linear time theory representing a multiverse of infinite branching choices should probably have brought me here, my mind wandered back to Aesop’s fables.
Something of a childhood favourite book.

What depth of analysis could it add to my current inability to see anything other than that which is exposed by visible light from the EM spectrum?
What insight may be gained from wisdom dispensed by parable or fable ancient?

Downloading a copy of said Fables from Mr. Edison’s electromagnetic intermaweb, and hopping haphazardly through the table of contents, the inspiration was clear.

Indeed, this one fable caught my eye,  from the chucklesome title alone.
Here is the fable, paraphrased slightly for my own sick amusement:

The Playful Ass

An Ass climbed up onto the roof of a building, and, twatting about there, broke the roof tiles and generally made a hooftwoddling ladypart of itself. The owner went up after him and drove him down, dispensing his considered opinion on the incident via the medium of a stout piece of 2 by 4.

The Ass said, “Why I saw the Monkey do this very thing yesterday, and you all laughed heartily, as if it afforded you very great amusement.”

So.

What can we learn?

1. Nobody likes a smart ass.

The owner was upset by the holes in the roof. So…

2. Nobody likes an ass hole.

3. Monkeys are funny. However, you’re not allowed to dress them up, give them toffees and make them advertise tea anymore, for said amusement.

4. Violence solves many problems.

5. In an alternative universe version of this posting, it’s much more amusing. And less so. And not there at all.

Actually, I don’t think it’s helping.

Fire up the PlayStation…

Well. I have neglected picking up any of the dismal news to pontificate over for a few weeks. Frankly it’s doing my nut to the point I cannot pick a topic to point and shout about…I’m overcome by a wave of apathy. And so I thought maybe a more freeform rant upon the wonders of  this special time of year would help ease the constipation of my troubled writing-mind.

The season of goodwill.

It seems a little lost in the sea of cheery news of people scraping by in countries broken by war, or falling apart economically and politically, or clearing up nuclear waste and whatnot. Still. Merry Fuck-em-all-it’s-them-not-us-mas eh? Sigh. I suppose as a child growing up in the 70’s and 80’s it wasn’t much different. But you just don’t notice at that time. Let’s face it – in that period, there was every chance of waking up to a 2000 foot glowing festive cold-war mushroom for Christmas Lunch.

Observation: As I age, it seems I put the Christmas decorations in the loft one weekend, then the next weekend I’m getting them back down again. It’s a worry. What happened to the days of the anticipation of Christmas, and it never seeming to get here fast enough?

Now it seems a bit too fast.

It’s a sure sign that I’m getting older, and so are the children.

Happily, Christmas still seems great for them, to be sure. However, some of the niggling doubts about the overall state of it all are creeping back in for me. Is it really all about the presents? I’m not religious, so I should probably have a bit more of a think about such questions before typing that question out. Still.The never ending arms race of consumerism is somewhat driving me round the bend.

It seems particularly obvious and somehow hollow this year. The adverts have a smack of desperation about them.

As for the goodies then – it sure is getting pricey:

Sure, a laptop is a great present, and number one son does need one for his homework and such. But the bastard thing is over 300 notes. And then needs the virus checker installed before it gets gleefully unwrapped. Then we’ll need another copy of your favourite office software, or a web license doodad or whatever. And crap knows what else.

Fuck a festive duck.

I’ve only just got over the experience of buying it. The buying experience having turned into a somewhat tear-jerking experience. Having seen no particular bargains on your favourite online retailers, I resorted to: Wait for it… Going into a shop.

You know the one. The last remaining electrical retailer pretty much. So I checked online. Ahoy! Yup – some discounts to be had… But I reckoned there may be more undiscovered bargains in store, and so the adventure began.

Having postponed a drive home for supper, I crawled through the traffic in my piece of crap car, taking in the festive gloom and mizzle, weaving through the greasy roads, to a miserable just-out of town shopping travesty. In the dark, it sat, like an illuminated warehouse graveyard, where once thriving businesses lumber off to die. Having parked up, with a vague feeling of the odds of ever seeing the car again in the dingy car park, despite its decrepitude, I kept my hand on my wallet, and hurried to the door. Inside it was pretty empty. And this is in a sizable city. A gigantic box, with the bottom crammed with electrical goods, and a smattering of disinterested shoppers shambling around like zombies, and spotty sales people kicking their heels.

Step One: avoid all the high-end laptops that were aimed at:

• Snobby PC gamers (people who scoff at games consoles and prefer to spend three times as much on a PC they spend forever installing updates on).
• Show-offs (the fruit-themed ones made impossibly thin)
• Porn addicts (plenty of storage, easily reformatted for some freeware nerdy operating system, and equally easily smashed with a sledgehammer when plod comes knocking)

That left me circling the bargain-stickered end-of-line laptops. Having attracted the attention of a bat faced teenager in charge of sales, I thrust a festive digit at the label and said “I’ll have one of these fine, merry laptops, good fellow” or something. When he returned empty-handed from the stock room, mouth-breathing a feeble apology through his now temptingly punchable face, I moved on. Repeat. Three times. Each time with increasing festive despair, anger and desperation.

It seemed anything of any “bargain” nature was strictly out of stock. Here’s a crazy idea then: Take the fuckers off display. Or put a sticker on saying “sold out” or hey, just bend over, and cram the bone-dry display model up your fucking arse. It’d give you something to do, in any case.

So I left empty handed, having been forced to walk past the checkout with the suspicion-laden checkout driver, that starts to give you that odd feeling of self-doubt as to whether you are actually a shoplifter, because you have the audacity to walk out empty-handed.

Once back home, and with the benefit of a medicinal bottle of red wine to ease the pain, the eventual winner was found online, the above experience having re-adjusted my understanding of the balance between bargain price, and MYTHICAL FUCKING BEAST.

Behold – the unicorn laptop! It existeth only as ye display model.

And that’s just the one present.

Not a month ago, number two son had expressed an interest in a camera, and (in my mind) probably becoming the next Celebrity Paparazzi or whathaveyou (not in this day and age, with the removal of photography to the lowest common denominator of “everyone doing it for nothing”, just like everything digital – see the music industry or self-publishing).

Anyhoo – this creative wish had disappeared, and been replaced with the desire for a Nintendo 3DS. Was it the power of advertising? Peer pressure? Or just that they are, after all pretty neat? Anyway. Sold! Purchased online to avoid a repeat of the experience of actually trying to keep shops alive (see above – anyway, it’s not like saving the high street when they built the fucking places out-of-town). Inevitably, this means, of course, that as soon as Christmas passes, he’ll suddenly express an interest in a camera again. Probably wanting me to purchase one outside of the pretences of a Christmas, or Birthday present.

At least the little princess wants a Furby. And amazingly I managed to get one of these when they were still reasonably priced, before scarcity drove the price up smartly. Hurray for Christmassy profiteering!

So – that just leaves bits and pieces for the stocking. So let’s say another one hundred and fifty quid then shall we? Urgggghhhhh…

And so… What would I like for Christmas?

Nothing really. Some time off.

Maybe a few surprise bits and pieces in the stocking. A reminder of simpler times.

The chance to watch some harmless tat on the TV, whilst sneaking in a crafty Martini, and wolfing down half a kilo of peanuts between each meal.

Some time hopefully watching the children enjoying the fruits of my hunter-gathering on the shopping plains.

And some time to nurse my wallet back to health.