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The chronicles of Ruin, continued. Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do. Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here. 10 September 2009 22:59
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22 comments:
I watched an episode recently, where they went to Syria. Sadly I can't get the time back.
I embarrassed myself a couple of years back by bursting out with spontaneous vitriol towards JC only to discover I was in the company of his best friend, and that I had that day consumed eggs from JC's chickens.
Oh, to have been there. Must have been a paid best friend, like Carole Caplin to Imelda, or Jeeves to Berie. The thing for which he really needs a punch in the mouth is/are remarks he made to the effect that if he hadda been a poor kid growing up in the North East - instead of a public schoolboy - he woulda been out twoccing and handbraketurning and torching the vehicles, this wasn't a declaration of empathy with the poor, fuck no, it was his usual juvenile laddishness, heedless of how many kill and are killed, aping him and his Health and Safetyed, fireproofed, bombproofed, rigororusly supervised antics on a closed safe circuit, driving sideways round corners with tyres smoking, under expert supervision, never for a moment in harm's way. So many kids killed doing all that shit on the roads, before they're twenty, doing a Clarkson, cops and firemen cutting them out, parents devastated, pedestrians mown down. The most dangerous thing a young man will do short of joining-up and this trio of thick millionaires make fun of it, look Mum, a hundred and eighty miles an hour. I hate them, I really do.
Yes, it isn't a clever message. My uncle gave up being a GP after seeing too many (in his case too many was 20) teenagers squished on the roads of rural NZ. When you help bring them into the world you don't want to tell their folks they were speeding through a cross roads and are at the morgue in bags.
Alas, the mongosling watched it yesterday. Jonathon Ross, the unspeakable piece of shite, was the celebrity driver. Never has a telly been in greater danger of being launched out of the fucking window.
It is not the speed which kills the young ones. It is the error, the lack of foresight and the thinking through of danger, risk and stupidity. The first two or three years are the most dangerous I would have thought.
I can drive fast but a track is different. It is great fun to drive a car very, very fast around a racetrack.
What a bunch of lavender-scented old ladies. The gift of the infernal combustion engine has had immeasurable benefits and the collateral advantage of weeding out adolescent young men who really aren't needed in the gene pool.
Top Gear keeps manufacturers on their toes, showcases the best, stimulates desire and therefore the economy, ensures a continuing need for lots of petrol so the economy is further stimulated by long-term war against the oil-rich nations to control the supply, and provides loads of unchallenging, simple-minded entertainment to keep the masses indoors and not rioting on the streets.
So where's the bad, Lady Ishmael?
I like Clarkson. And for all the reasons this bedwetter doesn't like him. Because he winds bedwetters like him up poo-pooing global warming and generally tearing holes in the ozone layer. Can't really put a price on that Mr Ishmael - knowing that these smug nanny-knows-best-think-this-do-that wankers are bursting a hose as these lads get paid millions to have the time of their lives.
Plus they do some good road-trip skits driving around the US and Namibia. And attempting to launch a Reliant Robin in to space was inspired if unsuccessful. And you can never destroy enough caravans.
Lots of reasons to like Top Gear although I take your point about the poor example to impressionable teenagers. Although surely Hammond's mighty accident must have alerted a few folk to the dangers of fucking about at speed. Maybe not. The fact is that he lived and therefore no long-term learning took place.
Sorry Ish, have to disagree. Stewart Lee is funny but I disagree with him as well.
Top Gear is a comedy lad show. It is one of the biggest franchises in the world. Somebody must like it. It is all very well Lee having a go but he is a gnat's turd on the arse of an elephant.
Also, Lee's brand of leftie liberal cliche-ridden dreck went out with Thatcher jokes, except that most of them, including Lee, are still doing Thatcher jokes.
He's a bit sad really.
Clarkson and co are boorish, self-obsessed and are already a parody of what was always a parody in the first place.
TG has nothing to do with being anti pc anymore than "Women Know your Limits" is.
More than anything it seeks to redress a left-wing bias in the media, and for that, arsewipes like Lee get to have a pop at it.
Been at the red meat, lads? Two almost-fans, on the pinko site. Missy jgm2 has a touch of the bleeding-heart purple satin frock, though, with her worrying about impressionable teenagers, pah!Bring a bit of excitement to the multi-storey ghetto apartment blocks and suddenly you're a bad influence. DID NOBODY NOTICE there are TOO MANY people, and we can well afford to lose a few. The infernal combustion engine as a population control measure, how about it?
Don't you worry your pretty little head, Lilith, no need to be embarassed on my account. Everyone knows nobody pays attention to what the distaff side says. And the more they abuse you, the more they are hiding a certain litle tingle in a certain little place for a long-legged bloke with a goodish head of hair.
Dropped by here because I was told I was being thoroughly abused by Lady, or is it, Nanny, Ishmael? So where are you, Lady I? COME OUT, COME OUT, wherever you are, and give me your best shot.
Been at the red meat, lads? Two almost-fans, on the pinko site. Missy jgm2 has a touch of the bleeding-heart purple satin frock, though, with her worrying about impressionable teenagers, pah!Bring a bit of excitement to the multi-storey ghetto apartment blocks and suddenly you're a bad influence. DID NOBODY NOTICE there are TOO MANY people, and we can well afford to lose a few. The infernal combustion engine as a population control measure, how about it?
Don't you worry your pretty little head, Lilith, no need to be embarassed on my account. Everyone knows nobody pays attention to what the distaff side says. And the more they abuse you, the more they are hiding a certain litle tingle in a certain little place for a long-legged bloke with a goodish head of hair.
Dropped by here because I was told I was being thoroughly abused by Lady, or is it, Nanny, Ishmael? So where are you, Lady I? COME OUT, COME OUT, wherever you are, and give me your best shot.
Yes, dear
Jez; never mind the bollocks about motors, tell us about this super injunction of yours. Spill the beans....or is that a euphemism for what got you into trouble in the first place ?
Hat tip for punching Piers Morgan.
Jeez, never underestimate popular culture, eh. See the one about the lads petending to be mafia blokes, and Fatso pretending his Yugo was a Bentley, that was ace, that. Shame he's not so funny when he comes on here,
Did he really punch Piers, mr yaic? Can't imagine him punching anyone, except his wife, maybe, if he was feeling tough. Or his dog, if it was a wee one.
Sorry, meant mr yardarm. Is this the nig injunction story - Celbrity in serial adultery? Can't be Clarkson, he does it with his Mum.
Did read somewhere he decked Moron; an awards ceremony ? As for the injunction, aren`t they all cock related ?
Don`t have strong feelings re Clarkson one way or the other. His non PC is very PC:I SMOKE: LIVE WITH IT....I DON`T CARE ABOUT GLOBAL WARMING. Come on, Jez, nothing to say re the muzzies or the Jews ? Mexicans: not a very vociferal lobby there. Nothing to jeopardise those lucrative contracts.
And I suspect Ms. Lillith could tear out his fundamental orifice and hand it to him on a plate, with garnish and force him to eat it all down, lick the platter and thank her for doing so.
Good head of hair Jez ? Fuck me, only compared to your two co presenters.
Mr Ishmael, I don`t think Clarkson fucks his mum. At least me or the rest of the lads have never clocked him in the queue.
But,but...what about us proles sans TV set? How can we contribute to Ishmaelia?
You can't, mr tb, people are supposed to have a telly, or, like me, several, big shiny slender ones; you can get them down Tesco. People without tellies, they're fucking anarchists aren't they.
All I heard about the injunction, mr ya, was that some household name celebrity had seen his injunction junked by Mr Justice Slag, only to have it reinstated by Lord Justice Slag. Are you now saying that it was about Clarkson's Mummy-Banging. Just because he wasn't in the queue deosn't mean he doesn't come round later, when trade dies down, does it?
Clarkson's mum is on the game?
Isn't she the one who invented 'Paddington Bear'?
I'm shocked. Shocked I tell ye.
Sorry Jeremy, for all the legs, you will never be as sexy as Phil Lynott. And your hair is only that long to hide the bald bits. Probably marginally sexier than Stewart Lee but then only by a cunt hair and I wouldn't know unless I got to sniff you both. I like your best friend very much however. He's charming.
Dear Mr Clarkson, I'd like to thank you for the number of hits to my blog. (True).
Please can I have a photo of you naked, Sir, only that's what they are all looking for and the one photo I know about isn't very, er, flattering, so I haven't linked to it.
N.B. My stats don't tell me the persuasion of the searcher, so you could be heading to be a bigger gay icon than Peter Mandelson. I advise you to get your calendar out before Max Farqhar fires up his new copy of Photoshop.
There is certainly, mr WW, a bias in the traditional media. Most of the press is absurdly pro-Capital, pro Murdoch, only the Guardian even reporting the scandal of the Met being owned by NewsCorp; the BCC is biased towards a certain faux-intelligentsia - arty, with pretentions to social concern but it's overwhelmingly frightened of whichever shower of shit is in govament, only ever hinting at malfeasance and treason, never having the balls to come right out with it, an occasionally, but only occasionally errant state broadcaster.
Private Eye gives and attends awards ceremonies for journalists and politicians, all fellating one another, wittily.
Viz magazine is the only vaguely reliable satirical magazine, and that's mostly shit.
The Mirror is run by shits like Insider Dealer Moron and Toilets Maguire and a whole grimy succession of get-rich-quick class traitors, being vaguely pro-Labour is not, in my universe, being Left-wing.
If you would take up the cudgels against Ruin then forget this party politics shit, this left- wing/right-wing nonsense. I don't do that, I've never done that, neither me nor my young friend, stanislav. They are all bastards, shitting in our faces, laughing their arses off at left-wing/right-wing nincompoopery.
Clarkson is a fat showbiz oaf, stooging happily for GlobaCorp and the filthy bastard Murdoch. He is not an antidote to anything.
And we are all, aren't we, fleas on the arse of an elephant? You, in your small corner, and I, in mine.
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