Thursday, 21 August 2014



This is the devastating news that tireless Hollywood funny man, Robin Something, finally got bored with his own act and fucked-off out of it.  And who could blame him? Who could live with that arsehole, warbling and chirping, look at me, look at me, from dawn 'til dusk?

Some of us grew bored with him half-way through Good Morning Vietnam, one of the first of his ghastly,  rushing about, pulling funny faces and doing funny voices films and never wished our interest in the horrid freak to be revived.  Rather watch Norman Wisdom, me, if I want a quick dose of the horrors.

Unfortunately, when some arsehole Hollywood junky dies, the viewing public - serves it right for watching - is subjected to a barrage of maudlin hyperbole; to tales of self-slaughtered genius misunderstood; to the deeply sincere regrets of every slag in showbusiness who ever shook the deceased's septic hand. And sure enough,  our own name-dropping junky-aristo, none less than the cock-waving  Sir Russell Brand, current swain of 
 Lady Forty-Something Khan; 

laird of Chipping Sodom and poor, exhausted masseusista,  did not disappoint.
The Daily JailBird, known to we ancients as the Guardian, recently printed Brandy's eulogy to Robin Something;  it was, as you'd expect, an oily, name-dropping, Look-At-Me lamentation,  Brand the iconoclast, hero-worshipping ad nauseum;  that it sat oddly with our boy's customarily espoused, Everyman egalitarianism  is unsurprising, for he is no more a socialist egalitarian revolutionary than is young parent, Lady Sir Elton John; his burnishing of the wretch, Williams', noisesome ouevre  is no more shocking and hypocritical than is his knobbing some wealthy old baggage for class kicks and calling it love.  And it wasn't entirely hero-worship, for man of the people, Russ, in illuminating Robin's tragedy, let the limelight flood his own, equally obnoxious, self-centred existence. 

it is the very essence of my Art.

Russy, you see, darlings, had met the dear departed one, 

not only that but Robin had complimented Russ, presumably on  what he calls  his work, an activity  which most of us would describe as showing-off to a cretinous, uncritical public;  Robin and Russ, creative junky-brothers under the skin, both toiling thanklessly, prodded and scourged by a relentless muse, both driven, by forces unknown to the layman, to play silly buggers.  Poor Russell, for all his supposed streetsmarts, unaware that luvvies endlessly and  meaninglessly compliment everybody, Darling, you were wonderful. Oh, was I? Really? Do you really mean that? And actually, darling, so were you, and so courageous, so Out There. Anyway Russell had met the Star and the Star had recognised Russell's  fellow-genius,
 fellow selfless artistry, fellow-suffering, Christ-like,  for  his Art.  The art of showing-off.

Just like every self-obsessive, showbiz arsehole before him, Robin Something had EverythingToLiveFor, ALovingFamily and NumerousProjectsOnTheGo, he was perhaps at the Peak OfHisWotsaname, HadSoMuchMoreToGiveUs  (sell us, actually but never mind, luvvies don't do it for the money, darling) but it was just all too much and in order to punish, further,  his long-suffering wife/audience, gifted, complex, sainted genius Robin strung himself up, right where she'd find him, worthless piece of shit. 

Don't worry about the age difference, Honey,
or the size difference;
I'll be easier to cut down.

Not so much, in my view,   Good night, sweet prince and may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest, no, more like good riddance to bad rubbish.

Maybe it only underscores the brutality of the United States - the fact that while running an aparthied police state, murdering, raping and torturing far and wide,  her jolly and Oh, So Humourous white folks gorge themselves on the callow, infantile mewlings and pukings of the likes of Williams, comic genius and 24 carat waster, and call it Art.
By a thousand to none, caring Guardian film junkies uncritically  prostrated themselves before Russell Brand's powers of eulogy, 
elevating the insufferable tosser to greater heights of self importance; it was all very depressing - a dead,  sometimes-funny old junky luvvie; a live, sometimes-funny younger junky-luvvie and a brain-dead, wittering mourn-a-mob, staggering weepily between the deaths of pampered junky rubbish like Amy Winehouse, Philip Seymour Hoffman and now this jerk. 

 Rich junkies go to  showbiz Heaven, are soireed in  the White House and Downing Street, ribboned  and knighted; poor junkies, of course, go to jail and preferably to Hell.

Force-fed Tinseltown illusion, stumbling, self-blinded with phoney tears, Facebooked and Twittered to death with risible sentimentality, is it any wonder that the children of Ruin, cretinous and uncritical,  cannot grasp, cannot even clutch at an understanding of why it is that some of our less arty, less showy, less precious sons lie headless in foreign sands? Can't quite see the comic genius in that, can they, their elevation of the mawkishly worthless, nor their indifference to the monstrous cruelty which it obscures;  Hollywood, mon amour.


Anonymous said...

A tad harsh, my friend. An actor and comedian - not first-rate but not bad - tops himself because despite being old and in failing health he was forced to go back to work, well aware that he was past his sell-by date. Why? Because his two grasping harpies of ex-wives had to get alimony, otherwise RW would have been looking at a spell in chokey. They'd already cleaned him out. Despair, mate, that's what it was. Not a fitting end for a chap like him, whether his acting persona was universally appreciated or not.
I would suggest that he wasn't a bad man from all accounts and if there is an afterlife I hope he gets a better deal than the courts and his ex-wives gave him when he was alive.
In short, there are more deserving targets for the legendary Ishmaelian laser weapon; there are plenty of living rats in the
barrel without frying the corpse of someone who did nothing but learn scripts and do stand-up, latterly to pay his crippling bills, until enough was enough.

Bungalow Bill said...

He was encouraged by a conspiracy of luvviedom to think himself a genius and when the empty reality hit him then he had nothing to fall back on. LIke all the celebrity phantoms he lived as someone other than himself, maybe there wasn't a self at all. The prating narcissist Fry is one of the ringmasters of this nightmare circus, like Brand he is a stalking Ego, forever terrified that his paltry gifts will be revealed in all their insignificance and consequently ready to strike, as odious bullies, at any who threaten them. These are the poseurs who never sat Williams down and told him that he had some talent and that he needed to hone it. Instead they fawned and twittered and fed his stupid self- delusion. As for the horrible murder of James Foley let us remember him by name and call it for what it was; but you are right to alert us to the Hollywoodising of our entire political and military discourse. The pathetic suicide of Williams, the repulsive murder of Foley and - as you indicate - the multitudinous unnamed deaths in the SkyFoxJazeera wars are the responsibility of those who would have us thrill ourselves in gazing at the image and the script, and never at the struggling, human person. Make the truth a matter of "narrative" and see what discord follows.

call me ishmael said...

mr richard, as you know, I own no faith, abide by few tenets and seek to foster nothing, only to comment freely. My objection to suicide is not, therefore, that it disbars the practitioner from a salvation at which non-suicides will smugly arrive. We have talked for hours about Debbie Purdyism, now Charlie Falconerism, the urge to legislate for assisted self-murder, heedless of the inevitable misuse to which such will be put but that is different to the Williams case wherein he had convinced himself that his life - which millions would envy, if only for its shelter and full stomach - was unliveable because things were not going his way; it was he, in fact, not I, who expressed the greatest contempt for his existence by ending it, to the dismay and distress of those closest to him, a thoughtlessness which, not that it matters, I find unforgiveable as well as revalatory, hardly mr nice guy, is it, stringing yourself up for your wife? The rest, of course, bleating, worldwide, are absurd and need a quick rubdown with a housebrick. You are free to reproach me but since Williams, himself, despised his living, why should I dispute his own valuation of it?

I am Williams' age and have a complexity of health problems as grave to me as were his to him and I do not have the funds I once had; should I, poor me, hang myself from the stairs, for my wife to find?

I don't know if generally he was a bad man or not, all celebs, the ones I hear of, do great things for charity, I don't know that they do, or if it is all self-promotional, tax-deductible horse shit; all are loved and admired by those with a stake in them and with a wider stake in showbusiness. Time magazine, for instance, convulsed itself in spasms of Williams grief, whilst referring readers to previous Williams enconia. People say he was always available to his friends, so what, so am I, here am I, at half-past midnight, talking to you. Everybody is available to their friends, what's so special about FunnyBoy?

And there's the rub, for me; nobody with half a brain should need telling that attempting to be funny, to all of the people, all of the time, is a fool's game; it is not humanly possible to do what he did, without profound consequence and among the living rats to whom you allude are those who lacked and still lack the courage to say so.

As I said, I found his desperation to amuse unwatchable; it is a shame that many, many more didn't.

call me ishmael said...

As you say, mr bungalow bill, it is a maelstrom of counterfeit emotion, showbusiness, which, despite its utter fraudulence, whirls many into its morbid depths; the internet makes us all critics, afficianados, even though few of us can read, write or think clearly.

I resisted naming the latest beheadee, because he, too, is just individualised grist to GlobaCorp's mill; Ken Bigley was the first such, recently, now, few will even remember his name; the news caravan has moved-on.

I would say, though, that I am always repelled by skymadeupnewsandfilth's rejoicing in the terminology of horror. How much more gracious would it be just to describe him as killed or murdered, without gloating on the word beheaded. It started with the killing in BRoadwater Fram Estate,London of PC Keith Blakelock who, I am sure, to the endless grief of his loved ones, is always, even now, refered to as having been Hacked-to-Death; they truly are filth, journalists.

I don't suppose it mattered much to Ken Bigley or the latest victim, dead is dead and there are worse, more prolonged deaths than those they suffered. But to bar the video but verbally reinforce the mediaeval nature of these men's passing seems to me to be doing the terrorist's work for him, what we would have called, before-before, giving aid and comfort to tne enemy.

mongoose said...

A film went by on the telly the other day about the end of capital punishment in the UK. It was a pretty tawdry, perfunctory even, recap of poor Tim Evans, the terrible slaughter of Derek Bentley, of sad, broken Ruth Ellis, not Hanratty (who weeps for DNA-fucked Hanratty, eh? Of course, m'lud, all this mixed-up crap in a shoebox for fifty years proves beyond a scintilla that this bastard did it. Chain of evidence? Say again. How many ID parades did it take, do you ask? Move along, move along now...) and "the last two" - poor sods, whose names nobody remembers, and perhaps should not. May they be at rest.

It's not the killing; it's the certainty and the willingness to embrace the horror of it that makes me want to throw up. Beheading, yes, sounds mediaeval but the Nazis guillotined 30,000 for fuck's sake. In Germany, in the middle of the Old World, cradle of modern civilisation! And in my mother's lifetime. So do not tell me that Islam alone has gone horror bonkers. And they all do it. Strapped to a gurney for an hour in Texas or ten seconds on your kness in a different desert. You choose. It's all beyond disgrace and disgust. And any bastard who coldly decides to slay another is a subhuman fucker who we can well do without, and I for one volunteer to pull the lever... And so it is. Anger makes fools of us all.

The poor victim in the desert was in harm's way and sought no direct harm to anyone else and he has paid for this with his life. May his god rest him too. The idiot with the knife? Just another prat blinded by things offered to him by they-think wiser, more duplicitous and more powerful bastards than he will ever be. Well he had power then, didn't he? For a 30 seconds of horror. Or so he thought. "Top of the world, ma!" Idiot. I would not bet a shilling on his still being alive even today. If I was his terrorist gaffer that day, he'd be safely silent now. Ask McKneecaps about the value of used up soldiers. Not that we will ever hear about it from either.

The Middle East is for the fire. Round 3 starts. The countries that used to have names have to be realigned. But as what and towards whom? Islam? I was wrong about that Islamic Reformation rubbish. They had me for a while. Follow the long-term money.

call me ishmael said...

Thanks. Always a comfort to hear your passion, mr mongoose. I am sure you know it wasn't the fact of beheading per se at which I railed, there is no difference between that and the gurney torture, it is the prurient hack, lingering on it, whom I would punch in the gob.

I get the feeling that an internal Islamic crisis, here in the UK, would suit MediaMinster just fine - emergency powers, maybe martial law, censorhip, perhaps even the Government of National Emergency which we have been trailing for so long; no need for elections, just increase the number of ministerial jobs and dish 'em out, pro rata.

If you ever come across it, in a bookshop, or being performed at a local rep, One Reputedly Glamourous Woman, by Vince Foxhall, is a play about the last days of Ruth Ellis which should make abolitionists even of the sclerotic, redneck Ukippers, curently braying for vengeance against, well, everything, really. I saw it at the Belgrade in Coventry, in 1986; still wakes me up, suddenly, in the night, imagining my neck snapping; blindingly.

Mike said...

I only hope that John the Beatle reflects at some point who he is working for? Thats before some hard men come and shoot him. I'm with Mr Mongoose - this is about money, not religion.

call me ishmael said...

Apart, mr mike, from the part which martyrdom plays in all this - those guys in London, they just hung around, waiting to be either shot or captured. Maybe, in a way, John is more use to them in the dock of the Old Bailey or in some New York Court.

I don't have a clue what's going on, except that it's not what I'm told is going on. Could be anything, the Saudi Royals, the Kuwaiti Royals, Iran-Israel, Uncle Sam-Syria, Iran-Syria, Sunni-Shia; the cock-waving Frog, Hollande, is desperate to get involved in something, anything which might improve his ratings, Cameron is the same; what do the Chinks think? What about Putin? There could be nukes, bug-bombs. How's anyone supposed to guess what's happening?

Mike said...

Mr I: re the guys hanging around in Woolwich - my immediate impression was they didn't know what to do next, not that they decided to be martyrs. And John the beheader - as I said, he hasn't yet worked out who he's working for. They are all being used, as much collateral damage as the dead ones.

Both these 2 incidents make no sense as they are calculated to create maximum negative reaction. Someones stirring the pot here, and usually its money.

yardarm said...

U.S. defence Secretary on news just now saying this ISIS are tremendously well funded: Saudi and the Gulf states obviously. Saudi is the biggest rogue state going but they are also puppetmasters of Washington and London via oil and money.

Autocue and Wysteria are going to sort this one out, like they did Libya, like we did A/stan, like Iraq the last time ? These are the berks who were going to steam into Syria in support of these barbarians, remember.

The University and public school fuckwits running our diplomacy, intel, military and politics fuck up everything they touch. In this inferno, a welter of blood and fire as the Middle East disintegrates, nations melt and run together: the chimps in the zoo could do a better job.

They`ll manage to embed the national security state as bit deeper, Mr Ishamel, as you say.

callmeishmael said...

Morning, mr yardarm. The Bush tribe, the House of Chimp, has a particularly lucrative deal with the House of Saud, doesn't it? And connections are strong, too, between Brian Windsor and the royal headchoppers of Saudi, although generally the victims are wimmen or Paki labourers, who don't matter, not at all, obviously; princesses, nothing but trouble, eh?

Maybe, at long last, some questions will be asked about our relationships with these fuckers, the Saudis and the Qataris and General al Fuckpig, in Egypt; maybe, also, if some Coalition of the Willing presses too hard, Ahmed might just light the nuclear blue touch paper. Unless, of course, some celebrity divinity drugs, fucks or drinks himself to death. Or her. Aren't they building a Temple to the God-Empress, Amy Wino, down there, in Babylon? Haven't heard from her drop dead useless Dad, Mitch, for a while, wonder how he's going to renew his instruction of us.

callmeishmael said...

I understood, mr mike, that the Two Woolwich Michaels were hoping to be gun-martyred by armed response teams and had no plans to escape shooting or capture; martyrdom or martyrdom-lite, either one is difficult to counter by conventional means. Think what would happen if dirty bombs were placed in the hands of Don't-Give-A-Fuckers, like those two. Cameron already thinks he's Churchill because, well, because he thinks so; imagine his cack-handed, lunatic bombast, were he gifted a nine-eleven moment, all of his own.

Anonymous said...

No, you shouldn't hang yourself but the sad thing is, if you had severe depression, you might do it anyway. That's the horrible fact here, not Mr Williams' abilities or the reaction of the brickrubdownables. He joked once - but it was no fucking joke in view of what he did - that to save time he would just find a woman and give her his house rather than get married.
Anyway, I think it's a sad end for Williams, whether we liked his stage persona or not.
NB I don't believe in an afterlife either.

Anonymous said...

Cameron mentioned internet censorship, removal of the right to travel, and military action in Britain.
If the beheading was genuine and it's not certain from the video that it was, then the fact is this; kill one man and you're a criminal but if you kill a million then you get the Charlemagne medal and a cushy job.

Alphons said...

Politicians and lovies both live in a self made world of inverted values. These values include the idea that what they do is of some great value and only they are capable of these many wonderful feats because of their God-given skills and abilities.

They are all charlatans of the highest order.

mongoose said...

Turned the radio on at One and what do we hear?

"My enemy's enemy is my friend", said Major-general-Whatever Donnat. And not fucking invent!

"We will have to swallow hard and speak to Assad..."

"Air operations over Syria against this common enemy will require negotiation with Assad." (Really? Ed.)

Rifkind was even disinterred to shroud-wave about supping with Stalin during WWII - and demonstrating the historical knowledge of my tabby cat while he did so. "This terrible threat to us all."

And there we have it. One US journalist's life invested via a UK-national's barbarity and we have the lever to support the US's anti-Russian support of the Syrian two-step. A pair of pretty ladies - missing aid workers - on the front of the papers to sway the unconvinced.

If you are touring in northern Iraq or Syria this afternoon in a pick-up truck with a silly black-and-white flag, get the heck under cover becasue I expect ordnance has moved on since the Highway of Death.

Anonymous said...

Apropos of nothing that's gone before, are we really to believe that this guy topped himself?

Have a quick mooch around 'tinterweb and one will soon see the (somewhat detailed account) of his demise.

Now, how the fuck does a diminutive chap like him take off his belt (length?), loop it round his head, wedge the other end bewteen the door and the jam and finish up "almost in a sitting position" with his arse still several inches above the floor?

Just sayin'.

yardarm said...

Read House of Bush, House of Saud a few weeks ago Mr Ishmael and fuck me, its difficult to tell where one begins and the other ends. Don`t know what they`ve got on Autocue but its a safe bet the fatuous, trite prick won`t be capable of an original thought or independent action.

Right after 9/11 when nothing was flying above the US except the military Dubya Retard sanctions escape flights of hundreds of Saudi royals and VIPs and approx two dozen of Osama`s family in the US. None were questioned, which makes, in my book, Retard an accomplice.

And on the afternoon of 9/11, in a Pentagon still full of smoke, Rumsfeld ordered the planning of the invasion of Iraq.

Under interrogation an Al Qaeda cadre names three Saudi royals as contacts who knew something was going down on 9/11. Part of a deal the Saudis had with OBL for him not to attack them. One was a multi millionaire Prince airlifted out just after 9/11. He and the other two passed away very soon after in Saudi.

And as for Dannat, has he explained this time how he intends to avoid defeats like those of Afghanistan and Iraq ?

ISIS, Ukraine and now more aerial jostling in the South China Sea: a bunch of morons who think they are Churchill are playing with the matches.

yardarm said...

And on this shit, Churchill shouldn`t be allowed to play with the matches. He dropped a fair few bollocks in his time...Dardanelles... Russian Intervention.... Cameron, oh fuck, I can`t stop laughing.. and where`s the Jug Eared Jesus, Middle East Peace Envoy: lining pockets and Murdoch wife shagging envoy more like.

call me ishmael said...

I was reading some Pentagonee, on the South China Sea potential for fuck-up and it seems that Admiral Chink has a new, carrier-sinking weapon which can destroy a ten billion dollar, four-acre asset in the blink of a military eye, sending USS George Chimp down to Davey Joneses Locker, mr yardarm, that the days of carrier-projected power were over, even in cases where they were actually carrying something; HMS Gordon Snot and HMS Moral Compass actually very expensive scrap metal, though not as expensive as given-away scrap gold.

mrs narcolept said...

I could never watch him for more than five minutes without feeling deeply unhappy.

Two friends have gone that way (noose, not train); one found by his wife, who has never got over it, another, if anything even more unfairly, by his cleaningperson. Yet they weren't spiteful or even especially selfish people in life. I'm not sure I don't believe in demons whispering poisonously at people when they are defenceless.

call me ishmael said...

So far, I have known nothing, mrs narcolept, of, what would you call it, immediate suicide but a few who have bartered their lives, effectively, for a continuance of some state-sponsored addiction, booze or fags, unable, too clever to understand CancerCorp's hold on - ownership - of MediaMinster and the medical profession. My mother died of a brain haemmorage at 48, her doctor having told her to keep up with the fags, they were good for her nerves. Thinking about it, I have known lots of people who have slowly poisoned themselves to death when it is only ever, at the very most, a few days' mild discomfort involved in killing the nicotine monster or any of the monsters whom we invite into our systems. These deaths are not as shocking as those of your acquaintanceship but they leave others just as sad, angry, frustrated and lonely.

Shutting-out the whispering demons, it needs to be a full-time job. I am sorry for your losses.

mrs narcolept said...

And I am sorry for yours, mr ishmael; 48. So very sorry.

jgm2 said...

I think Brand has a conviction for exposing himself in public. Perhaps somebody could draw this to the attention of the US authorities. They make US entry very difficult for anybody with any kind of conviction at all, or in the case of Nigella, any kind of behaviour, such as her self-confessed cocaine use that might result in a conviction.

I reckon exposing yourself in public must be some kind of sexual offence in the US, good for a maximum two year or more sentence. Good enough to cut the narcissistic gob-shite's earnings down to size.

Then we'd, perhaps, see less of the cunt enriching himself in films and suchlike.

I might write to the US embassy myself.

Anonymous said...

I take it you didn't like him. I'm just guessing of course.

ps How does am old fart like me get to use his name at the top of a comment instead of "a-non-ee-mouse"?