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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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13 comments:
Mr Ishmael, you're spoiling us.
Hello Ishmaelites. Lord Melvyn Bragg here, off the telly.
Not since Ibsen or Chekov or Linda la Plante has anyone captured the essential essenceness, indeed the quintessential essential essenceness of what it is all about better than Family Guy, an animated, American sit-com noire, featuring Brian the talking dog, Stewie the knowing, homicidal infant, Peter, the bumbling, cowardly, redneck father and Lois, the Apple Pie Mom to America’s dark, grotesque family;f earless and coruscating of media and politics, imposed family values, the church and the synagogue, Family Guy lays bare the bones of a greedy, stupid, racist society in a way which hasn’t been done since Linda la Plante’s Little House on the Prairie or Auf Wiedersehn, Pet.
Tonight, on the South Bank Show, I talk to the show’s producers and ask them how much of an influence Linda la Plante has been on their careers. I started by asking the show’s eponymous anti hero, Family Guy Peter, if he felt his characterisation had been influenced more by Little Joe, his brother Adam, his brother Hoss or his priapic father, Ben Cartwright, in Linda la Plant’s milestone series, Bonanza…….
You can see more of me asking showbiz luvvies how wonderful they are on TV, on the radio, in books and magazines and also of course there are my unpickupable novels, about teenage sex, Up North, and if you go online you can find the bollocking Cherie Blair gave me after I blabbed about her kid trying to top herself because her father, my good friend, Cardinal Tony, was such a cunt.
Remember, Ishmaelites, if you want flabby, overpaid, snivelling, uncritical arts presenters like myself and Alan Yentob to flourish and grow filthy rich then just, for Art’s sake, Vote Labour.
Altogether now: A bag of weed, a bag of weed, everything’s better with a bag of weed, and a peerage.....
“The war is won, rejoice, rejoice, just rejoice in that news“, said Mr Brown. “We have driven the Tallymen out, and Britain is again a safer place.”
That would be why, only yesterday, our 189th casualty occurred right outside our main base in Lashkar Gar. Obviously, this can’t be down to the Tallymen, who have been driven out, this must have been the Bogeymen.
The Olympics, said the BBC, the voice of truth, are on target and on budget, at £9.3 billion.
Sorry, is it just me, or was the original “budget” not a mere £2.4 billion?
Asked why the banks aren’t lending, the nice lady from the banks explained, as though to a three year old, that no one would expect the banks to lend to businesses that could not stand on their own two feet in the current recession. That would just be irresponsible.
So why, in that case, the fuckwit from the BBC didn’t ask, did we lend gazillions of pounds we don’t have to banks who couldn’t stand on their own two feet? Was that not irresponsible?
Very catchy.
Yes, the news was frighteningly optimistic, I thought so, too. Something very bad must shortly to be revealed.
Blogger call me ishmael said...
An admistrative oversight occurred with regard to one of the posters, Ms Lilith. Said person is now affianced to and thus the responsibility of mr elby the Beserk, from our West Country readership; that being the case, it would be in keeping for Mr elby to send a note with Ms Lilith, when she visits, granting his permission for her to be in an adult location such as what this is; although if he seeks a truly satisfactory alliance, he should keep her at home, ideally in the kitchen.
Alas, a computer was part of Mr Elby's dowry and thus our entire relationship is conducted in the ether. Sometimes I even have to go to Manchester City chat rooms to find him for his tea.
Note sent. Ms. L now has a formal permit to post here :-)
As you wish, Mr Elby; you country people obviously have your own ways and far be it from a gentleman to query or override them, without very good reason.
I tend to be less sanguine about my property than you appear to be inasmuch as I tell Mrs Smith all that she needs to know about affairs outside the home, enabling her to attend the more conscientiously to her duties; it is a course of action which I would commend to you, lest your union be filled with strife, bickering and, Heaven forfend, opinion.
Ahah. Opinions. Like arseholes, everyone has them, and they all stink.
However, having already managed to navigate my way through 30 years of marriage and, indeed, 33 years of cohabitation with the mother of my children, I seem to have happily washed up on a splendidly trouble-free island; a topsy-turvy one, perhaps, in that I deal with the household duties, and my beloved goes out and brings home the bacon.
My property is minimal; upon separation from my ex, I handed over my share of the house, which I'd just managed to pay off. Cunning ruse eh? However, said ex has MS, and needs a secure home for sure, and also my flock of four children, for whom, all bar one, this house is the house they were to all intents and purposes, brought up in, see it as the family home, where we can all come together as we once were. And indeed, we sometimes do; my ex and I have managed to separate without rancour, we still as and when needed co-parent the "children" - we all need a hug and reassurance from time to time.
So it all worked out just fine :-)
Aaah, that's nice, Elbie. My ex- drank himself to death. Not very good at the co-parenting, either. Love and hugs,
Agatha
Ahah. The demon liquor. My commiserations. My parents both drank themselves to death, though my mother took the best part of 18 years to do so, that being the number of years between my father's death and hers. Sadly, my younger brother appears to be heading in the same direction, so for me, it's ... a bag of weed, a bag of weed :-)
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