Gentlemen’s footwear – what everyone’s hurling this winter in Iraq

About time I jumped on the bandwagon and wrote about what everyone else did about three days; shoes.  Cutting.  Edge.

If anyone missed it, the outgoing president of america recieved two leaving presents from an Iraqui journalist in a press conference.  His shoes.  At speed.

This should probably be an AVI, but it's just nice to see it looping.

This should probably be an AVI, but it's just nice to see it looping.

Although accounts vary as to the actual course of events:


…although this might be an example of american news dumbing down content.  (It’s not, unless Jen from works for CNN.)

The White House Publicist Massive has been emphatic to say that it would be a mistake to take one disgruntled reporter’s footwear as representative of the whole country’s feeling.  Also note, although Bush has publically stated he was never, never scared and doesn’t want to press charges, they’ve certainly not been putting enough effort into getting the reporter released to avoid him getting the gruntle kicked further out of him by guards whilst in custody.  Protests have grown both in Iraq and America at his detainment and subsequent prosecution, and I hear, brilliantly, that piles of shoes are growing on the White House lawn.  For anyone who’s not within chucking distance, I expect they’re accepting postal contributions.

It’s not the first time shoes featured in the war on terrOr.  In fact, the Iraquis seem to be obsessed with them.  Remember when Saddam was toppled, a video was shown of dozens of people whacking his statue with the soles of their shoes.  This was cited as proof that all the iraqui people wanted Saddam out, since it was okay to assume they were representative of the whole population because….erm.

Not to mention the attempted shoe bomber who was caught in late 2001 sneaking through an airport with a bomb in his shoe – which, since it failed, was instantly reclassified from “escaped tragedy” to “bloody hilarious”.  I can only guess that this was an attempt to slap hundreds of people at once with the sole of his shoe.  And a burning aeroplane.


Gone the way of the Mammoth

I don’t understand why there seems to be a massive movement to save Woolworths. “Because it’s a british institution”, seems to be the canned response, seemingly missing the point that it’s actually just a shop that doesn’t have anyone buying things in it. I know it’s hard to watch the demolition of the store in whose cafe you used to drink coffee with your nan when the government’s swooping in to bail out the banks that chucked her out of her bungalow, but we need to think of the shop assistants here. What you’re proposing is a future in which these people are doomed to stand around wearing aprons in a shop devoid of customers, as people hurry past the window on their way home, to do their christmas shopping on Amazon. Exactly what are we proposing to do to save a shop that doesn’t sell enough shit? I’ve certainly not heard anyone promise to buy more expensive stuff in Woolworths as opposed to online.

Fuck Woolies. It’s just another mammoth chain store that never made it big enough to make people hate it for swallowing their high street. Worry about the tiny, individual shops that are being driven out of business by the unholy megalithic trinity of Ebay, Amazon and… er, I don’t know, snorg tees? It just feels like there should be three. The fact is if you want there to be real, actual shops in the world, you’re going to have to buy things from them. Doing your shopping at Tesco or Walmart all year doesn’t guarantee there’ll be anwhere niche, individual or interesting left when you decide you want them.

This year I bought about 33% of my shopping in actual shops before giving up and buying the rest on Amazon. So just so y’know, none of this shit is coming from a high horse. It’s perfectly acceptable hypocrisy.

Popularity Contests

cameronOur sceptered isle wept in grief today, as the lovable ex-political correspondant John Sergeant announced he was bowing out from Strictly Come Dancing. It’s understandable since as far as I can gather viewers have been voing for him simply to see him lurch around the dancefloor like Frankenstein’s christmas turkey, though that’s based on the Metro’s description of his choreography. Leader of the Shadow Cabinet David Cameron was quoted as saying:

Strictly will not be the same without him. The nation will not have the same spring in its step on a Friday night.

Er, wait. What?

Yes, Cameron’s jumped on another bandwagon, and I think he’s just panicking and picking them at random these days. I particularly like how he shows off being on first-name terms with Britain’s finest waste of a Friday night, showing a level of familiarity the average forty five year old female hairdresser would find creepy.

But this isn’t even a new low for Mr. Cameron on his quest to become London’s cuddliest Tory. Remember the excruciating WebCameron?

I’d be worried about Mr. Cameron’s determination for the common public to love him before he and his cronies rape them like it’s 1983 all over again, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s hilariously bad at it and still comes off as that R.E. teacher pathetically desparate for his kids to like him. I’m fairly certain this whole thing’s going to come to a head in a few years when he finally snaps and we find him on a dead male prostitute wearing a suit made of Boris Johnson’s flayed flesh like out of off of Silence of the Lambs. As all the best political careers end.

69 Uses for a Failed Vice President

Sarah Palin…and I use that mostly because it sounds a bit like a list, and you get about three times the readership. So, maybe three people.

What do you do with an ex-beauty queen vice presidential candidate after she’s been publically rejected for being a scary fundie?  Screw her on camera, obviously, an offer of $2 million coming from “The King of Milfs”.  I’d have thought MILFs would be a barony at best, serving under an autocratic plutarchy.

As much as her attraction is debatable and is, indeed, debated this all makes her a prime candidate for cashing in on it, and hey, if hubby gets involved they get a snowmobile!  Wow!  Bet she’s looking forward to throwing some really huge snowballs.  Ugh.

Anyone who thinks this is the first time a senior Republican party member has appeared in pornographic publications clearly hasn’t spotted John McCain on (soooooo nsfw).  I’m still wondering if her daughter’s still got to marry the redneck that knocked her up now her mum’s not going to be president.  That would suck.

Lovely LittleBrooker

I love Charlie Brooker.  As I grew from a spotty, games-obsessed teenager into borderline anarchist whiny liberal, he grew with me, holding my hand as we progressed together from swearing together about Lara Croft’s tits to swearing about idiots complaining about swearing on TV.  And then to swearing on TV about swearing on TV.  Brooker’s probably the only guy who could have this career and look clever, I swear.

His Guardian column’s a regular joy; I read today’s article on the Russell Brand / Jonathan Ross debacle with relish.  And mayonnaise.  Yum.
“So it’s here at last. The dawn of the dumb has broken in earnest”.
“Perhaps next week [The Daily Mail] will produce a free sheet of asterisk stickers for readers to plaster over their own genitals, lest they catch sight of them in a mirror and indignantly vomit themselves into a coma.”

Fuckin’ yeeeeaaahhhhh.

“If something as sublime and revolutionary as Python came along today, the Mail would try to kill it stone dead, and it’d rope in thousands of angry old idiots to help, all of them bravely marching to the Ofcom website to register their disgust. What a rush. Feel that pipsqueak throb of empowerment coursing through your starched and joyless veins! You’ve crushed some fun, and it feels good to be alive!”

Yeah, fuck you, Daily Mail!  We’ll teach you not to create straw men arguments…  to…  further…  your… agenda…?

Hold on, something’s not right here.  I don’t enjoy righteous irrational hatred of imaginary causes, that’s Richard Littlejohn and his audience.  Which is when it hit me.  Dawn of the Dumb.  Political Correctness Gone Mad.  Jesus, Brooker’s turning into Littlejohn’s opposite number.

It’s the exasperation at idealised caricatures of their pariah of the day, feeding on their own fury as they not only spill bitter condemnation for the crimes the smug bastards thought they could get away with, but appropriate verbal thrashing is given for the crimes thay haven’t done but I bet the bastards would, wouldn’t they? Yeah, I know.  It’s a joke.  But read that again, and tell me you’re certain he didn’t want to leave the impression that they’d like to ban comedy.  Fucking They.  It’s fucking Political Correctness Gone Mad.

I know, there’s a difference between the directed xenophobia of the right-wing press and Brooker’s charming grumpy old man routine.  I just really hope he’s not going to turn into the liberal figurehead for directing inordinate bile at the faceless, evil conservatives.  Because I love you Charlie; but I fucking hate Littlejohn more.


Something occurs to me about the word “Maverick”.  The definition of the word’s been bounching round the last week or two:

  • someone who exhibits great independence in thought and action
  • an unbranded range animal (especially a stray calf); belongs to the first person who puts a brand on it
  • irregular: independent in behavior or thought; “she led a somewhat irregular private life”; “maverick politicians”

Princeton Wordnet Search

Of course, it’s John “Get My Medication Or Motherfuckers Are Going To Get Called Cunts” McCain’s word of the year; he’s a maverick, his lunch is a Maverick, his VP’s a Maverick with tits (and a really hot pussy)…  but the last thing any presidential candidate wants to do is actually define meaning in their statements.  Which, given the stakes, would be understandable if they were in any concrete way held responsible for their claims.  Maverick’s one of those words that carries an impression with it that isn’t quite the definition.

When I think “maverick”, I think of someone who’s not afraid to bend the rules to get the job done.  Who doesn’t give a damn what people think, and dances round the law like Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon.  You won’t get hurt so long as you play the game his way.  Which sounds cool, until I realise that I’m actually thinking of the guy who’s been shitting in the White House toilets for the past eight years.  Maverick’s a tough, sexy word.  But not when used in reference to a leading official.