Tag Archives: celebrity

Presidential Disorder

The lights come up on a stage with seven equally spaced, empty podiums. A large audience is in attendance, and as a woman enters from stage left, the crowd rises to its feet, cheering and applauding. The woman turns to the audience and the assembled television cameras and raises a microphone.

Oprah: Good evening America!

Crowd: Good evening Oprah! We love you!

Oprah: Welcome! Welcome everyone, to the 2023 Republican Presidential Debate, sponsored by Trump Cola. Mmm, tastes like capitalism!

Crowd erupts into whooping and hollering and a “U.S.A.” chant breaks out. Eventually they take their seats and fix their glazed expressions once more on Oprah.

Oprah: Well, after seven glorious years under President Trump, it’s finally time to start thinking about who we want to be the next leader of the free world. Tonight we meet the seven candidates who will contest the primary for the presidential nomination for the greatest, and thanks to our current President, the only, political party in America: The Republican Party!

Crowd explodes into a frenzy of thunderous applause and indecipherable feral yelping. At one point somebody produces a banjo. Eventually they take their seats again.

Oprah: Let’s meet the contestants!

The live band that has been hidden in a shaded alcove springs into life and begins to play a bass-heavy version of “I am a Real American” as seven figures file onto the stage.

Oprah: Introducing…the man who said he’d be back, he’s no girly-man, Arnold Schwarzenegger!

Next, the first daughter hoping to be the next little lady in the big house, Chelsea Clinton!

Back from Alaska for another shot, the mom who came in from the cold, Sarah Palin!

He’s not the Messiah, but he’s a very talented boy, voice of a generation, Kanye West!

A reluctant late entry to the race, former Democrat, Old Man River himself, Bernie Sanders!

The belle of the ball, and winner of the 2023 Hoes That Pose reality TV show, 6-year old child beauty pageant sensation, Amber May Alabama!

And lastly, a surprise wild card entry into the race after a special sitting of Trump Congress. Ladies and gentlemen, your President, looking for four more years, Donald “The Donald” Trump!

Crowd erupts into a cacophony of jingoistic yodelling, saucepan clanking and pistol shots. A sheep emerges from the maelstrom and runs off stage right. A man dressed as Uncle Sam gets hit with a steel chair. After some minutes they settle and retake their seats.

Oprah: Okay, it’s time to start the questions. Unfortunately the network has stipulated that the debate can last no more than ten minutes this year, in order to avoid a clash with tonight’s eagerly awaited finale of Dancing with the Stars: Sitcom Wars between the casts of Modern Family, and Modern Family spin-off Lily’s High School Misadventures. Accordingly, each candidate will be asked just one question on a given topic and will have one minute to answer.

Bernie: That’s not a debate, how dumbed-down can you get?  I knew I shouldn’t have lowered myself to this circus…

Oprah: Dumbed-down? Bernie please, you’re being ridiculous. Okay folks, it’s question time and you know what that means. Let’s…Spin That Wheel!

Crowd leaps to its feet, yammering approval, as a giant wheel is rolled in from offstage.

Oprah: Okay folks, you know how it works. Each candidate will spin the Issue Wheel, and will receive a question on whatever issue the arrow lands on. Immigration, Terrorism, God, all the big ones are up there! Okay, Arnold, you’re up first. Come on up and…

Crowd: SPIN THAT WHEEL!

Oprah: Okay, let’s go. Wow, that’s a good strong spin there, Arnold. Now we just wait…until the arrow stops…still going…that really was a big spin…Arnold’s new movie Terminator: Revelations is out next week folks, get your preview tickets now…

Arnold: I play a Terminator Satan. But it’s very understated.

Oprah: Okay…and, it’s stopped! Finally. Okay Arnold, your issue is immigration. Your question is this: Do you agree with the construction of the Trump Wall and would you continue the President’s policy of selective immigration protocols based on physical attractiveness?

Arnold: As you know Oprah, I am an immigrant myself. So I feel I am best placed to say to these illegal immigrants: Your stay here has been terminated. Hasta la vista, baby! That’s Mexican for “Go back to Mexico”.

Crowd rises in rapturous approval

Bernie: Jesus Christ…

Donald: Obviously Mr. Sanders thinks it’s okay to take the Lord’s name in vain. Go back to Soviet Russia, Comrade Bernie!

Crowd boos loudly and some throw peanuts at Bernie

Arnold: Bernie’s candidacy has been terminated. Ha ha. Ha ha. Terminated. Ha ha. Like the film.

Okay, next up is Ms. Clinton. Let’s…

Crowd: SPIN THAT WHEEL!

Oprah: Okay Chelsea, your issue is Family. How do you feel about the political legacy left by your father? Will you ever be able to emulate his achievements, or are you simply trading on a well-known political surname?

Chelsea: Well, I’m actually really glad I get a chance to address this tonight because this campaign has been such a cathartic exp-

Arnold: Hey Chelsea!

Chelsea: Em, yes? I’m kind of in the middle of some-

Arnold: Who is your Daddy and what does he do?

Arnold turns and winks at the camera as the crowd goes wild

Chelsea: Can I answer the question now or-

Oprah: Okay, let’s move on!

Crowd: SPIN THAT WHEEL!

Oprah: Kanye, you’re up. Okay, your issue is Celebrity. As part of President Trump’s Celebrity Cabinet Initiative, you’re currently the Secretary of State. Do you really think celebrities are suited to these important positions?

Kanye: Absolutely. Everybody that isn’t me makes mistakes, as we saw with Secretary of Defence Beyonce’s recent nuclear mishap with North Korea. But that song she wrote about it afterwards was number 1 for six weeks and had a killer beat. So I ask you, how much is a human life really worth?

Oprah: Okay…ah Bernie, it’s your turn to…

Crowd: SPIN THAT WHEEL!

Bernie: A question mark, what does that mean?

Oprah: It’s the Mystery Prize! Bernie, you’ve just won a washer-dryer!

Bernie: Oh for God’s sake. Can we please talk about child pover-

Oprah: No time Bernie! Time to spin the wheel again! Okay this time it’s…Education!

Bernie: Finally, a real issue. Okay, so there are three fundamental problems with our education system that need to be tackled before we-

Kanye runs up to Bernie and grabs the microphone from his hand

Kanye: I’mma let you finish Bernie but I just wanted to say I don’t think making fried chicken is any kind of a qualification to be President.

Bernie: I’m not Colonel Sanders you moron, what the fu-

Arnold: Chill out, dickwad!

Oprah: Okay, time to move onto our next candidate, Sarah Palin. Sarah…

Crowd: SPIN THAT WHEEL!

Oprah: Okay Sarah, your issue is God. How big an influence is God in your daily life, and how much would your faith influence your Presidency?

Sarah: Well Oprah, I think America is God’s country. Otherwise why would he have made it the greatest country in the world?

Crowd roars its approval and rises to its feet, waving miniature American flags

Sarah: And if God doesn’t love freedom, why did he only give it to civilised people in mostly white countries?

Oprah: Em…

Crowd continues to go crazy. Somebody throws a pig dressed as Lincoln into the air.

Sarah: And if God doesn’t hate homosexuals, then why did he make them so easy to spot? I mean they prance around the place like-

Oprah: Okay, and your minute is up! Ah, thanks Sarah. Little Miss Amber May, you’re up next honey. Let’s…

Crowd: SPIN THAT WHEEL!

Crowd emits a collective “Aaaawww” as the diminutive Amber May totters over to the wheel in her six inch heels

Amber May: Ms. Oprah, Ma’am, I can’t reach that there wheel. She’s higher’n a kite on a Mississippi Mayday.

Crowd: Aaaaaaawwwww

Arnold: I will help the tiny prostitute to spin the wheel.

Arnold spins the wheel so hard it comes off its axel and rolls away offstage, mowing down a cameraman on the way.

Arnold: Oops.

Oprah: Ah, okay. Amber May, my producer is telling me to ask you about the War on Terror. How do you think ISIS’s latest incursions in North Africa have affected geopolitical stability?

Amber May: Shucks, I just wish there wasn’t so much fightin’ and that all them brown folks could get along. Pops had some chickens once that was like that, always fightin’ like varmints. Then one day he just done wrung their necks and that was the end of it.

Crowd: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwww

Oprah: Okay, we’ve got one minute left, and no wheel…

Crowd: SPIN THAT WHEEL!

Oprah: I said we’ve got no wheel you braindead…ah…okay, let’s go to President Trump for the final word. Mr. President?

Donald: America, if you give me four more years, I will continue to crush our enemies, see them driven before us, and hear the lamentations of their women.

Arnold: Hey, that’s my line!

Donald: U.S.A.! U.S.A.!…

Crowd: U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

Oprah: Well, you’ve heard from all the candidates. Now it’s up to you, the American public, to decide. To gauge the reaction to tonight’s debate we’ve had a Twitter poll running all night. And I can now announce that the winner is…me. Oprah. Ah, I think some of you may have misunderstood what was happening here tonight. Oh well, we’re nearly out of time, you know what that means. Everybody grab a partner! Goodnight America!

The lights are dimmed as the band starts to play a Garth Brooks tune. The crowd and the candidates all file out onto the floor and begin line dancing. As the camera pans out Donald swings Chelsea around the floor and begins to slide his hand down her lower back. Arnold grabs Oprah and spins her, accidentally putting her through the studio wall. Bernie Sanders simply stands at his podium disconsolately, aghast at what is unfolding before him. He trudges offstage, his feet crunching over the detritus of miniature American flags as a solitary tear runs down his cheek.

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Kanye West: The Being Kanye West Years

Sue Townsend, the author of the hugely popular Adrian Mole series of books, passed away this week. From the early 1980s onwards, her creation provided the faltering, socially awkward voice of a generation, reflecting the experiences of millions in dealing with life, love, Margaret Thatcher and everything in between.

One wonders how a contemporary teenager’s diary might differ from Adrian’s, some thirty years on. Keeping a diary was once a private act of reflection; a healthy, cathartic practice for the individual, but kept secret from prying eyes. This personal reticence has been inverted with the advent of social media, with Twitter feeds and Facebook statuses consumed with indulgent over-sharing and detailed pictorial logs of people going about their everyday business.

In searching for a modern voice to act as a paragon for these shamelessly garrulous masses, one needn’t look further than the inimitable Kanye West, whose wisdom shines like a beacon through the mist of Tweeted trivialities and cuts  right to the core of the human condition.

Philosopher. Warrior. Polemicist. Educator. Preacher. Kanye is none of these things. Nonetheless, his digital diary acts as a veritable canon of life lessons for his legions of followers. Perception and sagacity drip from his brilliant mind like melted cheese and runny ketchup from a giant hamburger of profound understanding. Here is just a taste of his boundless insight…

 ~

– I just deleted the word ‘failure’ from my Dictionary app. Cos I don’t even know what that word means. Also, did you know that ‘fain’ is an Old English word that means pleased or willing under the circumstances? Because I did.

– How come paparazzi always come into the garden when I leave the gate open? Can’t a man and his wife do some gardening in their matching mink coats in peace? I feel like John Lennon, yo. After he got shot.

– Kim asked me today, How come you never sing about me, and I was like, cos your crazy name don’t rhyme with shit.

– Someone tried to hand me a pamphlet on the street today about African babies, and I was like I don’t believe in paper, it’s just dead trees. Would you put dead trees on your shelf? I don’t wanna be looking at no dead trees with babies on. They had nothing to say to me cos they knew I was right.

– Pretty sure I just invented a new colour playing around with North’s pencils. I’mma call some people and I’ll keep you posted.

– They name stars after people but they never name people after stars. But the stars were there first, so I’mma call my next child Alpha Centauri. Then when I want to reach for the stars I can just reach out and touch him. I’mma get him some tiny Timberlands too, just cos.

– Gandhi said that there is more to life than simply increasing its speed. But he ain’t never heard ‘Gold Digger’.

– I brought North to the MTV awards, and he wore a tuxedo and I wore some Spiderman pyjamas. That’s why I’m Kanye West and you’re not. ‘Cept for that one guy in Kansas but my lawyers are making him change his name to Dave or some shit.

– When I arrive at a crossroads in life I don’t choose which road to take, I turn around and go home. Cos I live in a big-ass apartment and I got a 3D TV, yo.

– I don’t allow animals in my apartment because then they think that they’re people, and they get all haughty, and they look at you like, Yeah I could make a record too. But I’m like, no you couldn’t, you’re a dog, you don’t got no thumbs. A chimp could maybe make a record, but it wouldn’t go platinum like Yeezus did.

– People ask me what my lucky number is and I say they haven’t invented it yet. Then I just drive away in my Benz while they thinking on it.

– Listening to old records trying to find samples for the new album. Can’t find anything better than my last album so I think I’ll just sample myself. I’ll call the album Kanye Squared, and instead of a circle, the disc will be a square. I like to play with conventions.

– Dr. Seuss once said, “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” But 2Pac said, “Thug Life is dead”, so I don’t know what to think.

– I was lying on my bearskin rug looking through abstract nouns for the name of my next fragrance. Kim was all like, you should call it ‘Talent’. I told her you can’t bottle that. If you could then I’d be twice as rich as I am today. Then we made love on the rug.

– People say nothing rhymes with orange or purple, but Shakespeare invented, like, a hundred thousand words, including ‘England’, ‘William’ and ‘ho’. So I’mma invent the word ‘morange’, and it’s gonna mean that feeling you get when you wake up from a dream, and you’re in bed next to Kim Kardashian, and you realise that you’re Kanye West. That’s why I don’t need to dream. I just morange, yo.

– If I could be a god I would be the one from Asia with eight arms, cos then I could write three times as many albums, and just make pasta all day with the other two.

– Sometimes old people be like, you young folks got it easy, we had world wars and disease and unemployment and all that, and I’m like yeah, but we got to put up with Miley Cyrus so it’s about even.

– I would like to win an Oscar one day, but I feel like I should already have one just for living my life. My life is every genre, even those crazy Japanese ones, and I’m the best actor in my life. But the Academy wouldn’t do that. Cos it’s full of white dudes.

– People ask me why I never smile, then I say maybe if you tell a joke I’ll smile. Then they say, You wanna hear a joke? Then I say no, I don’t like jokes.

– Kim thought we should bring some wine to Brad and Angelina’s dinner party, but I was like, that’s a cliché. So I took a picture of some wine and I gave Brad the picture. He didn’t say anything but I could tell he was thinking, There’s a genius in my house. And his name is Kanye West. Then later we ran out of wine and Angelina had to drive down to the store.

– I was playing Wordfeud with Johnny Depp and he was like, Influenticize ain’t a word. And I was like, well I’ll call up Webster and make him put that shit in. I know Webster and he thought Yeezus was dope. He owe me one.

– If at first you don’t succeed, then you should probably just give up. ‘Less your name is Kanye West.

– I ain’t scared of dying cos I believe in reincarnation. But I wanna come back as the stupidest animal there is, like a cow, cos if I come back smart I’ll be sad that I ain’t Kanye no more. If I’m a cow I’mma be like, alright, where the grass at? That’s my philosophy.


New Year’s Devolutions

As another year draws to a close we are left to look back on the events of the last twelve months, and assess their impact on our lives. Unfortunately, however, due to my reliance on modern technology, I have no memory whatsoever of anything that happened before yesterday. Therefore, until we manage to invent some sort of collated, easily accessible database of news through which we can record our history as it unfolds, any attempt at such reflection is pointless.

Instead, I will attempt to predict what may lie in store for the duration of our next revolution around the sun, which conveniently gives me even more scope for absurd exaggeration and crude humour. To that end, here follows a synopsis of what we can expect in the year 2014…

To domestic affairs first, as Ireland continues its upward trajectory out of the doldrums of recession. Normality returns in increments as shoddily built apartments are bought by the thousand, helicopters are dusted off to head down to the Galway Races, and solicitors start snorting cocaine before midday again.

In politics, Enda Kenny finally gives in to pressure to reform the Seanad, and appoints David Norris to take charge of the transition. Unfortunately, Norris chooses to make no changes whatsoever to the political structures or powers of the upper house, deciding instead to use millions of euro of taxpayers’ money to build an exact replica of an Ancient Roman Senate chamber, complete with annexed bath house, and opulently furnished in marble and gold leaf. The Taoiseach defends the developments by arguing that attendance in the house is at a record high average of 11%, a vast improvement on previous years.

Unfortunately for many of our émigrés, next year will also see Australia suffer a severe economic crash akin to the one that sent them there. Thousands of young Irish people are left floundering in a sweltering, barren wasteland, with no employment and no money to get home. As the last remaining Aussies leave their shores en masse to seek bar work in London, our hapless emigrants are left to fend for themselves in the desolate wilderness. Rule of law breaks down and society devolves into a post-apocalyptic nightmare, like Mad Max with more swearing and Offaly jerseys.

In the US, troublesome Republicans once again force a shutdown of the government, which lasts for over six months. The leadership claims it is due to Obama’s wish to implement stricter gun laws, but House insiders maintain it is predominantly a backlash to the dryness of the muffins in the Congress cafeteria. The country is thrown into chaos as millions are denied access to essential services. A deal is eventually brokered after military cutbacks contribute to a worrying breach in security in an army base in Kandahar, in which an enemy missile lands inside the perimeter. After eliminating the insurgents responsible, the missile turns out to be a football that had come from a nearby playing field, but military intelligence verifies that the deceased 12-year old boys were ‘a lot more terrorist-y than they looked.’

More revelations are forthcoming in 2014 from Edward Snowden regarding NSA monitoring of internet communications. In a somewhat tragic twist, it emerges that an entire subsection of intelligence operatives, who had been tasked with examining comments on YouTube to seek potential terrorists, take their own lives in what seems like a ritual mass suicide by self-immolation. NSA chiefs announce their grief and shock over the lost lives, especially since the group had just started their first day on the project.

In Britain, police continue to crack down on abusive behaviour on social networking sites. This policy reaches its zenith when a student is imprisoned for three months for calling Harry Styles a ‘gobshite’ on Twitter. When the presiding magistrate orders everyone who retweeted the offending message to be given the same sentence, thousands of hardened criminals are released onto the streets to make room for the hordes of potty-mouthed youngsters. This results in an unprecedented crime wave sweeping across the country, which the government announces is ‘probably something to do with immigrants.’ The Daily Mail takes a different approach and blames the situation on Ed Miliband’s dad.

In international news, North Korea follows China’s example by expanding their space program. They spend months ferrying men and supplies to the moon, much to the concern of the international community. When it is revealed that Kim Jong-un has built an enormous moonbase, fears grow over what kind of terrible weapon he might unleash. This alarm is soon allayed, however, when it transpires that Kim was simply remaking the movie Moonraker, starring himself as James Bond, and featuring Dennis Rodman as Jaws.

The winter Olympics in Sochi, Russia, take place in February under the shadow of a decree from President Putin that absolutely no gay behaviour will be tolerated. Secret police are stationed around the ground to enforce the law, with security particularly heavy in the figure skating arena for some reason. Putin himself projects his usual uber-macho image by appearing at the games naked, save for the pelt of a bear that he had killed that morning, which he had come upon in the wild and hadn’t been tranquilised in any way, shape or form.

However, events take an unexpected turn at the speed skating track, when Putin’s attention is turned to a young Finnish athlete named Matthias. The Russian premier feels a strange sensation stirring in him as he watches the young man glide over the ice, his golden hair radiant, his enormous quadriceps rippling with every stride. To the alarm of his aides, Putin suddenly rushes onto the track, but trips on his bear suit and falls crashing to the ice. As he rises to his knees, a strong arm appears to help him up, and he finds himself gazing upon a set of chiselled Nordic features. Matthias lifts him into his arms and embraces him, and as the strains of Up Where We Belong begin to play over the PA system, the pair exit the arena to the cacophonous cheers of the assembled masses, and disappear into the setting sun.

Technology giant Apple’s reputation takes a hit next year after it is discovered that its iPhone 6, and its iPad Extra Mini Micro, are in fact the same device. Their PR troubles continue later in the year as a 16-year old worker in one of the company’s Beijing factories hacks the official Apple Twitter account. His strongly worded criticisms of working practices and his uploaded selfie of the effects of an unfortunate smelting accident are Tweeted for the world to see. Unfortunately for him, his revelations are overshadowed by the release of the iPad Pico, a tablet roughly the same size as a postage stamp, which is later revealed to be simply an actual stamp designed to look like a tablet.

Social media continues in the new year in its quest to rid the world of unuttered thoughts, comfortable silences and the last remaining semblances of privacy. Google introduces a controversial new app in which a drone follows the user’s daily movements and updates their Facebook status and Twitter feed accordingly, with observations like ‘Sarah has just been dumped and appears inconsolable’, ‘Paul is masturbating over a fire he just started’, and ‘Sally is bleeding profusely from a head wound caused by my malfunctioning gears’.

As collective attention spans continue to plummet, the fad of six-second long Vines becomes passé. They are replaced by Stems, videos lasting just one second. The most popular of the year is of a 2-year old child from Kansas saying the word ‘jam’ in an adorable fashion, which is shared by millions. The child is later mentioned in Barack Obama’s State of the Union address, which prompts knowing laughter and warm applause from the crowd, followed by an eighteen-minute chant of ‘USA, USA’.

New varieties of the ubiquitous selfie become popular with the babbling, androgynous masses that populate the trendiest corners of the internet, where they smear digital pictograms of the tedious minutiae of their lives across social networking sites, and heap scorn on those of us born before 1994 that still use words like ‘trendiest’. These include the ‘elfie’, a festive self-portrait, the ‘farewellfie’, an inappropriate picture taken at the service of a deceased relative, and the ‘continental shelfie’, photos taken in the shallow waters of the glacially eroded coastal plains of continental land masses. Okay, that last one doesn’t really become that popular.

In Hollywood news, the most anticipated film of the year, the third instalment of The Hobbit, is delayed as director Peter Jackson falls ill during filming. The only director available to take the reins at short notice is Michael Bay, who selflessly offers his services. Upon its release, many critics question the wisdom of Bay’s changes to the original script, including casting Samuel L. Jackson as Gandalf, replacing the eagles with a fleet of Chinook helicopters, and even contriving an entirely new female elven character called Tauriel to spice up proceedings. Well actually, that was Jackson, but it was Bay who decided she should be played by Eddie Murphy in drag as the film’s comic relief.

Most of the criticism, however, centres on the movie’s antagonist, Smaug Mohammed Smaug, who is portrayed as an Islamic oligarch who uses his obscene wealth to arm a sinister band of Yemeni terrorists. The film’s denouement sees the dragon and his insurgent colleagues consumed in the hellfires of US Army drones remotely piloted by a ragtag bunch of wisecracking dwarf grunts, who are all played by Robert Downey Jr. Empire magazine gives the film five stars, their review simply consisting of the words ‘high-octane action’ repeated seven hundred times, followed by an exclamation mark.

In the world of music, Miley Cyrus continues her crusade against subtlety with her new single, Dark Room Full of Middle-Aged Men. The raunchy video becomes a viral phenomenon, and gives rise to a new dance craze among adolescent girls the world over, affectionately called ‘the Miley’. This is much like the Macarena, except with less smiling, and more penetration using household objects. Twitter is abuzz for months with trending topics like ‘doing the Miley’, ‘My tongue is a feminist too’, and ‘late night emergency room visit’.

In hip-hop news, Kanye West releases an experimental 3-hour long album featuring the sounds of his infant child’s bowel movements, set to a snappy bassline from a little-known 1970s adult movie about a Ku Klux Klan Grand Dragon who falls in love with a sassy waitress named LaQuanza. It sells eighteen million copies, and is hailed by music critics as ‘the seminal post-racial artwork of this, or any, millennium’.

So ends my forecast for the year 2014. Some of these things may come to pass; some will not; some may even look tame when reflected in the reality that comes to meet us. The future is a puzzling thing; no less a man than George Orwell had a great fear of it, which manifested itself in his works. This sense of foreboding is nowhere better illustrated than in an achingly bleak line from 1984: ‘If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face – forever.’

While I don’t think I’ve quite reached the depths of Orwellian cynicism just yet, it must be said that the pain in my face seems to be increasing exponentially with each passing year. Happy New Year you shower of bastards.


Let’s Not Meet Up For The Year 2012

As 2011 comes to a close it seems only fitting to look back on the big news stories of the year and analyse how the world has changed for all of us over the last twelve months. However, that sounds really boring and depressing so instead I’m going to attempt to predict the major events that will shape the year 2012. And if there’s half as much economic misery, brutal conflict, tragic natural disasters, and television exposure for Jedward as there was last year, let’s hope the Mayans were right when they predicted that the world would end if John Cusack ever made a movie as awful as 2012.

In economic matters, the Eurozone crisis deepens even further in early 2012, with the pressure on Angela Merkel finally taking its toll at a meeting in Brussels, during which she tears one of Sarkozy’s arms off and proceeds to beat him and several other less important European leaders to death with it before she can be restrained. The outburst results in massive fluctuations in German markets as Boris Becker is declared the interim leader of the country for some reason. Commentators across the world are astounded at the move, and all agree that the end is nigh for the Euro. John McEnroe also gets a lot of air time on American TV, remarking that Germany “cannot be serious.”

Fearing the imminent collapse of the EU as we know it, President Higgins takes drastic action and decides not only to secede from the union, but also to declare geographical independence from the continent of Europe. The country’s legions of unemployed are soon put to work preparing the island for emigration. In late summer, after all the arrangements have been made, we set sail for Australia, only losing half of Wexford along the way when we hit Portugal in rough seas, which everyone agrees was probably for the best anyway. Unfortunately we have to return to the economic hinterland of Europe after only a month spent down south, due to people complaining that the weather is too mild to be working, and the milk doesn’t taste the same. On the plus side, however, we also manage to cut loose most of Cork somewhere around Angola on the way back.

Meanwhile in the US, Barack Obama is narrowly re-elected, with many citing the Republicans’ choice of an overly stereotypical candidate as the reason for their loss. Others credit Obama’s win to his catchy slogan, ‘Change we can kind of believe in after four years of not much change at all really.’ After dispatching both bin Laden and Gaddafi in 2011, Obama feels under pressure to topple another dictator before the end of the year. In December he sends a covert unit of troops to kidnap Kim Jong-un while the North Korean leader attends an anniversary feast for the passing of his father.

However, a full year in power has seen the young man balloon to epic proportions due to his gluttonous diet, including consuming over 80 percent of the country’s sugar stockpile during one particularly decadent golfing weekend (when incidentally he also beat his late father’s world record by 17 strokes). The tyrant is too heavy for the American soldiers to lift and they are forced to leave without him. Unfortunately all forty of them perish an hour later when their helicopter accidentally fires at itself having mistaken a passing seagull for a North Korean stealth bomber.

Wikileaks later reveals that the kidnap plot was simply a ruse to begin a ‘liberation’ of North Korea, after it emerged that an extremely rare ore that Apple uses to make the limited edition Hello Kitty carrier case for the iPad is found exclusively in the foothills outside Pyongyang.

The Arab world continues to suffer massive political and social unrest as its citizens voice their opposition to totalitarian rule via social media. Trending tags on Twitter for the year include #MarchLikeAnEgyptian, #Don’tBeATahrirSquare, and #Don’tBahrainOnMyParade. Unfortunately the Islamic autocrats strike back by creating a Facebook page called ‘That awkward moment when you get your hands chopped off for engaging in political dissent on Twitter’, which soon silences most of the protesters.

Civil disorder continues in the West also, with the Occupy Movement growing ever larger. Police in New York run into difficulties as the protesters on Wall Street build up an immunity to pepper spray. As the crowds increase and become more vocal each day, eventually the cops take drastic action. They erect massive television screens around the area and begin to air Kim Kardashian’s new reality show, which revolves around her eight-week search for a new personal trainer for her cat, O.J. The tactic works as the protesters dwindle in number, though the large number of deaths by self-immolation recorded mark a tragic end to proceedings.

Meanwhile the stock market traders have endless fun laughing at the occupiers. When they’re not busy burying dead hookers in shallow graves, or telling CNN that we’ve entered our sixth recession of the week, they spend their days throwing staplers and bags of substandard cocaine at the protesters from the windows of their luxurious offices. They even respond to the famous ‘We are the 99%’ slogan with a giant banner of their own that says ‘We are the 11% and we don’t give a shit.’ It takes them three weeks to realise their mistake.

The entertainment world continues to provide reasons to welcome the warm glow of the apocalypse during the year. The top grossing film is The Hangover Part III, which simply consists of the lads sitting around a breakfast table having a fry and some Solpadeine, and arguing over who paid for the taxi the previous night for an hour and a half. Lady GaGa takes an indefinite hiatus from making music as she is committed to an institution after turning up at the Grammys wearing Elizabeth Taylor’s skin. Though criticised by many, the look goes on to influence much of Karl Lagerfeld’s acclaimed ‘Eau de Cleopatra’ fashion line that takes catwalks by storm over the summer.

Overall, 2012 is little more than another crushingly disappointing vignette illustrating the woeful state that the human race finds itself in. This time next year will see us looking back on even more misery and despair that has been heaped upon us by the ambivalent teet of the universe that we have suckled until dry and withered, and unable to provide us with anything but empty hopes and crushed dreams. On the plus side though, the new Batman film turns out to be awesome, so it all balances out really.


Aggrieving On A Jet Plane

The prominent actor, outspoken liberal activist and Alpha-Baldwin, Alec, was kicked off an American Airlines flight this week for apparently refusing to turn off his phone when asked to do so prior to takeoff. According to the airline, Baldwin was ‘extremely rude’ and used ‘offensive language’, as well as slamming a bathroom door. Obviously recalling from their intense training regimen that these are all telltale signs that one is dealing with an agitated Muslim terrorist, the air stewards had the 30 Rock star duly removed from the plane.

While Baldwin’s actions may seem a little juvenile, dealing with frustration while flying is something we can all relate to, given how complicated and exasperating the whole process has become. Before post-9/11 paranoia and the growth of the budget airline, air travel was an altogether more enjoyable experience. There were only a few minor inconveniences, like being told they had run out of extra pillows, finding a fly in your tiny can of Coke, or realising you were on the same flight as a member of the Kennedy family.

These days, however, the whole affair is an ordeal that begins the second you enter the airport. After spending half an hour figuring out that your check-in desk, despite being assigned a number, is located in the most counter-intuitive location possible relative to any kind of sequential order, you are then required to converse with one of the check-in staff, who are all legally required to fulfil a daily quota of blank stares interspersed with unnecessary questions. If your bag is in any way bag-sized, or has a physical mass, you will be told it is unacceptable. Apparently baggage holds in aeroplanes nowadays are so small that the handlers essentially have to play a massive game of Tetris to get half of them in, after which they simply throw the other half in a ditch.

After completing this phase of the hellish experience, you next have to negotiate the security checks, an activity so enjoyable that you often have to queue for the privilege. Here you’ll be stripped of your jacket, watch, belt, shoes and most probably sanity, after which you’ll still set off the metal detector and have to be patted down by some giant of a man who spends most of his day being paid to sit in a chair and read The Daily Star. It is here that the staff will also ensure that you have only brought liquids in amounts that are too small to be of any practical use to you, and that they are all sealed in Ziploc bags, which everyone knows are far too difficult to simply reopen whenever you want. Maybe they should just force suspicious-looking passengers to travel entirely encased in massive Ziploc bags; it would save the rest of us all this hassle.

Eventually, after walking half the length of the terminal to get to your gate, all the while being overtaken by suspiciously healthy and mobile looking old women getting a free ride on those little trucks, you might actually manage to get on the plane so you can complete your journey. Here you’ll be met by the air attendants, who are rivalled only by prostitutes and Burger King employees when it comes to lack of enthusiasm for the job at hand. Their half-hearted display of the safety procedures performed before takeoff looks like Lindsay Lohan and her mates trying to do the Macarena at four in the morning after a particularly crack-heavy evening.

It is at this point that your shitfaced pilot will wake up for just long enough to drawl something unintelligible into the intercom before heading back to sleep and letting the autopilot fly the whole way. Of course any time you are about to doze off yourself you’ll doubtlessly be awoken by an aggressively loud intercom message hawking scratchcards, or an announcement from the cabin crew that if you want a hot meal, well you should have asked ten minutes ago because service is now over.

When you’ve finally landed, there is a brief, overwhelming feeling of relief that you haven’t been killed by your drunken pilot, a gigantic ash cloud, or the guy with the beard who got out of his Ziploc bag at one stage to go to the toilet. However, this soon gives way to an inevitable unease at the prospect of having to repeat the whole endeavour on the return journey.

It seems a little churlish to complain so much about the modern miracle that is air travel; to have the luxury of sitting in a chair travelling at about 600 miles an hour, 40 thousand feet in the air, complaining that most of your salted peanuts aren’t nearly salted enough is a ridiculous feat when you think about it.

The point is, though, that such an incredibly successful and marvellous industry should retain some of the glitz, charm and sense of occasion of its halcyon days. The gamut of influential pioneers in the world of aviation stretches from the innovation of the Chinese and the genius of da Vinci, via the bravery of the Wright brothers and the passion of Howard Hughes, all the way to, eh, some brazen, greedy little shite from Mullingar who would charge people for a life vest if he could get away with it. What a shame. I think next time I’ll just get the boat. I might even run into Alec, and we can while away the hours playing on our phones and drinking regular amounts of liquids. Oh how we’ll laugh as we sit back and watch the foolish planes fly overhead, bedecked in the finest sailing hats and drunk on sea-air and no little amount of the finest Irish whiskey, drifting into the sunset as on a cloud of serenity and peacefulness. I really need to get out more…


The Beginning…?

This week sees the release of the latest in the Twilight series of films, Breaking Dawn – Part 1. Apparently they needed to release the film in two separate parts just so they could fit Robert Pattinson’s chin on screen. Although this latest instalment is undoubtedly an abominable affront to film, the English language, and distinguished fictional vampires such as Nosferatu and Count Duckula, it will inevitably make hundreds of millions of dollars because of the impressionable and easily impressed demographic that it appeals to. In light of this I have decided to write my own movie, utilising all the aspects of modern popular culture that attract these gangs of jabbering tweens like particularly excitable flies to a giant light bulb made of  shirtless vampires and crap dialogue.

In the spirit of Hollywood trailers I will now outline the entire plot for you so that you needn’t even go and see the film. It will be in three parts, although the plot will only take up the first of them; the other two just consist of four hours of my executive producers counting massive piles of money.

Since mythical beings seem to be the protagonists de rigeur these days, my main characters will all be examples of such creatures. Although since vampires and werewolves have been overdone lately, and zombies are old news, this doesn’t leave me with much choice. Therefore, the movie will revolve around Sasquatch and the Loch Ness Monster, or Harry and Hamish if you prefer. The film’s plot will centre on the pair’s trials and tribulations in vying for the affections of a nubile young unicorn named Penelope who is blessed with an amazing singing voice and a non-threatening Caucasian complexion. Our heroine is played by Dakota Fanning’s unborn sister, who although still a foetus, has been generating a lot of Oscar buzz over the last few months for her incredible performances.

Penelope’s heartrending back-story is a tale of woe worthy of a spot in the final ten of The X Factor. Her parents were killed before she was born in a tragic jetski-related accident. To be precise, a jetski fell off a truck onto them as they were out jogging one day. She then fell in love with a prince who turned out to be a frog, until one day he was captured by an enthusiastic young science teacher and subjected to a gruesome dissection. After mourning him she next fell in love with a frog who turned out to be The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, but his hectic touring schedule meant that the relationship was doomed from the start. After this heartbreak she vowed never to love again, and locked herself away in the top of the tallest tower in the land, never to set eyes on another man as long as she lived. It was only after she threw away the key that she realised the toilet was on the ground floor.

It is at this point that we meet our intrepid heroes, Harry and Hamish, played by Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant. After hearing the tragic tale of Penelope, both instantly fall in love with her, or possibly just have nothing else to do, and they decide to undertake the perilous journey across Slightly-Right-of-Middle Earth to reach her and rescue her from her self-imposed solitude. Russell Brand appears to them separately in a dream and tells them, amidst much Dickensian hyperbole and fanciful hand gestures, that they must seek the powerful but highly camp wizard, Gandalf the Gay. Only he can help them in their quest to find Penelope.

The pair set off on their journey to reach the exuberant wizard, meeting many strange and wonderful creatures along the way. They defeat the screeching two-headed monster Jedwardius in a breakdancing competition in order to gain the keys of the magical closet from their guardian King Louis of Walshtown. They fight on the side of the Tweeters against the MySpace clans in the legendary Flame Wars. They even meet a particularly dull rock named Gerald, played by Orlando Bloom.

Finally, after following an extremely bright and glittery yellow brick road, they reach the Aquamarine City, home of Gandalf the Gay. The wizard grants them two wishes, since it infringes on copyright to grant three. While arguing over how best to use their wishes, Harry wishes Hamish would hurry up and wish for something, after which Hamish wishes ‘that mincy wizard would stop staring at me like that’. Having inadvertently wasted their wishes and angered Gandalf the Gay, the pair are banished from the City, and fear that all hope of reaching Penelope has been lost.

Harry and Hamish are in the middle of planning a route home that means they don’t have to cross paths with Gerald again when suddenly a ghostly pirate ship appears in the water beside them. Out steps Captain Zack Sparrow, younger brother of Jack, played by Justin Bieber. He offers to take them to Penelope, since he has to stop at Centra on the way home for some ham anyway. The other packet was left open too long in the fridge and it’s gone all weird and hard around the edges. While on the ship, our characters are joined for a triumphal musical number by the entire cast of Glee, except the wheelchair kid because the ship didn’t have a ramp. Pirates are notoriously insensitive to the needs of the differently abled.

Eventually, after the thirty-minute long musical interlude ends with the teacher from Glee riding a porpoise voiced by Gary Barlow into the sunset singing ‘Unchained Melody’, Harry and Hamish arrive at their destination. They come to the foot of the tower and call Penelope’s name until she appears at the window. She looks just as radiant and beautiful as they imagined she would, although Harry remarks that she could have put in a bit of effort, since she’s just wearing a snood and a pair of trackie bottoms. They tell her to throw her hair down so they can climb up but she sensibly notes that this would leave all three of them trapped in the tower, so she just flies down to them instead, leaving Hamish to wonder aloud how a winged unicorn could have been trapped in a room with a large open window in the first place.

As the trio prepare to leave together to start their new life, Penelope asks them how in the world they ever found her.

‘Russell Brand came to us in a dream.’

‘Oh, I think I had the same one. Was he naked by any chance?’

‘Yes,’ says Hamish sombrely. ‘Yes he was.’

Our heroes slowly walk away into the background, and just as the screen is fading to black and the dulcet tones of Gary the porpoise can be heard lilting over the waves, Miley Cyrus flies through the air in a biplane hauling a huge banner that simply says, ‘The End…?’

Let’s hope not. I think I could make a career out of this screenwriting lark.


Don’t You Know About The Word?

A disability rights campaigner has written an article criticising comedian Ricky Gervais for his use of offensive language on his Twitter page. Personally I find it more offensive that someone of Gervais’s calibre has succumbed to this grammatically bereft conveyor belt of inanity from people who have unlearnt the art of the inner monologue. If texting has become the graveyard of the English language then surely Twitter is the all-consuming hellfire that expunges all manner of syntax, spelling and original thought with its demonic lust for poorly expressed clichés, unashamed product placement and the most profound abuse of the exclamation mark since it was fondled in the copy room by an over-zealous semi-colon at the punctuation Christmas party.

The word that drew the ire of the writer in question is ‘mong’, a word of which Gervais does seem to be quite fond. While the word is basically comparable to ‘idiot’ these days, it does have a history of use as a pejorative term for the disabled. It stems from the Mongoloid classification ascribed to sufferers of Down Syndrome, a term coined by John Langdon Down himself, after whom the condition is named. Down saw similarities in the facial features of his patients and those of the vast ethnic group of Asians labelled simply as Mongolians at the time. Given that the prevailing ethnic theory in those days was something in the region of “White man is God, everyone else is sub-human”, I suppose we can forgive John his appallingly racist choice of nomenclature. Political correctness has since seen the word relegated to a relic of a simpler time, until of course people like Gervais use a derivative of it and somebody takes offence.

The gradient of offence taken at the use of certain terms is interesting. In the above article the author cites the following question from a blogger as the most sensible reaction to Gervais’s use of the word: “Just a thought, but if you think ‘mong’ only means ‘idiot’, why not just use the word ‘idiot’?” I’m sure Ricky does use the word idiot, as we all do quite regularly. In fact one of his shows is called An Idiot Abroad, in which the eponymous idiot travels the globe and does idiotic things. Of course, anyone who is familiar with Dr. Henry H. Goddard’s classification system for mental retardation that was drawn up in the early 1900’s (and who isn’t?) will know that ‘idiot’ is also a term that was used to describe a mental disability. The word was used to describe a person with an IQ of less than 30; ‘imbecile’ and ‘moron’, other words used frequently today, were also terms included in the system.

So why are these words acceptable? Probably because they were used so often that their original connotations were forgotten, something that is likely to also happen with the word mong if it is allowed to proliferate and become part of an everyday lexicon. Censorship and labelling words as offensive do nothing but draw attention to their original meanings, which would otherwise become unimportant as the word evolves. People from older generations may be shocked to hear young people calling each other ‘retards’ or ‘faggots’ but the fact is that these insults are used in a completely new context, for the most part. It is only on the rare occasions that they are used vindictively in relation to disability or sexual orientation that the debate over their use becomes complicated, and any offence taken can be fully warranted.

Inevitably this episode has raised the issue of censorship of comedians, specifically the question of what, if anything, should be a taboo subject where comedy is concerned. I would be of the opinion that everything is available for parody as long as it’s more funny than it is offensive. Whether it’s religion, race, disability or whatever, by all means use the subject for comedy if you can make it funny. People don’t have a divine right not to be offended and they can simply ignore any comedy that doesn’t appeal to their sensibilities. Any hateful comments masquerading as comedy that simply target these groups or individuals won’t be funny, and are therefore just offensive. There’s a not-so-fine line between the brave, intelligent satire of someone like Louis CK, and the brazen, wilfully ignorant bleatings of the likes of Jim Davidson.

As for words like mong that still upset certain people, hopefully their original meanings will become obsolete with continued use. At this stage as a society we should have moved past the point of mere words being allowed to cause any kind of distress, no matter what their connotations are. Or maybe we’ll always have certain words whose ability to insult and injure is inescapable. Perhaps some of today’s nondescript words will one day be regarded as insults of the highest order. ‘Bieber’ may yet become an outrageously inappropriate slur hurled at simple young men with learning difficulties. The term ‘Glee’ will be used to taunt roving gangs of homosexuals. But worst of all, people whose opinions, and indeed existence, are deemed to be entirely irrelevant will forever be known as ‘Tweeters’. I’d take mong over that any day.