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Foreword by low flying city editor Dick Action
 Welcome to issue 4 of the Evening Bog Standard: the unpatronising voice of the little bog standard people.
A colleague recently said: 'some of your material fires in from leftfield'. And that was just me talking down the boozer. Yes, that is the nature of the beast. A bit like going up to Sherlock Holmes and saying: 'That's pipe smoke that is'. Life must be constantly surprising to some people: 'Wow - a door handle again'! We are updating early this week as I am off to the Lakes to argue with friends in a tent: 'You hike, I will pscylosibe and if you don't like it: kiss my purple tentacles'.
And remember: Cathart the darker, frazzled depths of your internal dialogue. Lower your tones and tone your lows.
Life is not a brand. The only remaining protest is against ourselves.
Believe in the power of negative thought. Don't listen to all those suburban faux-viveurs, posing metrosexuals, prissy purveyors of 'positivity' and riders of BMXs aged over 30.
By clicking on these pages you know you're right and they’re wrong: world is virus and we merely snot around in the dirt. So don't just smash your ceiling lights with a shovel, when next maudlin on whisky: check out our pages and share the vitriol.
Stick with me and you'll go a short way, but it will be a rage-fuelled and glorious way. Or possibly just a bit depressing. Which is all you deserve.
Dick has spoken.
Acknowledgements:
heart image supplied by:
newilluminati.blog-city.com
taliltubbies from: domal.combar |
Here come the Talitubbies!
Afghan rebels attempt to win young hearts and minds.
La La - no listenadoobie democracee! Dipsee fuso in bottle of coladoodoo! Beardee wierdee machine gun a go go!
Psycho smoke lotto poppyagaga!
Whee! We go picnico todayanooggo: feast onaroonie the corpses of Westy westy decadenciedoobie.
Aaah. So cute when they're young.
Weather
Muggy over Hackney. With a bit of GBH thrown in...
Religion Corner
Bhuddist pantomime: 'he's beyond you'
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Its Gadaffi Duck time, says Gordon
The Prime Minister has accused the Evening Bog Standard of looking for any opportunity to undermine him over issues around Libya. We deny this and are happy to report that Gordon was recently in relaxed mood in Downing Street, watching Gadaffi Duck with his family, before taking them all out for a sem-Tex Mex.
When asked if he thought it was right to leave The Troubles behind he claimed it's the sort of compensation any family deserves after the press repeatedly dropped its bombshells throughout its recent campaign.
In a further skilful move to avoid mentioning detrimental politics, he advised:
"Picture an aeroplane. Picture it being taken over by undesirables and crashing to the ground below. Well that is what will happen to this government if it continues to be hijacked by extreme viewpoints".
A fitting statement if we are to understand the extent of Gordon’s sensitive handling of the crisis.
American Insurance Companies versus Gogol
Gogol wrote Dead Souls in Russia in 1842 because: "Serfs who died in one of the periodic censuses were, until the next census, still considered taxable property despite their non-existence"* Which meant they could be bought in the interim at a cut-throat price.
Micheal Moore notes in his new film Capitalism: a Love Story, here in the 21st century, that American life insurance firms construct contracts, in secret, on their own employees, to ensure they are worth more dead, than alive.
Yeehaski!
*Fusso, S. Introduction, Dead Souls, Gogol, N. Guilbert, G. Translation [1996] Yale University Press |
Attack of the Giant Lettuce
No longer will salad evoke ordinary images of older men who’ve had a heart attack and are trying to eat less than three dead pigs a week.
The deadly green marauder is emerging like a Dr. Who Sea Monster from the shores of Brittany and going on the pale green rampage. And it is the perfect enemy. Not only does it look limp-leafed and ineffectual; it kills you by dying at your feet. Passive aggressive garnish...!?
The lettuce spends time in the shallows of France being stood on by English pensioners who wade out far enough to avoid the locals finding them and getting them to talk and eat funny. When it finally builds up enough loose-leaf resentment, under the low key prejudices of purple rinse and a more than laissez-faire attitude to the female moustache, the deadly green triffid gives up the ghost. Only then, at its most recumbent does it release deadly gases that kill you quicker than watching the box set of Lost, series yeah-whatever.
The French defence minister should be delighted, however. This time round they won't even have to take to selling exocets to the enemy as they so keenly did in the Falklands. Let them eat lettuce! The enemy will be laughing so hard when you drop it on them, they’ll breathe it in all the more.
If only Sainsbury hadn't got in first with a chemical warfare essentials range:
I'd avoid rocket in your salad. |
Evening Bog Standard 12/Sep/09 Issue 4