Dec 2017
every day i check the date of a programme,
right at the end of the credits it appears,
and even though i'm not so tough
when it comes to doing modern
mathematics using roman numerals
i spot the oddity, or the blazing truth
of it all...
what year are we in nearing
its closure? MMXVII - that's what i thought
two thousand seventeen...
but i'm sitting in zombie mode watching
a main-stream show, beginning at
5pm and ending with an hour,
and the credits read MMXVI...
2016?! you have to be kidding me!
i'm watching bulimia of culture?
regurgitated rerun crap?!
why would you even be demanded
to pay a t.v. license,
when the shows you're watching are
provided by a corporation that's,
frankly... bankrupt?
maybe it was once the correct
acronym b.b.c. (british broadcasting
corporation)... these days though?
more like bankrupt broadcasting corporation...
so you get to keep the b.b. after all...
t.v., a fascinating object these days,
i do enjoy the ketaminesque numbness
of with glued eyes to it...
and i'll only trust you when you
say you don't watch t.v. if you have one
of two replacements...
a fireplace... or a ******* aquarium!
i have to turn into a zombie for at least
an hour, or watch a football match to
get my bearings and not turn into
a flamboyant mix between Sid Vicious,
Herb Hancock, David Bowie, Marc Bolan
and a Charlie Chaplin cuckoo!
the b.b.c. is broke...
it's bankrupt!
the only money they do have
is bound to fuelling that farcical affair
of trying to revive dancing, not in a nightclub
but at some charity ball,
and not high on ecstasy... good, luck!
*** died when people stopped dancing
like some imitation of kuru...
and thanks to freud,
i can safely say... shove that blue pill right
up your **** and tell me if you start
to feel a ****** johnny jr. after a while...
the madonna-***** complex was always
going to be a problem...
i checked, seen about 5+ prostitutes
about it, and each time i see skyscrapers!
and the strangest bouncing fever ever
ascribed to ****** parts that look
like two octopuses *******...
so who needs the via, the via...
gr'ah?
please show the gentlemen
to the prozzie and i'll show you
a dysfunctional woman...
all that sweat talk in the bedroom
comes around like cough medicine...
there really are female doctors in
this world, obviously unorthodox,
but as ancient as shamans...
i pay for an hour,
i don't have to deliberate paying for a meal...
well... it is a meal technically...
but you know what i mean.
is it slavery?
really?
i pay, where's the slave aspect of:
not being paid?
at one hundred & ten quid an hour?!
you'd get lucky earning more than a tenner
in your usual knuckle-grinding factory!
besides the point...
the b.b.c. is bankrupt!
and since when did journalists deviate
from the ethos as depicted by
hoffman & redford in
all the president's men?
sure, there are still the bastion
keepers, but generally speaking,
journalism has become the equivalent
of ******* words...
i know i don't trust politicians
because: Simon says - Brutus said it first...
but a distrust of journalism?!
once the noble, ambitious prospect...
now... ditto-heads and...
there's a big difference between being
offended and being annoyed...
eastern european brood, "collective" -
politically it's deemed "east" when in fact
it's central -
you want east you head
as far back as the Ural Mountains...
then it's east...
and pathos of island
dwelling people...
they're all alike,
the mentality of: we can do it by ourselves!
and we'll be the ones singing at our own
funeral, too!
well... better start singing...
it's not unique in that it is unique
concerning people living on islands...
they are predisposed to isolationism...
which is why the fiasco that is brexit is,
well... to put it mildly... unspectacular.
still,
i know i have to distrust a politician,
much harder to have to distrust a journalists,
but, so it seems,
i have to distrust journalists
more than politicians these these days...
because at least i know what i'll
get with the latter... not so much with the former...
with one i'm the mob, with the other:
a dumb witted so-and-so...
and that's much harder to orientate myself
into... shame, really...
my distrust must have originated in
the milly dowler case -
tabloid still means toilet paper,
doesn't it?
and to think, toilet paper costs
more than a tabloid newspaper.
right at the end of the credits it appears,
and even though i'm not so tough
when it comes to doing modern
mathematics using roman numerals
i spot the oddity, or the blazing truth
of it all...
what year are we in nearing
its closure? MMXVII - that's what i thought
two thousand seventeen...
but i'm sitting in zombie mode watching
a main-stream show, beginning at
5pm and ending with an hour,
and the credits read MMXVI...
2016?! you have to be kidding me!
i'm watching bulimia of culture?
regurgitated rerun crap?!
why would you even be demanded
to pay a t.v. license,
when the shows you're watching are
provided by a corporation that's,
frankly... bankrupt?
maybe it was once the correct
acronym b.b.c. (british broadcasting
corporation)... these days though?
more like bankrupt broadcasting corporation...
so you get to keep the b.b. after all...
t.v., a fascinating object these days,
i do enjoy the ketaminesque numbness
of with glued eyes to it...
and i'll only trust you when you
say you don't watch t.v. if you have one
of two replacements...
a fireplace... or a ******* aquarium!
i have to turn into a zombie for at least
an hour, or watch a football match to
get my bearings and not turn into
a flamboyant mix between Sid Vicious,
Herb Hancock, David Bowie, Marc Bolan
and a Charlie Chaplin cuckoo!
the b.b.c. is broke...
it's bankrupt!
the only money they do have
is bound to fuelling that farcical affair
of trying to revive dancing, not in a nightclub
but at some charity ball,
and not high on ecstasy... good, luck!
*** died when people stopped dancing
like some imitation of kuru...
and thanks to freud,
i can safely say... shove that blue pill right
up your **** and tell me if you start
to feel a ****** johnny jr. after a while...
the madonna-***** complex was always
going to be a problem...
i checked, seen about 5+ prostitutes
about it, and each time i see skyscrapers!
and the strangest bouncing fever ever
ascribed to ****** parts that look
like two octopuses *******...
so who needs the via, the via...
gr'ah?
please show the gentlemen
to the prozzie and i'll show you
a dysfunctional woman...
all that sweat talk in the bedroom
comes around like cough medicine...
there really are female doctors in
this world, obviously unorthodox,
but as ancient as shamans...
i pay for an hour,
i don't have to deliberate paying for a meal...
well... it is a meal technically...
but you know what i mean.
is it slavery?
really?
i pay, where's the slave aspect of:
not being paid?
at one hundred & ten quid an hour?!
you'd get lucky earning more than a tenner
in your usual knuckle-grinding factory!
besides the point...
the b.b.c. is bankrupt!
and since when did journalists deviate
from the ethos as depicted by
hoffman & redford in
all the president's men?
sure, there are still the bastion
keepers, but generally speaking,
journalism has become the equivalent
of ******* words...
i know i don't trust politicians
because: Simon says - Brutus said it first...
but a distrust of journalism?!
once the noble, ambitious prospect...
now... ditto-heads and...
there's a big difference between being
offended and being annoyed...
eastern european brood, "collective" -
politically it's deemed "east" when in fact
it's central -
you want east you head
as far back as the Ural Mountains...
then it's east...
and pathos of island
dwelling people...
they're all alike,
the mentality of: we can do it by ourselves!
and we'll be the ones singing at our own
funeral, too!
well... better start singing...
it's not unique in that it is unique
concerning people living on islands...
they are predisposed to isolationism...
which is why the fiasco that is brexit is,
well... to put it mildly... unspectacular.
still,
i know i have to distrust a politician,
much harder to have to distrust a journalists,
but, so it seems,
i have to distrust journalists
more than politicians these these days...
because at least i know what i'll
get with the latter... not so much with the former...
with one i'm the mob, with the other:
a dumb witted so-and-so...
and that's much harder to orientate myself
into... shame, really...
my distrust must have originated in
the milly dowler case -
tabloid still means toilet paper,
doesn't it?
and to think, toilet paper costs
more than a tabloid newspaper.
