Thursday, July 01, 2004
If I Get Locked Up Tonight...
The pub isn't all its cracked up to be. But it says something about the way booze and social company loosens the spinchter when beggars find it vital to come in and ask for some change. Last night, I was at a boozer in Central London and a bloke comes in with a tattered copy of the Big Issue which he pretended to be selling, and asked each table if they had change. By day, I'm tight as a duck's butthole, but in the pub I was feeling kind of loose about it. So I gave him two quid. Strange to relate, my drinking companions thought that this was an appropriate occasion to commend my virtue and deliver a polite round of applause.
"Fuck off!" I snarled. "I don't want yer fucking moral approbation."
I'm kind of anal about my probity that way.
Anyway, we talked about work, politics, the war. Yeah, if you want a good night's entertainment, round up your drunk friends and get them chatting about the war. You're about to par-tay down.
One of the wierdest thing people say to me about this is: "So, okay, I know you think it's all bullshit, just for the Americans to get the oil and that, but you support the troops don't you?"
"Sure. Sure I do. Is that the bus?"
Support the troops? As a certain someone once said "like a rope supports a hanging man". Maybe I'm way out of line here, but last time I checked these guys were armed to the teeth, blasting the fuck out of anything that got in the way and they weren't taking opinion polls on the matter. These guys are trained killers, since when were they worthy of public deification? Can you imagine them in their B-52 planes, hovering over the desert, enemy city in sight, bombs ready to fall? The finger's on the fucking button, and someone says "wait! I get the feeling some London voter isn't entirely behind our venture... I dunno if I can go through with this, what with my morale being so wounded."
And these fucking media mongrel brats suck up to the Golden Retard and his simpering care assistant, Reverend Blair and expect us to become sheep because "our boys" are out there risking their lives. Pity that during the war it was mainly because the US is employing National Security guards on their weekends off to conduct the bombing raids, and these crackers can't tell shit from shoeshine. Allied vehicles have big 'V's on them, and they still manage to mistake them for Iraqi convoys... Jesus fucking Christ.
I swear to God, I woke up in the best mood.
Well, that is roughly the quality and content of my drunken rant. Fist-fights ensued.
"Fuck off!" I snarled. "I don't want yer fucking moral approbation."
I'm kind of anal about my probity that way.
Anyway, we talked about work, politics, the war. Yeah, if you want a good night's entertainment, round up your drunk friends and get them chatting about the war. You're about to par-tay down.
One of the wierdest thing people say to me about this is: "So, okay, I know you think it's all bullshit, just for the Americans to get the oil and that, but you support the troops don't you?"
"Sure. Sure I do. Is that the bus?"
Support the troops? As a certain someone once said "like a rope supports a hanging man". Maybe I'm way out of line here, but last time I checked these guys were armed to the teeth, blasting the fuck out of anything that got in the way and they weren't taking opinion polls on the matter. These guys are trained killers, since when were they worthy of public deification? Can you imagine them in their B-52 planes, hovering over the desert, enemy city in sight, bombs ready to fall? The finger's on the fucking button, and someone says "wait! I get the feeling some London voter isn't entirely behind our venture... I dunno if I can go through with this, what with my morale being so wounded."
And these fucking media mongrel brats suck up to the Golden Retard and his simpering care assistant, Reverend Blair and expect us to become sheep because "our boys" are out there risking their lives. Pity that during the war it was mainly because the US is employing National Security guards on their weekends off to conduct the bombing raids, and these crackers can't tell shit from shoeshine. Allied vehicles have big 'V's on them, and they still manage to mistake them for Iraqi convoys... Jesus fucking Christ.
I swear to God, I woke up in the best mood.
Well, that is roughly the quality and content of my drunken rant. Fist-fights ensued.
