(Above: if you're a reader of The Australian, remember Je ne ramasse pas!)
The Australian, the paranoid schizophrenic winner of the loon pond award for loonacy in 2010, never disappoints, and so it is with its tremendous editorial, a sermon titled Spare us the Christmas sermon, thoughtfully penned on Christmas Eve and full of the spiteful malice which currently marks the meditations of the rag, and therefore deserving of notice, even if it is on Boxing Day, because the desire of the rag to cuff the ears of all and sundry surely is in the spirit of the boxing day season.
After bemoaning Earth Hour, the anonymous editorialist berates Fairfax for another assault on the spirit of Christmas, in much the same childish spirit as the Cut and Paste section refers to The Age as the Yarra anarcho-syndicalist collective:
They are busy greening Santa's suit with vegetable dye, replacing Turkey and French champagne with tofu and Fairtrade iced tea and The Sydney Morning Herald has even suggested buying a sack of cow manure for the Third World as a choice gift for a loved one. The Age is also urging us along the path of righteousness, pondering whether presents should not be wrapped to save paper, canvassing the relative environmental merits of recycled or electronic cards, reporting which light bulbs use the least energy and advocating "social awareness" in gift-giving. By Boxing Day, African villages will be overrun with goats, donkeys and pigs, courtesy of inner-city sophisticates assuaging their anti-consumerist consciences.
Sob. It's yet another reference to inner-city sophisticates. The rant, the rage, is so palpable and perverted, you have to wonder why any inner-city sophisticate in Australia would ever be so full of self-loathing as to buy the rag.
The Australian's own pious sermon from the mount?
Thankfully, hardly anyone listens these days to the progressive paragons preaching the revised, new age commandments with a fervour that would make Billy Graham blush. They are welcome to recycle everything but the kitchen sink, clean up their dogs' droppings and agonise over the morality of keeping a pet. The rest of us will be celebrating with traditional excess with family and friends.
Uh huh. Well here's hoping that this anonymous editorialist has the pleasure of stepping in dog shit left smelling on the pavement by someone who didn't worry about the business of cleaning up their dog shit. With a bit of luck, the smell of the shit will ruin their holiday season.
Sheesh, there's traditional excess, and then there's just sheer humbug. No doubt The Australian approves of littering and dirtying up the countryside just to make a point that it's a good ol' boy with not a hint of political correctness.
Well, in the spirit of traditional excess, fuck them and the horse that they rode in on, and can someone remind them to pick up all the bottles they left behind in their orgy of traditional excess, and put them in a recycling bin.
It's the sheer monstrous offensive stupidity of the rant which is the mark of the new tone over at the rag, which sees the paper as some kind of regressive retro supporter of the values of nineteen fifties Australia. Litter the country, forget the dog shit, and make sure you get on the grog, and then drive home as pissed as a parrot. Remember, a nun is worth a hundred points, a cripple in a wheelchair two hundred ...
It says much for the resilience of this mid-winter festival that it survived transportation to a sunnier hemisphere and is celebrated by Australians of all faiths or none. It has burned bright this year in the unabashed joy of 100,000 Sydneysiders belting out Christmas carols in the Domain watched by a large national audience, and in homes, workplaces, shops and churches as a sign of renewal and a celebration of love, friendship and generosity. So important is Christmas that had Emperor Constantine and the early church not harnessed the trimmings of the winter festival of mithra in the 4th century to mark the birth of Jesus, mankind would have needed to create a similar celebration.
Um, and in the generous spirit The Australian offers to its Fairfax competitors?
As for the ersatz history lesson, forget it. As noted before on these pages by a kind reader, mankind had already created a similar celebration to Xmas, the Roman festival Saturnalia, somewhere around 217BC, so there was no need to create a similar celebration in the fourth century AD. But you have to admit, pig headed ignorance of history and the lack of generosity of spirit rather suits the tone of the rest of the piece ...
Naturally this abusive bah humbugging Scrooge with the flinty attitude to Fairfax and do gooders is also willing to purloin the thoughts of Scrooge:
To those intent on a low-carbon Christmas, we offer these words from Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol: "Darkness is cheap. Scrooge liked the dark."
To those intent on a low-carbon Christmas, we offer these words from Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol: "Darkness is cheap. Scrooge liked the dark."
Dickens would be rolling in his do gooder grave.
The rest of us will light up a dazzling tree, spread the good champers, give with joy, take pleasure in visiting the crib and smiling or laughing at a grinch. The Australian wishes readers a Happy Christmas and a safe, prosperous 2011.
Actually, as an inner city sophisticate, in the spirit of laughing at grinches, can I just tell the overindulgent, extravagant, profligate, debauched, dissipated, intemperate, prodigal, immoderate, unrestrained, undisciplined, superabundant anonymous editorialist to get fucked, and may The Australian's 2011 be filled with the smell of dog shit in their nostrils, delivered fresh from the soiled inner city pavement on which they tread ... assuming of course that they work at the sophisticated inner city elite address of 2 Holt Street, Surry Hills ...
Oh that feels better, now all that remains is for inner city sophisticates such as myself to walk past the offices of these retrograde dissidents armed with an array of pampered, well fed pooches.
Then it's just a matter of instruct our traditionally excessive hounds to deposit a steaming pile in Holt street ... and not to pick up, as is the custom of the French in Paris, who rigorously refuse to follow the signs entreating them to 'ramasse'.
Verily, I say unto you it will be easier for a rich man or The Australian's editorialist to pass through the eye of a needle than to get into a dog shit free heaven. And now for a little socialist cant from the man god at the eye of The Australian's editorialist:
Jesus said unto him, If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me.
But when the young man heard that saying, he went away sorrowful: for he had great possessions.
Then said Jesus unto his disciples, Verily I say unto you, That a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven.
Then said Jesus unto his disciples, Verily I say unto you, That a rich man shall hardly enter into the kingdom of heaven.
And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.
When his disciples heard it, they were exceedingly amazed, saying, Who then can be saved?
But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.
Then answered Peter and said unto him, Behold, we have forsaken all, and followed thee; what shall we have therefore?
And Jesus said unto them, Verily I say unto you, That ye which have followed me, in the regeneration when the Son of man shall sit in the throne of his glory, ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.
And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.
Indeed. I wonder if The Australian's traditional excess will get a guernsey?
When his disciples heard it, they were exceedingly amazed, saying, Who then can be saved?
But Jesus beheld them, and said unto them, With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible.
Then answered Peter and said unto him, Behold, we have forsaken all, and followed thee; what shall we have therefore?
And Jesus said unto them, Verily I say unto you, That ye which have followed me, in the regeneration when the Son of man shall sit in the throne of his glory, ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.
And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name's sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.
Indeed. I wonder if The Australian's traditional excess will get a guernsey?
But at least this piece of clap trap proves the rag and its anonymous editorialist are a worthy winner of loon pond's 2010 award as the most intemperate, useless piece of paranoid schizophrenic dog turd wrapping doing the rounds. I mean, if you're going to scribble nonsense, at least make it humorous nonsense ...
It reminds me of the spirit of Christmas on view in Fox News's Christmas card:
That's right, foxes playing chess with sheep. No doubt the Fox Team saw it - in the peculiar Murdoch land spirit of Christmas - as a jab in the eye for their sheepish competitors, failing to understand that the lack of generosity in their accompanying rhyme meant a few might take the sheep for Fox viewers, pawns of Chairman Murdoch and his cruel wild foxes:
Some of the other networks,
Tried to beat us with silly games.
As FNC continued to dominate,
Their attempts all went down in flames. (and for the rest of the offensive jingle, go here).
Tried to beat us with silly games.
As FNC continued to dominate,
Their attempts all went down in flames. (and for the rest of the offensive jingle, go here).
Yep, that's the spirit of Christmas in Murdoch land. Not a moment when you can't be beating up on rivals, Fairfax media, and sophisticated inner city elites.
Talk about the spirit of Xmas. Waiter, pass me another Bundaberg rum, I'm going to get as pissed as a parrot, and mad as hell, and walk out in the street and bash up some passing wanker ... only in the way of celebrating traditional Australian excess of course ...
And now a reminder that Don't Shoot Your Eye Out! is currently available as a two minute time waster for the holiday season ... You might, if you were an editorialist for The Australian, take this as a bit of advice, but as the rag regularly shoots its eye out, they shouldn't play the game at all.
Actually it's just a chance to score a few points in a commercial flash game, and waste a couple of minutes of your life, which will never come back. I gave up after scoring seven and a half million. Not boasting, just saying ...
Update: meanwhile, over at Fairfax, they chose National Leftovers day aka Boxing Day to run Wasteland: the $7.8b of food Aussies throw away. Of course if you thought about the efficiencies involved, in a free market system, you might invest in just in time ordering, efficient usage, and sensible, efficient and useful waste disposal. But apparently that's not the schtick of the gluttonous, debauched, excessive, indulged, conspicuous consumers at The Australian ...
(Below: aw, aren't the critters in this Virginia anti-litter poster cute. Bet they're actually part of a sophisticated inner city elite, with an inclination to read Fairfax rags, and maintain a stout-hearted anti-dog turd attitude).
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