He peeks into the kitchen and sighs, realising that the cowardly Pemberton Inkwell has neglected his pot-washing chores yet again. Shaking his noble fist, The Quiller plots his revenge against the snivelling weasel. At least he would if he wasn't his alter ego. He's not going to punch his own face to pieces like Jim Carrey in Me, Myself and Irene. God that movie was fucking terrible.
He also wonders why he's had to type this out twice now!!!!
If you ever find your self in the position to purchase a Netbook, inject herpes into your eyeballs. The experience will turn out to be a more enjoyable one. And the symptoms will heal a great deal quicker than it takes the Netbook to open a pdf file.
Rant of the Day
Two mini rants make up for one giant rant today. Think of it as two mini KFC Fillet Burgers to replace one Fillet Burger meal. Only you won't be required to have your ventricles unblocked afterwards.
The first comes because I don't want to alienate my non-football audience. And because it's fun to pick on trivial stuff like politics and the economy every once in a while, instead of the important stuff like transfer deadline day and Joey Barton's tweets (bless him, he's discovered how to look up quotes on the internet and that he has opposable thumbs).
Due to the absence of Lord Daffodil and his paper-buying duties YET AGAIN, The Quiller was restricted in his search to right wrongs Or at the very least, have a jolly good moan about events he has absolutely no control over.
So we're going for the obscure today. There was a report doing the rounds about whether dwarves should accept stereotypical roles in todays modern society.
Yes, they should. They totally should.
I can't see George Clooney Squeezing himself into R2D2's shell or the cast of Glee poncing about in Ewok costumes (though they do have the same talent threshhold as a cuddly teddy bear). Surely it isn''t degrading to a person who happens to be 3ft tall to take advantage of a natural strength? I don't see anyone asking Kobe Bryant whether he feels he's being typecast as a basketball legend just because he's 6ft 6 in. Or David Cameron whingeing that he was forced to behave like a rich prick because he was born that way.
Poking fun at people who happen to be in the minor percentile of society is of course a dumb and cheap way to assert your own feeble ego. I shouldn't even need to write that sentence. But it does strike me that there really never seems to be any sensible middle ground.
We have huge debates about fat people being mocked and laughed at, but what about the severely thin? We have issues around the ethnic community (I hate that word - it's such a middle class way of avoiding being racist) that spiral so quickly questions are asked in parliament, but what about the white lower classes who are suffering just as much at the hands of a widening social gap? And yes, we have issues around even what we refer to short people as - midget, dwarf etc, but what about the excessively tall?
But we can't really see why any of these groups could possibly have similar issues at all. And if they do - they're thin, white and tall! Bollocks to them!
Equality, eh?
Rant of the Day II/Quote of the Day
Like a Royal Wedding, this will be brief.
Early reports were raining down all over the telebox and radio this morning that Fabio Capello, Englands International Manager and Postman Pat look-a-likee, has written off Englands chances of beating World and European champions Spain at the weekend.
One has great experience in dealing with pussies. The other one is a Postman. Ba-dum-dum - tsssshh.
Ok, number one. How is this newsworthy? To reiterate, Spain are the WORLD and EUROPEAN champions, they have gone two qualifying campaigns with 100% records, their first XI contains the majority of what critics are calling the greatest team of all time in Barcelona, and England have a whole host of players missing. Oh, and they're shit to boot.
Secondly, this is why nobody can really be arsed about the national side anymore. There is so much media attention foised on them each and every game that it's become common to have seven pages of analysis after a single friendly International. When England won the World Cup in 1966, the headline read 'England win World Cup - see back page for details'. And that was it.
Now we have to listen to analyse and verdicts from every Tom, Dick and Hard-on about every word of dialogue from every press conference ever hosted. I'll be honest, Martin Luther King, Gandhi, JFK, even Hitler - these guys could give a speech worthy of some elucidation. However, John Terry mumbling in cockney that the boys will have to give '110%' and whichever idiot has been caught hanging out of the back of his Wife's Sister isn't a problem as 'his heads in the right place' and he's a 'true professional' doesn't really strike me as particularly earth-shattering.
It's akin to Party Political Conference's and the ridiculous suits who are wheeled out on News 24 to shed some light on body language, stance and how what they thought would be in the speech was in the speech, but it was the emphasis on these bits of the speech that were crucial to the reaction of the speech...
Oh, fuck offffffffffff.
Does anyone remember where they were when Ed Milliband droned on about how they are a 'party of change' or when Wayne Rooney confirmed he would go out and try to 'do a goal'?
Bet you remember where you were when the Berlin wall came down and have fond memories of when Giggs went through the entire Arsenal team to clinch the semi final in 1999, effectively setting United up for the treble (as a Liverpool fan, I certainly do. With murderous rage).
See, words are wonderful tools. They can be used as comfort blankets as well as destructive weapons, and I wouldn't be sat tapping away if I didn't enjoy what they can do. But actions really do speak louder than words ever can. And there is a large part of my soul that feels tainted by the constant hype and critique of words, when it would have been much purer to just wait for the act itself and react to that instead.
As David Mitchell said of David Cameron's reaction to stating that he was not a smug person;
" Oh I'm not smug, and I'm not horrible, and I'm not dishonest. SHUT UP! DO THINGS! "
Wow! That was actually longer than I thought. Turns out I'm not quite getting the hang of this blog lark and honing my posts to not ramble on like a twelve year old trying to impress a girl. Apologies. The Quiller will try harder.
I saw a clown today! Fully dressed and walking down the street and everything. Though it was near the local secondary school at lunch time, so I think I'll be off now and see if I can spot his shoes near the vicinity, as that'll be all that's left of the naive balloon-botherer by now.
To the next page, parchment miters!
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