After 12 days (with only a single party), the overbearing horror of writing essays have finally retreated to the trenches of my subconscious. Memories of intense study periods belong somewhere between Year 7 Dance and coming home to Burgo's Catch Phrase.* I'd really just rather forget…
I find essays have about as much currency as the current Zimbabwean dollar, possibly even less. You spend considerable time reading about some rather obscure concept to another, just as absurd social aspect of some form of modernity - while you reference a whole group of pigeons who merely trot around in the same little squalid cess-pool of self-righteousness proclaiming abstractions upon theoretical evidence - then at the end, all you get back are some incomprehensible scribbles and a number out of 40 written on the back of a used dinner napkin.
Unless of course, the essay is this.
As Mao Tse-Tung wisely once said:
A revolution is not a dinner party, or writing an essay, or painting a picture, or doing embroidery.
* Note: I strongly urge you to check out John Burgess' website. I can't credit its amazement enough. A wealth of information is there for the chronically-starving fan, including this spellbinding opening:
After leaving school in the late 50’s….John Burgess’s colourful career began as an accomplished and talented tennis player… During that time he worked at the N.R.M.A. travel department…
Riveting!
I know I am ugly, but I glow at night
17 years ago
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Ahaaa!
ReplyDeleteSo funny you should be so heavily involved in Baby J, as apart from Light FM the Christian alternative the only other station i can pick up in my truck at work is 3mp easy listening. Baby john takes the morning shift and he drives me crazy. Each morning he shares a joke which to be expected is so bad it leaves you questioning his mental stability or how his wife braves another day of coming home to this rediculas man. How ever nothing is quiet as amusing as his radio segment of catch phrase which drags on for months. When the catch phrase is finally reviled it bares little to no resembelence the the given clue. I react with a physical up roar of rage and fury.
This straw that broke the camles back how ever was one afternoon i called into 3mp to win myself some 'Cool Climate wine festival' tickets. I got straight through as Beryl from mornington couldnt spin the numbers on her mid 80's phone in time to beat me. I won the tickets and went down to the studios of 3mp (shared with the sport loving SEN) to pick up my tickets. When i entered the studio there was a 12 ft framed black and white glamor shot of none other than Baby Jon Fucking Burge on the wall. Now between 3mp and Sen there is a wealth of presenters, but apparently only one feels the need to plaster his smug face over the walls. Burge your an arogant son of a bitch and i dont like you!!!
"self-righteousness proclaiming abstractions upon theoretical evidence"
ReplyDeleteHow is it all the way up there on your pedestal?
Baby John ftw.
Sorry Anonymous - I can't quite hear you all the way down there in the gutter…
ReplyDelete