Glob-a-log

In an earlier column I reported on the fact that the mother of Britney Spears was planning to write a book on parenting. This was what the Guardian’s Marina Hyde then wrote about that brilliant idea:

Almost incredibly, though, it turns out that this week Britney’s not even the most foolhardy member of her own family, as it is announced that her mother is to pen a parenting manual. Whatever the circumstances that attend the idea Lynne Spears’s publisher confirms a “how to” book is on its way, which is excellent news for each and every mother who has watched Britney emerge from the chrysalis of sanity and thought: “Gee, I’d love one like that, but where in the heck do you start?”

Crucially, according to Lynne’s agent, it’s not just a parenting book. “It’s a parenting book that’s going to have faith elements to it.” Yes, sometimes we all need a reminder that it’s not enough just to force a weeping eight-year-old Mouseketeer up the great showbiz chimney. You have to know what prayers to say as you light the fire below.

Indeed. Well, sometimes God smiles on the whole idea of publishing books with ‘faith elements’ and at other times He, with great subtlety, let it be known that He doesn’t:

“We understand that Lynne needs to spend time with her family now,” Nobles said.

Hear, hear. Her daughters so need to have their momma around to install even more moral life lessons in them, offer parental guidance and what have you.

Still, sarcasm aside, what can you do with these two, parentally poorly served girls? Britney, who, together with those other two heads (Paris Hilton & Nicole Richie) form that very weird celebrity equivalent of the Hell hound Cerberus, has already proven that neither rehab nor prison quite do the trick.

Happily, the answer may be found in Poland, somewhere close to the border with Germany. So, my proposition would be to charter a handful of big Boeings and a dozen or so trains and give the whole A, B ,C till Z list of celebrities one-way tickets to Poczernin (which, as everybody knows is just a 30km journey away from the Baltic city of Szczeczin):

Poland is planning to open its first ever exorcism centre near the German border, Dziennik newspaper reports. A Catholic priest plans to open the centre for people believed to be possessed by the Devil in Poczernin, 30km to the east of the Baltic city of Szczeczin.

The exorcism centre is expected to have a chapel and guest rooms and it is expected to be built near the edge of the forest. It plans to offer spiritual help to the needy, the reports said.

Well, priest and exorcist Andrzej Trojanowski might not be very happy with the whole idea but even he will have to admit that they don’t come any needier than our current lot of celebs.

These days there are probably as many dating sites as there are corny opening lines - and most of former will be as useless to the desperate singleton as the latter.

However, how many of these sites deal with the problems that come with dating deities? There are billions of people who are members of the four largest religions: Christianity, Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism - but where are the manuals which would help them to date one of their Gods and/or principle prophets?

The sad answer is: They don’t exist. Or, better, they didn’t - for here’s a short guide on dating Gods.

Christianity.

Dating tips for women:
It is often said that Jesus loves all. That’s quite possible, of course, but that doesn’t make Him good dating material. The only women that feature heavily in His life are His mother and an ex-prostitute. The Bible doesn’t say anything about Him ever having gone on any date. (Though this might have to do with the fact that these dates went wrong very quickly indeed.)
Advice: Don’t bother.

Dating tips for men:
Many men have been there: you date someone and she is stringing you along for ever and ever amen. No hugging, no kissing, no nakedness and no sex, of course. She wants to stay a virgin till marriage. And then, one day, she will show up and tell you she is pregnant with someone else’s child. And she’ll claim it was God’s will and that’s she still won’t sleep with you because she wants to remain a virgin.
Advice: Run like Hell.

Buddhism:

Dating tips for women:
Sure, when he’s young the Buddha is a fun type: rich, easy-going - a bit of a playboy maybe but the marrying kind. Then, when you are married he will suddenly get a midlife crisis (but will call it ‘enlightenment’) and bugger off and leave you with the kids, the mortgage and a very empty bed.
Advice: Tell him to shove it or get some serious prenuptial deal.

Dating tips for men:
The only time that women are referred to in Buddhism it’s as Buddhist nuns.
Advice: Don’t go there.

Islam:

Dating tips for women:
They say Allah is great. We have no reason to doubt this but that doesn’t make Him automatically good dating material. With all due respect to Him and his volatile followers: Allah is a bit of a frat prat. His idea of Heaven: 72 virgins.
Advice: Tell Him to grow up and come back when He’s ready for the real thing.

Dating tips for men:
Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in prison or in some paedophile Heaven like Goa, don’t try to step into the footsteps of the prophet Mohammed (blessed be his name and everything, of course.) Dating and marrying and having ‘relations’ with nine years’ old girls is a bit frowned upon these days - and, quite frankly, your wedding picture will look more than a bit tacky.
Advice: Don’t do it.

Hinduism:

Dating tips for women:
Brahma is the Father of all. The great Creator. The omnipotent. The big cheese. Which sounds ideal for a certain type of women. However, these women should be aware of the fact that Brahma grew Himself five heads, so that He could watch all the women in the world that He fancied without ever having to turn His head.
Advice: Hopeless. Tell him to put all His heads where the sun won’t shine.

Dating tips for men:
Kali is the most powerful Goddess in Hinduism. At first glance She is the ideal woman for any guy with lots of sex on the brain. She walks around semi-naked, in a state of permanent intoxication, with wild hair - and has four arms and lots of clever fingers, and has a hungry and wicked long tongue.
On the down side: She’s in a permanent state of rage, wields knives, wears a necklace of male skulls and is most often portrayed as standing over the dead body of the God Shiva. On Facebook she calls herself ‘The destroyer.’
Advice: Don’t even fucking think about it.

It is that time of year when, out of feelings of guilt, from the goodness of their heart or as a public relation exercise, all kinds of people ask us to think of our fellow man - that is, that segment of the population that is a) having a hard time of it and b) in that vague, Victorian way ‘deserving.’

So, we see the usual suspect list of celebs working the line in soup kitchens, and of course, all kinds of politicians asking us to think of those brave men and women who wear the uniform. Which, of course, is a good thing. The people wearing the uniform don’t, on the whole, ask to be sent to various Hell holes all over the world to get shot at for all kinds of dubious reasons, so they do indeed deserve some support. They also deserve a better class of political masters but even the most ardent seasonal good cheer thoughts & messages can only deliver so much.

Anyway, while we’re on the subject of uniforms, there’s another group of people who could do with some moral support and, if one believes in that kind of thing, our prayers. So, please, spare a thought for all of those poor Santas who proudly wear their reds & whites. For I tell you, it can get quite rough out there:

DANBURY, Conn. (AP) — A Santa at the Danbury Fair mall said the woman who sat on his lap groped him. “The security officer at the mall said Santa Claus has been sexually assaulted,” police Detective Lt. Thomas Michael said of the weekend complaint.

Sandrama Lamy, 33, of Danbury, was charged with sexual assault and breach of peace. She was released on a promise to appear in court on Jan. 3.

Police did not give the name of the disconcerted Santa, but they said he is 65 and felt badly because children were waiting to see him. “He was apparently shocked and embarrassed by the whole incident,” Myles said.

However, if you think that must have been painful and quite upsetting for our virtuous Santa, I must fall back on that all time favourite cliché, ‘Baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet!’ No, I’m sure it’s not very nice to be groped in the line of duty but what happened to this other Santa… Well, just read for yourself:

SUSPECTED drug dealers fired gunshots at a helicopter flying Santa Claus into a Rio de Janeiro slum to deliver presents to children. Police blamed the attack on drug traffickers at war with a rival gang in the nearby Vila Joao favela.

No one was injured in the attack, but at least two bullet holes were found on the helicopter.

One can see that Santa’s job is no sinecure. Still, most Santas are made of pretty stern stuff(ing) and this one truly performed well beyond the call of duty:

After coming under fire, the pilot flew back to a heliport, where, undeterred, the man dressed as Santa hopped in a car to head back to the Baixa do Sapateiro favela, or slum neighbourhood, for the Christmas party on Sunday, according to police.

Charles Goncalves, the president of the Baixa do Sapateiro Neighbours Association, said his group picked up the Santa after he called to tell them about the incident.

“The party continued with more than 1000 people, including parents and children,” he said.

Oh, and before I leave you, it’s not just our soldiers and all those Santas out there whom we should honour and cherish. If you want another seasonal hard luck story, just read what happened one night to that oldest of mankind’s servants: good old, faithful Death Itself:

A MAN standing outside Morecambe police station dressed as the ‘Grim Reaper’ was arrested after a drunken night that went from bad to worse.

Christopher Kelly, 31, had come to Morecambe on October 5 with a group of friends from Nelson and got extremely drunk on lager and vodka. Kelly lost his mates and wandered onto the beach where he got stuck in boggy sand and lost his shoes, trousers and jacket.

Cold and wet, he staggered across the road to Morecambe Town Hall where, seeing a window open, he climbed inside. There he went in various rooms, took a camera and a mobile phone which he tried to use to call his friends. Then he soiled his underwear which he threw into a black bin bag.

He found a ‘Grim Reaper’ fancy dress outfit and put this on before leaving the town hall and wandering down Lord Street towards Poulton Square where he eventually arrived at the police station which was, at that time, unmanned. He stood there for three hours, still in the Grim Reaper gear, until police arrived.

As the tale was being outlined by prosecutor Peter Bardsley at Lancaster Magistrates’ Court on Friday, one probation service officer had to leave the courtroom in a fit of laughter.

And yet another bunch of fucking P.C. imbeciles have gone and done it again:

It may have been done with the most progressive of intentions, but BBC Radio 1’s decision to censor a lyric from Kirsty MacColl and Shane McGowan’s Christmas standard Fairytale of New York looks rather to have backfired this morning.

A decision by Radio 1 chiefs has meant that Fairytale, a ballad apparently conducted between two rowing drunks, has been edited so as to obscure the lines “You cheap lousy faggot” and “an old slut on junk”, a decision that was criticised this morning by MacColl’s own mother.

Speaking on Radio 5 Live, Jean MacColl - whose daughter died in an accident off the coast of Mexico in 2000 - called the decision “too ridiculous”.

“Radio 1 are playing an edited version of the Fairytale of New York that does not include the world ‘faggot’ as this is a word that members of our audience would find offensive,” the BBC said in a statement. Radio 1 executives met this morning to discuss the decision, but agreed to continue playing the edited version.

Wankers.

Here’s the original ‘Fairytale of new York’:

People can be quite weird. Weird as a bucket of drunk, cross-dressing gerbils trying to sing Händel’s Hallelujah Chorus. However, that’s when you look at people individually. When you talk about groups of people, especially when they ‘function’ within bureaucratic entities, they become depressingly boring and predictable.

What’s worse, people in these kinds of bureaucratic set-ups lose almost all their moral sense too. They become, in effect, camp guards, blithely and unthinkingly obeying orders. Following procedure, these bureaucratic drones become, in fact, quite monstrous:

Kirsty Oldfield, 17, was left devastated after her mother Jayne, 45, a nurse, died last year. Then, in January, her father Chris, 46, an accountant, suffered a fatal heart attack.

The sixth former at Salt Grammar School in Baildon, West Yorks, moved in with her half-sister and tried to continue with her studies.

When she enquired about further benefits, she was told that the only way she can get financial help to continue her A-levels is to become pregnant.

Of course, we find these happy little Nazi troopers almost everywhere these days. They wear the banners of world religions and cults, and the lurid colours of the demented left and right fringe groups of the political spectrum, while, in all meanings of the word, the centre can no longer hold.

Common sense, common decency and the kind of civility needed to find any kind of common ground are not just moribund; they are actively despised and spat upon. Once we had a sense of community; now we have the self-appointed custodians of political correctness and the mad clamour of the health & safety commandos.

Expecting a sense of proportion from any government or any part of its bureaucracy has become the true mug’s game:

A COUPLE were banned from taking photographs of their baby daughter on a swing by a park warden who declared it `inappropriate.’

Steve Brook and partner Mandy Smith were having a family day out with 11-month-old Rebecca when the council worker swooped.

“It beggars belief,” said Steve, 35. “The fact that a mummy and daddy can’t take a picture of their own daughter is ridiculous. I could understand if it was in a swimming pool, but she was well wrapped-up and as far as I could see we were the only people in the park.”

Town hall officials said the warden had misinterpreted council policy when he confronted the family at Alexandra Park in Oldham.

Mind you, in the above case we saw something that’s become even rarer than common sense or decency in our officials: an apology.

Most of the time you will get an apology from an official as quickly as you’d get a glass of whiskey and a copy of Playboy in your local Al Qaeda training camp:

School officials say a 5th grader brought a piece of steak for her lunch, but she also brought a steak knife. That’s when deputies were called. It happened in the cafeteria at Sunrise Elementary School. The 10-year-old used the knife to cut the meat.

“She did not use it inappropriately. She did not threaten anyone with it. She didn’t pull it out and brandish it. Nothing of that nature,” explained Marion County School Spokesman Kevin Christian.

But a couple of teachers took the utensil and called the sheriff. When deputies arrived, they were unable to get the child’s parents on the phone, so they arrested her and took her to the county’s juvenile assessment center.

School officials said it doesn’t matter what the knife was being used for. They said they had no choice. But the sheriff’s office said the extreme measures in what some may say was a harmless incident had to do with school policy, not theirs.

“But once we’re notified, we have to take some type of action,” a police spokesman explained.

The student now faces a felony charge for the possession of a weapon on school property and the principal suspended her for ten days.

However, it would be wrong to assume that our officials’ only goal in life is to make everybody else’s lives as miserable as their own existence is pointless.

They are, in fact, very concerned with the well-being and even happiness of all creatures big and small. Well, maybe not all creatures big and small - but at least some. The ones that are deserving. The ones, perhaps, that these bureaucrats quite rightly consider to be their soul mates:

The inventor of a worm-driven composting toilet had to prove the worms were not traumatised or stressed by their task before council bureaucrats would approve the system.

Coll Bell, who invented the “wormorator” as an alternative to septic tanks, was told by an Auckland Regional Council staff member to get an expert’s report on the psychological impact on the worms after she became concerned during a site visit.

“She felt that the worms were being unfairly treated, being expected to deal with human faeces, and that it could affect them in a psychological way,” says Bell. “I said, `Well, what do I do about that?’ and she said `you have to have someone with the necessary qualifications to say the worms are happy’.”

Anyone who’s ever watched any TV knows that make-over programmes are incredibly popular. Whether it’s your clothes, your house, your pets or your vulva which are being held up and presented as inferior to a deeply voyeuristic audience doesn’t really matter. All these shows offer the right, fast food type mix of humiliation and near instant gratification.

I fully expect some TV network to go to the Louvre museum soon and let their experts loose on the unsuspecting masterpieces there. Expect some make-over harridan to open the series by telling poor Mona Lisa that she seriously needs to lose weight, get her hair done and start flossing.

Is nothing sacred then - nothing exempt from this make-over madness?

Simply put: no.

ROME — Franco Zeffirelli would like to make over what he called Pope Benedict XVI’s “cold” image and his “showy” clothes, an Italian newspaper reported Saturday, saying the film, stage and opera director offered his services in an interview.

Coming after the media-savvy Pope John Paul II, “Benedict XVI still has a cold way of communicating, little suited to what is happening around him,” Zeffirelli was quoted as telling the Turin daily La Stampa.

“Even his wardrobe needs to be revised,” the 84-year-old Zeffirelli was quoted as saying. “These are not times of high-tailored church wear.” Instead, his vestments should reflect “sobriety,” the director said. “The papal vestments have been done over to be too sumptuous and showy.”

John Paul II, often spontaneous and sometimes outdoorsy, had little use for fancy papal attire. But Benedict has taken to wearing some eye-stopping outfits in his public appearances, including a red velvet cape trimmed with ermine, a fur-trimmed stocking cap that some first mistook for a Santa Claus hat, and bright red Prada loafers.

Zeffirelli, who has directed ceremonies at the Vatican, sounded eager in the interview to be an image consultant for Benedict.

“If they give me an official supervisory role, I would dedicate myself to it full time,” Zeffirelli was quoted by La Stampa as saying. “There is a great need for it.”

Mind you, if you think mister Franco Zeffirelli was lacking in subtlety & tact, presenting his make-over plans, then you haven’t read Hollywood script writer Ted Safran’s article last week, in which he suggested that the whole collective rose of English womanhood could do with a serious work-over:

I am a massive fan of British women. UK girls, in my opinion, are the greatest natural beauties in the world . . . when they’re 17 or 18 years old. The girls I was surrounded by when I was a teenager were sublime roses with lustrous hair, flawless skin, bright eyes and lithe, athletic bodies. They dressed as if there would be a prize at the end of the night for the girl wearing the least. I then went away to Philadelphia for university. Four years later, I came back and wondered: “What the hell happened to all the beautiful girls I knew?” My first assumption was that one half of them had eaten the other half and washed them down with a crate of lager.

A perfect example of this was presented to me last week. I was set up with Sophie (I have changed the name) by married friends. Sophie was a truly beautiful girl I used to be friends with, but hadn’t seen in 15 years. I was surprised to hear that she was still single and was excited to meet her again. At dinner, I found myself sitting opposite something that surely would have been happier hunting for truffles in the forests of France or grazing on the grassy marshlands of Canada. My friend’s wife had told me that Sophie still had the body of a 20-year-old. Maybe she did . . . dismembered in her freezer at home. She certainly didn’t have it on her skeleton.

Sometimes, make-overs do become a bit embarrassing though. Especially if they are used to try and flog the same tired old things to a deeply uncaring public over and over and over again.

It’s as if a rather desperate and decidedly camp Satan would tell his PR people for the umpteenth time, ‘Alright team, what do you think of mauve pitchforks and slightly longer and more with-it horns for this coming season?’

So, anyone for yet another try at selling the Spice Girls to us? Thought not - but, as Satan would no doubt say, ‘You’re shit out of luck’:

Speaking of embarrassments, the Spice Girls have managed to imbue their long-awaited comeback with all the glamour and class of a hurried crap in a service station toilet by whoring themselves out to Tesco. The first instalment, in which the Girl Power quartet try to hide from each other while shopping for presents, represents a important landmark for the performing arts: Posh Spice becomes the first human being in history to be out-acted by a shopping trolley.

Still, some make-overs are quite impressive - and some people will go to great lengths to make them just so.

Consider mister Russell Parsons, who has fully prepared himself for that most ultimate of make-overs:

CHARLESTON, W.Va. - Retired pipefitter, Army veteran and cancer survivor Russell Parsons says he’s not afraid to die — and he’s got the tattoo to prove it.

Inside the yellow and orange flaming tattoo on his right arm are instructions to the funeral home where he has a prepaid cremation: “Barlow Bonsall cook 1700-1800 for 2 to 3 hours.”

“It’s a recipe,” the 67-year-old widower from Hurricane said. “It’s a recipe for cremation.”

To paraphrase a certain famous someone, ‘Many think they are called; most are mistaken.’

Here are three quotes by three highly successful professional writers. The first, Stephen King, has probably sold more books than most of his fellow horror writers combined. The second, Neil Gaiman, has written novels, comics, film scripts and plays. The third, Dan Simmons, has written novels in about all the genres there are, from mainstream literature and historical novels to horror, SF and straight thrillers. He has won most of the top literary prizes in about all the genres he has chosen to explore.

In other words, whatever you think of the work of these individual writers, they are pros - respected by their fellow writers, the market and sometimes even by the literary critics.

So, when they talk about the craft, you could do worse than pay attention to what they are saying. All three of them have talked and written extensively about their trade. The following three quotes don’t even begin to cover all they have thought, written and/or spoken about this subject but for now these will have to do.

Here’s what Stephen King thinks about writing classes:

I’m often asked if writing classes are any help, and my immediate and enthusiastic answer is always, Yes! Writing classes are wonderful for the writers who teach them and can’t make ends meet without that supplementary income. They are also good places for unattached people to meet, talk about books and movies, have a few drinks and possibly hook up. But teach you to write? No. A writing class will not teach you to write. The only things that can teach writing are reading, writing and the semi-domestication of one’s muse. These are all activities one must pursue alone.

Neil Gaiman is always generous with his time and doesn’t mind answering questions about his own personal (writing) experiences. As he does in the interview from which this quote was taken:

Well, to start off, when I was writing fiction I was failing to sell the fiction that I was writing. I was very young. Although I did not choose to believe at the time that it was anything to do with lack of talent. I thought that it was to do with who I knew and what I knew, and so on and so on and so forth. In retrospect, I’d say that was wrong. Recently, I was talking to a Hollywood producer and he was saying, “Did you ever write a Sherlock Holmes thing?” Well I wrote a Sherlock Holmes thing when I was about twenty and I’ve still got it in a file somewhere. I pulled out the file and started reading the stuff in there and realized that if anybody handed me that stuff now and said “Do I have a writing career in front of me?” I’d say, “Learn a trade.” So that was scary. I was failing to sell stuff and I was getting lots of rejection slips back. I got up one morning and I said, Ok, either I have no talent — which I do not choose to believe for reasons of personal pride — or I am going about this the wrong way. I really don’t know how the world works, so from tomorrow morning I am going to be a freelance journalist. I’m going to learn how the world works and I’m going to learn how publishing works. I’m going to figure all this stuff out for myself. And that was what I did.

Neil Gaiman has a website and has a running diary there, in which he tells his readers what he’s up to and answers their questions and provides links to whatever catches his fancy.

Dan Simmons has his own website too and he also engages with his readers. He is active on the website’s forum, he writes columns there and he has written six essays under the nomer ‘Writing well.’ The following is a quote from the first essay of that series:

Not to belabor the point, but writing for publication is hard. Damned hard. The first thing a would-be professional writer has to learn is how huge – how depressingly near-infinitely colossally horrifyingly hugely huge – the gap is between good amateur writing and real professional writing. Again, not to belabor a metaphor, but it’s roughly the distance between very good Little League baseball and playing for the Yankees. It looks like the same game being played, but in a real way it’s not.

And it doesn’t help that most of education for the last century or so has emphasized that to write, all one has to do is reach down and untap the “creative potential” within yourself. From first grade through too many post-graduate writing programs, much of the emphasis remains on untapping that theoretical creative potential. Let that writer-within-you out, is the theory, and the rest is gravy. Just find your slide and grease it.

[...]

Your teachers and professors have lied to you, my friends. While latent talent and reservoirs of creativity may be absolutely essential ingredients in becoming a real writer, these things can do almost nothing by themselves. They are, by themselves, not worth the proverbial bucket of warm spit.

We all know there are youthful prodigies in mathematics. Indeed, by the age of 30, most true mathematicians are over the hill. If they haven’t made their bones by then, they almost certainly never will.

There are near-infant prodigies in music. (At the age of two, so the story goes, little Mozart would toddle downstairs in the middle of the night and play an unresolved chord on the harpsichord, knowing that his father would have to get out of bed and come downstairs to resolve it.)

There are artistic prodigies such as Picasso. It’s reported that Andrew Wyeth was so proficient in drawing with charcoal when he was about seven that his instructor, his father N.C., banned him from drawing with it for at least a year so he wouldn’t fall behind in learning his skills with other media.

There are no novelist prodigies. None. Nada. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

It’s true that some young people have a better ear for language and innate sense of storytelling than perhaps 99% of the rest of the population, but becoming a writer demands years and decades of experience as a human being – who wants to read anything by even the most gifted callow 18-yr.-old? – and then more years and decades of apprenticeship to the Word.

Discipline. Reading to absorb the skills of writing. Study. Effort. Sweat. Learning. Maturing. More discipline. More study. More reading. More apprenticing. More maturing. More discipline. And then you can start.

As part of that discipline, all writers must read widely and deeply to learn how writers write. It’s that simple. Good instruction can take years off your apprenticeship by helping you ferret out the subtleties of style in other, better writers’ work, help you see the sometimes invisible but always present forms of structure, teach you to perceive the difficulties and triumphs of careful word choice, train you to thread the labyrinths of plotting – and so on and so forth ad infinitum (and ad nauseum).

One way to begin that apprenticeship is to listen to great writers talk about how they do their work.

Now this suggests “rules for writing” and I can hear the multitudes shouting that there ARE NO RULES for writing. That doesn’t turn out to be the case. Just as learning to draw is a requirement before becoming a real artist or learning one’s scales is required before becoming a musician, there are many rules of writing to be absorbed and mastered. It’s only after learning such basics that the artist, the musician, or the writer can afford to “break the rules” – although in truth, experiments in style and breakthroughs in technique in prose fiction, however modern or postmodern, never really break the rules of the basics, any more than moving on to abstraction in oil painting vitiates the need to master basic drawing, perspective, and color theory.

Right, politics today - of a sorts. But first an introduction by a Man Who really does not need an introduction.

So, here’s Jesus - and He ain’t a happy little camper right now:

Jesus Christ, Son of God and long time Facebook user, has stopped accepting friend requests as ‘they’ve started getting a little strange’.

So, back to politics - and the ongoing bore fest that is the US presidential campaign. It already feels like those forty years that Moses and his followers spent in the desert, on their way to the promised land.

Moses would be the first to agree that there’s nothing like a too long journey to bring out the nutters. Just take a couple of wrong turns and before you know it all of your people are dancing around golden calves and talking crap about food falling from the Heavens.

And it truly is a small step from desert-mad folks praying to gold statues of some damn farm animal to Josef Smith and his Golden Plates, which he received, by the way, without ever getting the joke, from an angel who called itself ‘Moroni.’ There actually is one born every minute…

Which brings us back to the election campaign where yet another Moronic Plate holder has given a “Kennedy speech.” San Francisco based columnist Jon Carroll was not terribly impressed:

The trouble is that Romney does want to weigh faiths. Or, at least, lack of faith. Here he is in the famous speech about his Mormon religion that mentioned the word “Mormon” only once: “Freedom requires religion just as religion requires freedom. Freedom opens the windows of the soul so that man can discover his most profound beliefs and commune with God. Freedom and religion endure together, or perish alone.”

I am not yelling.

Indeed - and neither are the rest of us mumbling things like ‘More open limousine rides please’ or ‘Where is the Dallas police when you really need them?’

Not that peddling shit is something that is unique to politics. Politicians may be awfully good at it but there are others who want to get into that game as well:

A unique Christmas gift, Indian rhino poop, is available on ebay.com, worth $600 at time of posting.

You can bid on Greater One-Horned (Indian) Rhino dung at this listing, or visit one of our other three listings to bid on poop from Black Rhinos, White Rhinos, or the incredibly rare Sumatran Rhinos.

Of course, the muck rakers and shit salesmen are quite right: humans can be incredibly stupid. There will always be a healthy market for whatever Brooklyn bridge will be on offer at any given time.

So, bring on those golden calves and we will dance. Enter the angel Moroni and we will swallow any kind of gilded crap.

Just promise us some good times, and however unlikely or moronic your spiel, we will fall for it like lovesick lemmings:

A New Zealand man thought he was in for an early Christmas present when he got an alluring text offering him the friendly company of two young women.

The constabulary duly arrested the 31-year-old intruder.

To say that Hitler is always good copy is a bit of an understatement. Like saying the UN is good at talking or that the Pope has issues with recreational sex.

It’s not often that you can see the old Führer trying to flog fast food from billboards though - and when you do, you sure as Hell won’t be able to enjoy the sight for very long:

The Hell pizza chain is removing its billboards of Hitler saluting with a pizza slice after complaints from the Jewish community. The chain, which has had a string of complaints about its advertising, said the Hitler billboards in Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch were meant to lampoon Hitler rather than be offensive.

The Nazi leader is shown in a Heil Hitler salute with pizza in his hand, next to his quote: “It is possible to make people believe that heaven is hell.”

Kirk MacGibbon, from Cinderella, the Auckland agency that handles the chain’s advertising, said yesterday he had received three complaints from Jewish people in Auckland who were offended by the Hitler billboard. Some had lost family members in the Holocaust.

“We hoped we could get away with people seeing Hitler with a piece of pizza would be funny,” MacGibbon said. “We do recognise there were some horrendous things done and if people are not seeing it as lampooning, we are dealing with a slightly different animal and we will back down.”

Yesterday afternoon the Hitler billboard in Christchurch’s Lincoln Road was replaced with another one in the chain’s famous-quotes campaign – Pope Benedict saying “Hell is real and eternal”.

It is nice that people still have some historical awareness - and it must be said that whatever Mr Kirk MacGibbon might lack in good taste, he definitely makes up for with his fine use of understatements. “Some horrendous deeds done” indeed.

One might also ask oneself the question if Pope Benedict enjoyed the idea of being Adolf’s understudy and actual back-up. On the other hand, he will probably prefer it over one of Hell pizza’s earlier campaigns. While the Vatican’s stand on Hitler is historically speaking a bit dubious, the Pope has never been shy condemning the kind of product the Hell pizza people gave away when they were trying to sell their ‘Lust’ line:

Wellington- New Zealand’s Hell Pizza company sparked a storm of protest Thursday after putting 170,000 condoms in mailboxes with leaflets promoting a new meat-lovers’ pizza called “lust.” Catholics and family protection groups joined about 30 complaints to the country’s Advertising Standards Authority about the mail drop and called for a boycott of the company.

Still, while the Pope might take issue with the actions of certain food companies, he will have read with the greatest approval about a certain Chinese gentleman whose quest for a long and healthy life has lead him, for purity’s sake, to forego meat - all meat…:

A Chinese man has abstained from making love to his wife for 17 years because he wants to live forever.

Chen Dong, of Chongqing city, who is in his 50s, changed his way of living after a colleague told him he would live for 1,000 years if he became a celibate, vegetarian.

“He believed it completely, and since 1989 he has had me prepare him only vegetarian meals, and stopped living with me in the same room,” says his wife Yu Hui.

Chen believes he has found the secret of eternal life.

“Simple meals can clean my body, and an asexual life can keep my energy from becoming depleted,” he told Chongqing Business News.

I’m sure the Pope would wish that all his priests shared this Chinese gentleman’s abstentious instincts.

On the other hand, one has to ask: live a thousand years on tofu products alone, and no sex…?

Why bother?

However, if you think the prospect of living a thousand terminally boring years without sex is bad, spare a moment’s thought for the poor, bedevilled ‘bdelloid rotifer’:

A tiny creature that has not had sex for 100 million years has overturned the theory that animals need to mate to create variety. Analysis of the jaw shapes of bdelloid rotifers, combined with genetic data, revealed that the animals have diversified under pressure of natural selection.

Researchers say that their study “refutes the idea that sex is necessary for diversification into evolutionary species”.

The microscopic animals, less than four times the length of a human sperm, are all female, yet have evolved into different species that fill different ecological niches. Two sister species were found to be living together on the body of a water louse. One of them specialised in living around the louse’s legs and the other stayed close to the chest.

Mind you - and I’m not trying to slag off the work of these wonderful scientists - but there is something odd about this story.

Here we have these all-female creatures, who supposedly are not having any. They do live together in some strange threesome with a louse. The women refuse to have sex with the louse.

Okay, so far, so good but the fact that they are not interested in fucking some no good louse, doesn’t necessarily mean that they are celibate.

Call me a dirty-minded so-and-so but that does remind me of the kind of scenario where that louse would complain that none of the women he was living with was giving him any - and that they didn’t even let him watch while they were going down on each other.

All in all, it might be a good idea for these biologists to live a little, before making such sweeping statements. Or at the very least watch a few Jerry Springer shows.

Christmas is almost upon us. In the high street its messages of grubby greed are, as each year, subtle as an encyclopaedia salesman on crack cocaine - but still there are people who are not with the system.

You think old Scrooge was a hard case? Then you haven’t heard of a certain golf club, which has a distinctively Old Testament approach to crime.

Its not just the rich golfing yobbos and yobbettes who aren’t quite getting the whole Christmas cheer thing. Some nursery teachers could do with some babe-in-the-manger appreciation courses as well:

Two nursery teachers fought over a Christmas tree in front of children as young as three. Cheryl Williams was suspended amid claims she got into a bust-up with a colleague over where the tree should go. The mum-of-two was said to have struck the 20-year-old in front of the kids and their parents at the school.

Williams was suspended on full pay the next day. When the Record confronted her at home last night, Williams denied she had been sent home and claimed she was off sick. But parents claimed the redhead went berserk in the classroom when the other teacher tried to place the tree at the nursery in Busby Primary School, near Glasgow.

One woman said:

“The tree had just been delivered to the school and another teacher took it to the nursery. An argument broke out between Mrs Williams and the other teacher over where the tree should be positioned. Then apparently Mrs Williams started shouting and grabbed her wrists and began shaking her violently.

“It supposedly caused a lot of distress to the children and their parents because it happened just as the parents went to pick up their kids last Monday. A few teachers who witnessed the whole thing are off with stress.”

It has to be said though, in the old days teachers were made from sturdier stuff. being off with stress simply because a colleague is grabbed by the wrist and, like Elvis, ‘all shook up’ does seem to be a bit much.

Still, that’s the decadent times we live in, I suppose. Someone says ‘boo’ and teams of counselers have to be called in to make it all better.

it won’t be long before they’ll be banning Christmas crackers for kids in schools as well. The sudden noises might be too much for those tender nerves of our nursery teachers.

Far-fetched, you say? Then you haven’t been been paying attention, I’m afraid. Read the next story and weep…:

Hundreds of Christmas crackers due to be sent to soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan had to be defused after it was discovered they were classed as explosives. Major Iain Dalziel-Job, 60, of the Scots Guards Association, learned of the regulation as he prepared to send 650 Christmas parcels to the soldiers.

The British Forces Post Office website defines Christmas cracker snaps as explosives, banned on RAF aircraft. There are no such rules for passenger aeroplanes.

Major Dalziel-Job, from Rosyth, had arranged for the festive packages to be taken by truck from Edinburgh to London on Tuesday before being handed over to the BFPO and then flown out from Brize Norton.

He told The Sunday Post newspaper: “Every cracker has got to have the snap taken out of it because the RAF won’t fly them with the bit still in. It’s quite tricky to get them out. It took us two hours to go through them all. The soldiers will just have to go ‘bang’ themselves when they pull them.”

A Ministry of Defence spokesman told the newspaper: “The safety of our aircraft and personnel is paramount.

Things like this makes you wonder how satirical the spoof paper The Onion really is. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they just have a few very powerful and reliable crystal balls, which they use to read the headlines of tomorrow’s real papers and just copy those out.

When you read about nursery teachers beating each other up over Christmas tree and the Royal Air Force being happy enough to transport cluster bombs but refusing to take a few Christmas crackers on board…

… then it’ not hard to see how the following Onion story could prove to be a more realistic kind of prohecy than your average weather forecast:

BAGHDAD, IRAQ—On almost every corner in Iraq’s capital city, carolers are singing, trees are being trimmed, and shoppers are rushing home with their packages—all under the watchful eye of U.S. troops dedicated to bringing the magic of Christmas to Iraq by force.

“It’s important that life in liberated Iraq get back to normal as soon as possible,” said Deputy Defense Secretary Paul Wolfowitz at a press conference Monday. “That’s why we’re making sure that Iraqis have the best Christmas ever—something they certainly wouldn’t have had under Saddam Hussein’s regime.”

To that end, 25,000 troops from the 3rd Armored Cavalry Regiment and 82nd Airborne Division have been deployed. Their missions include the distribution of cookies and eggnog at major Iraqi city centers, the conscription of bell-ringers from among the Iraqi citizenry, and the enforcement of a new policy in which every man, woman, and child in Baghdad pays at least one visit to ‘Twas The Night… On Ice.’

And if all of the above wasn’t enough to bring out the inner Scrooge, I will leave you with another lovely Youtube clip: ‘Elmo’s Fire Dance’: