Glob-a-log

(I predict a riot…?)

You all know Paul: the octopus who predicted that Germany would beat England – admittedly not a biggie, presience-wise – before the Heimat would be defeated by Spain, who would then beat Holland in the final.

Which almost reads like Genesis – that is, all the begat this and begat that bits; which may explain why a Spanish zoo is now pursuing the British-born cephalopod with such religious fervour.

Now, I am quite happy to admit that I also find this tentacled oracle mildly fascinating but I’m pretty perplexed with the paucity of the questions asked of it.

Me, I’d love to do a series in some national newspaper, called ‘Let’s Ask Paul’ but only if I could bring up some serious questions too.

Like:

- Will Paris Hilton ever make another successful home movie?

- Never mind whether Obama can win a second term: With FOX and Palin braying for blood, will he even survive the first one?

- Will the next Dan Brown novel contain language?

- Will Gordon Brown and Tony Blair bury their past grievances for long enough to go kill (and bury the bloody remains of) Peter Mandelson?

- Will the Pope play the Pope in the new ABBA opera, “I believe in angels”?

- Will Sarah Palin kill her unwanted son-in-law from a helicopter in a shotgun wedding frenzy?

That kind of stuff.

Anyway, I don’t need any octopus to tell me that chances are slight that any newspaper will ask me to write such a series, so I might just as well make it a regular feature on this blog.

(Well, it was either that or THIS NIGHTMARE…)

The beauty – and essence – of sport is that it is absolutely useless.

You could say art is useless too. Take Paul Cézanne. He painted the same mountain for about all his bloody life. Painting after painting of that same spot, in different seasons and at different times of the day. That’s a lot of oil and canvas spent on something that will outlast all these efforts and that is there for everyone to see anyway…

… but at least people in various parts of the world can now go to museums and say ‘Look, a picture of a mountain!’, so you can’t truly say that the whole project was of no use at all.

In sports, you can. Millions of people will watch (live and on television) how two people hit a series of balls at each other. At the end of all this pointless activity one of these men or women will lift a trophy (while both receive a generous amount of money) and that’s it.

There’s nothing to show for all this ’sound and fury’ afterwards – apart from a few billions of hits on the internet, if one of the female protagonists almost showed a nipple while waiting to receive a serve but then, you’d see more flesh on any beach, so that’s hardly ‘legacy’ material.

No, sport is, most probably, the most useless invention mankind ever dreamed up – and perhaps that’s what makes it such a glorious thing…

… and why the following bit of news made me unreasonably happy:

“Sidney the snail stormed to victory at the World Snail Racing Championship in Norfolk. He beat off stiff competition over the 13-inch course to win a silver tankard stuffed with lettuce. The event at Congham near King’s Lynn has been running for nearly 40 years, and although there are a number of imitations it’s the only recognised World Championship.”

(Ah yes, what did we do before the Internet…?)

(From the Guardian’s inimitable Martin Rowson…)

It’s still not easy being a active gay member of the Church of England.

Not even an active gay, mind you – just an active member:

“A gay but celibate clergyman has been blocked from becoming a bishop for the second time, following a row over his inclusion on the shortlist for the choice to run the Anglican diocese of Southwark.”

Which reads a bit like that old New Labour crime mantra: Tough on Sodomy, tough on the causes-or-even-the-merest-suggestion of sodomy.

Or, if you like, ‘A small step for a bigoted church, a giant leap for its public relations department… not.’

Not that being heterosexual helps. Not if you’re a woman, it doesn’t. Then, you’re basically told by your Archbishops that there is no room for you in the inn – and not all much wriggle space in the God-bothering stable either:

“London (Reuters) – The Church of England rejected an attempt by Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams to accommodate opponents of women bishops, dealing a blow to his authority and increasing the likelihood some traditionalists who favour an all-male clergy will leave the Anglican Communion.”

Still, whatever the old C of E is up to, you can always count on the Vatican to go one better:

“The Vatican today made the “attempted ordination” of women one of the gravest crimes under church law, putting it in the same category as clerical sex abuse of minors, heresy and schism. The new rules, which have been sent to bishops around the world, apply equally to Catholic women who agree to a ceremony of ordination and to the bishop who conducts it. Both would be excommunicated.”

Nice, no? Rape your allotted three-score-and-ten altar boys and the Pope will almost personally hand you your Badge of Merit but even try to ordinate a woman and you (and she) will be condemned to the everlasting fires of Hell.

Nice man, this once and future Hitler Jugend member, The Arse Formerly Known As Pratzinger, Munich Doctor of Theology – or should that be ‘Doctor No’.

Yes, it would make a nice parlour game: To dream up Bond titles for him and his office. So, apart from Doctor No – a.k.a. ‘O O Sodomy, Licensed to Rape’ – we could have:

-Thunderbugger

-At the Altar Boys’ Secret Servicing

-The Guy Who Raped Me

-Buggering the Living Daylights out of Kids

-Octo…what?! (Don’t Be Disgusting!)

Et cetera.

The only thing never on offer as long as this Pope breathes would, of course, be a ‘Quantum of Solace.’

(By Mike Peters, of the Dayton Daily News…)

(See where those hormones get you…?)

I’ve always been very fond of the nature versus nurture debate.

As a columnist/blogger you always enjoy those subjects that bring the nutters out on both sides of the argument – and badly understood science, treated as religion, will do that for you any time.

Same thing with Global Warming, of course, but the GW fanatics (on both sides) are less entertaining. They are more the party bores of the blogosphere – closely followed by those who are offended by terms like ‘blogosphere’, by the way.

Anyway, I was trying to talk about the nature/nurture debate and one thing that will always set the Internet alight is when it’s applied to sex – especially sexual preference.

So, I could just sit back and enjoy the predictable brouhaha, developing like a tropical storm (or spreading like an oil spill, if you want) and see all the loons come out to play when they’ve got a sniff of the following bit of news:

“Women are embracing lesbianism in their thirties, according to research indicating that shifts in sexual orientation may be more widespread than previously thought.”

On the other hand, you could make a very easy case for the nurture side of the argument here.

Or the lack of it, to be precise.

I mean, it’s all very well to follow your hormones for the first few years but if the only result is that you end up with people who, among other things,

- forget your birthday

- ‘forget’ to take the garbage out

- don’t notice new outfits & hairdos

- don’t cook, don’t do the dishes, don’t do the ironing

- talk about sports when they don’t watch it

- spout dubious nonsense about politics and what-not

- spout dubious body hair while demanding you do a full body wax

- snore…

Well, to be honest, I find it more surprising that, like a certain pop singer, not many more women demand to be known as ‘The Woman Formerly Known As Heterosexual But Fucking Tired Of It, Thank You Very Much’.

(Now give me one good reason why crossing that rift makes sense – to her…)

(Of course, it might have been an other daddy…)

Now, here’s a bit of alarming news for you:

“Men and shopping really are a toxic mix, claim scientists who have discovered that a spot of retail therapy could make them impotent.”

Which makes this almost as bad a bad letter day as that other awful occasion when a horrified world learned that eating peanut butter could make women infertile – though it did seem to have quite the opposite effect on Elvis.

Still, forewarned is forearmed and all that, so now we know what kind of things we need to avoid if we want to sign up for the old diaper tour of duty.

Mind you, if you’re a guy and your girlfriend sends you to the shop to buy her a jumbo size tub of peanut butter, she might just want to tell you, ever so subtly, that she’s simply not that into you…

… especially if she’s humming Marilyn Monroe’s ‘My heart belongs to daddy’, while she hands you the shopping list.

(More Marilyn HERE & HERE & HERE & HERE)

Kermit the Frog once sang, “It’s not easy being green.” Which is true enough, what with climate change scientists and their leaky emailing habits and all.

Just ask Al Gore. Although he might have other problems on his mind, right now:

“Al Gore, the former US vice-president, has been in London while controversy over sex allegations continues in America. Beset by allegations from a masseuse that the former US vice-president behaved like a “crazed sex poodle” at an American hotel during a global warming lecture tour, Al Gore has been quietly seeking some respite in London.”

Yes, we can see Frog and Poodle doing a plaintive duet of some sort – maybe something from ‘Kill Bill.’ Al would enjoy that, I’m sure.

Anyway, Al (and Bill, come to think of it) would have been better off staying away from masseuses (or interns) and getting their kicks somewhere along that old Information Highway. That’s what the Internet is for, after all, if we can believe some of the World of Warcraft characters.

Not that everybody agrees. Take the Chinese army – in the non-Biblical way, of course. They want to wean their soldiers off the Internet:

“The People’s Liberation Army has said it will help its soldiers find love. Until now, members of the 2.3 million-strong Chinese army stationed in remote posts have relied on the internet for romance. But worried that lonely hearts might let sensitive information slip, the army has now banned online dating.”

Of course, we all wish for each and every one of those 2.3 million soldiers to find true love. The old boy-meets-girl (or boy-meets-boy) kind, holding hands, walking through meadows, watching sunsets, looking up at the moon…

… and being mightily glad they’re not going anywhere near the damn thing on NASA’s dime:

“Commanders do not allow sexual intercourse on the International Space Station, it has been disclosed. “We are a group of professionals,” said Alan Poindexter, a NASA commander; “We treat each other with respect and we have a great working relationship. Personal relationships are not … an issue. We don’t have them and we won’t.””

Now, that would be some gig, come to think of it: Al Gore & The Astronauts, with backing vocals by the People’s Liberation Army, doing old Marilyn Monroe songs, like “Bye bye, baby” and “I’m through with love” …

… and, of course, that other old favourite:

(More Marilyn HERE & HERE & HERE & HERE)

I don’t know why but I feel like a Tyrannosaurus Rex that’s just dying to chase the Web for sites about herb gardens – or like Brutus, who’s drawn his knife to viciously attack a Ceasar salad.

Okay, I do know why. It’s all because of some stupid news story I read.

I mean, I always thought that I was heterosexual but now that I’ve read the following article I’m not so sure:

“Yawning can be a sign of sexual attraction rather than a desire to sleep, scientists have claimed.”

So, there I was, watching the (0-0) England–Algeria match, thinking I’d never seen anything more tedious in my whole damn life…

… yawning, as I thought, like a satyr who’s stuck in traffic with a flock of Tupperware-talking nuns – bored out of his horny little skull, that is…

… but now, if we can believe these scientists, it would seem that I was secretly harbouring the wish, nay, the burning desire, to kiss John Terry on the mouth, eat whipped cream from Ashley Cole’s naked torso or even lick the hairy buttocks of Wayne Rooney.

(WAGs: Whores And Goats…?)

I was trawling the Net, looking for strange stories and factoids about the Football World Cup, when I came upon this site. I have no idea if any of the facts listed there are, in fact, facts but it’s a funny list anyway.

Here’s ‘fact’ number seven:

“Garrincha, Brazil’s World Cup hero of 1968 and 1962, lost his virginity at age 12. To a goat. He went on to father 14 children.”

We trust he didn’t have those children with same goat.

Mind you, there’s something to say for marrying into a family of goats. I’m sure mister Garrincha never had the kind of relational problems that mister David Makoeya of South Africa had with his soi-disant sapient family:

“Johannesburg — Police say a South African man who wanted to watch a World Cup match was beaten to death by his family. David Makoeya, a 61-year-old man from the small village of Makweya fought with his wife and two children for the remote control on Sunday because he wanted to watch Germany play Australia in the World Cup. The others, however, wanted to watch a gospel show.”

Back to that website I mentioned earlier and to the story that made it, not all that surprisingly, to the top of the list:

“The 1990 ‘art’ film Cicciolina And Moana At The World Cup features two porn stars who sleep their way through the opposition, tiring out star performers like thinly-disguised versions of Jurgen Klinsmann and Diego Maradona and enabling Italy to win.”

Greater love has no woman, et cetera, et cetera…

… or so you would think, until you read the following story – which is not about the raptures of sex, not even oral sex, though it does feature a ruptured throat:

“A South African woman ruptured her throat while taking part in a vuvuzela-blowing competition, but said Friday she was recovering with no permanent damage. [T]he next day she went to the doctor. “The doctor was really enjoying it, he just kept laughing at me and said it was his first vuvuzela injury.””

(Educated fleas? Good old days indeed…)

(Into the fold or into the cold…?)

Now, that’s nice. Absolutely futile, obviously but still nice:

“Dozens of Italian women who have had relationships with Roman Catholic priests or lay monks have endorsed an open letter to the pope that calls for the abolition of the celibacy rule. The letter, thought by one signatory to be unprecedented, argues that a priest “needs to live with his fellow human beings, experience feelings, love and be loved”.”

Mind you, not all relationships are made in Heaven. Or if they are, they get kicked out of it sooner than you can chant, ‘In-sickness-or-in-healthy-loathing’:

“Divorce lawyers are preparing for a busy time as relationships break up under the strain of a partner following England’s World Cup campaign. A study by Pannone, one of Britain’s largest law firms, has shown there was a significant increase in couples seeking divorce in the fortnight after the last two tournaments.”

Anyway, I’m pretty sure the Pope will not be moved by this letter to give his priests & lay monks this kind of extra playing time…

… though he might advise these troubled shepherds to get involved with football, since that seems to work quite well for the British male.

So maybe the Pontiff should answer this open letter with one of his own encyclicals, in which he advises priest & monk to take up managing their local football team…

… but firmly admonishes them to stay away from women’s football…

… or the under 11’s, obviously.

(So, now we’ve sorted out those priests…)



(I’m not making this one up, by the way…)

Oh well, this is hardly news:

“Religious coverage is seen as a “rather tiresome obligation” by “secular and sceptical” BBC television staff, a Radio 4 broadcaster has said.”

Can you blame them though?

What with those never-ending stories about Roman Catholic child abuse, or Muslim demonstrations proving that many are prepared to spill blood to defend their peaceful religion, or Republican politicians talking Christ while (taking a wide stance on) fucking Italian rent boys & House pages, or C of E fruitcakes fulminating against female bishops, or…

… well, I’d say ‘tiresome obligation’ is putting it mildly indeed…

… and I really would have thought a wise church might pray for rather less TV coverage.

Talking of tiresome, though, those CIA spooks really go the distance. First, there were all those ludicrous plots to kill Castro (yup, still alive) and then they turned their attention to Saddam Hussein, planning to release a video that would make Saddam look like one of those Republican senators & Congress men – but it wasn’t just the Iraqi dictator our spooks wanted as a new recruit for Lincoln’s old party:

“[T]hat did not stop a CIA video being shot of a fake Osama bin Laden sitting around a camp fire, drinking booze and boasting of his own gay conquests. The video apparently used some of the CIA’s “darker skinned” employees as extras playing the terror chief’s henchmen. It does not seem to have been released.”

I suppose even the CIA realized bin Laden’s followers would not have believed that their leader had turned into a gay Elephant man.