Paying My Overdues...
OK, so they're not strictly speaking "rants", I've just pointed my brain in the general direction of the suggested topics and let go. I figured that if I didn't come up with something soon ashton_blaze and kitt3h were going to start plotting against me. Together, I mean, rather than any individual schemes they may already have :p
For ashton_blaze's rant I'm going to cut directly to the chase and describe how I would run my own election effort were I in fact to take to the hustings standing on a platform consisting of a reasonably slick media campaign but no policies whatsoever. Under no circumstances should this decision be interpreted as an attempt at satirical comment on modern politics.
inertiacreep's Four Surefire Ways To Win This Election
Engineer For Cherie Go Into Labour
Liberal Democrat leader Charles Kennedy was wrong-footed for a couple of days by his wife giving birth. His campaign is still recovering from that lack of leadership in its early days. This leaves him open to all sorts of cleverly-worded slights which praise him for "putting his family life before everything else". Obviously to beat Tony I need in on this game, but how? Cherie Blair isn't up the duff ... or is she?
Since Doctor Who is back, this should be much easier than it first appears. I simply have to hitch a ride to The Mysterious World of Nine Months Ago in the next Police Box I see. Once there it's a simple matter of reversing the polarity of Tony's neutron flow by slipping him some Space-Viagra whilst helping the Doctor save the world. Whizzing back to now, we find the PM too busy attending to the missus and the bun from her oven to stand on a soapbox and lie to the electorate. A void I'll be only too happy to fill. Result!
Start A Rumour That Tony Blair Is A Woman
To be a woman in politics is undesirable, since one must suffer the indignity of being a "female politician" rather than simply a politician. Particularly dull-witted members of the species have been known to embrace, nay trumpet, their womanhood. Surprisingly, some even go so far as to accept positions as "Minister for Women", a gender ghetto from which there is no escape. To be a woman in politics is to be both remarkable, and remarked upon. It is to be consulted as a woman, not as a politician and to be judged by ones footwear, not one's thoughts. Ingrained prejudices amongst MPs of both genders mean that the condition of being female is undeniably a bad thing for one's Westminster career.
Since Tony Blair clearly isn't a woman, any rumour to that effect will only achieve widespread recognition by being first taken up by great swathes of the gullible. Contacting these people is simplicity itself. Simply spam half the world's inboxes with something suitably tabloid, "Phoney Tone Lacks A Bone?" should do it. Mustn't forget the question mark unless I want to get sued for defamation, insinuation and emasculation variously. Sit back and wait for my words to be forwarded on their way around the world.
Once the internet is awash with my conspiracy theory, the conventional news media will report the story in a humourous light. Think of the coverage those zany New Zealanders putting "Jedi" as their religion on their census forms got. Some jobbing reporter will feel obliged to question Tony Blair about it, he'll deliver a carefully prepared soundbite along the lines of "*grin* Our lovely policies mean it's better to be a woman under Labour, but no, I'm not one *grin*". This is when I'll strike.
"Prove it!"
Pandemonium! Before you know it, Blair will be enjoying similar seating arrangements to those puportedly instituted at the Vatican to prevent anything along the lines of the apocryphal Pope Joan business ever occurring. If six hundred and forty-five MPs giving him the Crocodile Dundee test doesn't leave him with significantly less spring in his step on the election trail, I don't know what will.
Start A Fake War Conflict So I Can Oppose It
Let's face it, politics is all about appearance and Mr Tony isn't the (relative) head-turning hunk he was in '97. Neither has he hit the unelectably ugly lows of Steve Buscemi, Hilary Clinton or the late John Kerry. As with his party Tony Blair is arguably little more than the best of a bad bunch.
Now I'm no great shakes in the looks department, especially not with this somewhat Gallic nose of mine. I do however think I scrub up reasonably well, in addition to which I have an easy twenty years on the Prime Minister. Thus all I need is a quality makeover from a bunch of professionals like those on "Pretty Fly For A Gay Guy" and suddenly I'm the hottest new political heartthrob in town (If one discounts Andrew Marr since he's a commentator).
When Mr Blair looks in his magic Daily Mirror and sees himself unfavourably compared to someone as tall, charming and downright oversexy as myself, he is going to find himself in a quandry. Should he concede the position of least grotesque political figure, and the intrinsic trustworthiness that is associated with it in the voting public's mind? Or should he take the Gerhard Schroeder route of lifts in his shoes and hair dye aplenty? I think we'll see him in the courts disputing (read: confirming) media claims of the latter before you can say "That'll never work inertiacreep, you're more abrasive than charming!"
There you go, four near-foolproof plans for taking political control of Airstrip One. What more could you want? :p
The rant requested by kitt3h - sort of.
What's the deal with those crazy Europeans and the downright unAmerican mechanisms by which they flush their restroom chairs, eh? Well, tonight on the Scraping Your Barrel channel, Bob Munden, fourty-third president of the United States of America is going to be answering that question. Over to you, Bob.
England
There's an old saying that an Englishman's home is his castle. Well, I've been to both halves of England, London and Scotland, and I can tell you that that is no lie. All Englishmen have a throne room, where they like to sit and contemplate the day's crossword in The Times. When they're done for the morning, they use a six-foot-tall black and white device called a "butler" to flush their thrones behind themselves.
Particularly impoverished Englishmen may have only a one single overworked member of staff in their whole castle. If the butler where you're staying looks rushed off his feet it's probably a good idea to serve yourself come mealtimes.
France
The French flush is a variation on the pull chain and dates back to the French Revolution. Rather than having a simple chain to pull, the French adorn their flushes with strings of garlic, which represent the severed heads of nobility. This also goes a long way to explaining why there are no recorded instances of vampire attacks on French ladies powdering their nose.
Also, for some reason cisterns in France tend to be extremely wide. Since the seat is centrally placed, but the flush hangs down a good metre to one side it is necessary to stretch somewhat in order to pull it. How much further to the left the French lean is a popular topic of discussion the world over.
Germany
They may not know how to win a war, but they sure do know how to make a car. Rather than dedicating a room in the house to attending to nature's call the hyper-efficient Germans built their hygiene renewal enablers into their vehicles. Thus a personal pollution solution in Germany is called a "BMW" or a "Mercedes". Unlike those intended for export German models feature an extra "flush" pedal which disposes of unwanted matter through the exhaust. The fear of coming up behind a driver stepping on something other than the gas is the explanation for the lack of speed limits on German autobahnen.
Spain
The Spanish are the weirdest of all. There isn't a specific type of flush native to Spain, since there are no self-relieving facilities whatsoever in the whole country. Instead, waste fluids in the body are allowed to evaporate naturally. This is possible thanks to a combination of the fiery latin temperament and the traditional after-lunch siesta.
It is nigh-on impossible for those not raised in the country to naturally acquire this ability, which is why most foreigners only visit Spain for as long as they can cross their legs, or else stay by the sea.
Italy
Post-liberation, the I-talians are still slowly rebuilding their infrastructure with the help of America and her allies. Even so, few I-talians are lucky enough to have houses still in one piece, let alone their purity-enhancing furniture. Most I-talians do what must be done in one of the many empty oil drums which litter the country, whose original contents are confiscated so that I personally may search the black gold for WMD. No-one in I-taly regrets the exchange of their functional plumbing under a dictator for the hard-won stench of modern democracy.
Tune in next week to find out what the Grecians do with their by-products and the real origins of the Russian surname Putin!if these make you think "WTF?" you should see my previous attempts
For ashton_blaze's rant I'm going to cut directly to the chase and describe how I would run my own election effort were I in fact to take to the hustings standing on a platform consisting of a reasonably slick media campaign but no policies whatsoever. Under no circumstances should this decision be interpreted as an attempt at satirical comment on modern politics.
inertiacreep's Four Surefire Ways To Win This Election
Engineer For Cherie Go Into Labour
Liberal Democrat leader Charles Kennedy was wrong-footed for a couple of days by his wife giving birth. His campaign is still recovering from that lack of leadership in its early days. This leaves him open to all sorts of cleverly-worded slights which praise him for "putting his family life before everything else". Obviously to beat Tony I need in on this game, but how? Cherie Blair isn't up the duff ... or is she?
Since Doctor Who is back, this should be much easier than it first appears. I simply have to hitch a ride to The Mysterious World of Nine Months Ago in the next Police Box I see. Once there it's a simple matter of reversing the polarity of Tony's neutron flow by slipping him some Space-Viagra whilst helping the Doctor save the world. Whizzing back to now, we find the PM too busy attending to the missus and the bun from her oven to stand on a soapbox and lie to the electorate. A void I'll be only too happy to fill. Result!
Start A Rumour That Tony Blair Is A Woman
To be a woman in politics is undesirable, since one must suffer the indignity of being a "female politician" rather than simply a politician. Particularly dull-witted members of the species have been known to embrace, nay trumpet, their womanhood. Surprisingly, some even go so far as to accept positions as "Minister for Women", a gender ghetto from which there is no escape. To be a woman in politics is to be both remarkable, and remarked upon. It is to be consulted as a woman, not as a politician and to be judged by ones footwear, not one's thoughts. Ingrained prejudices amongst MPs of both genders mean that the condition of being female is undeniably a bad thing for one's Westminster career.
Since Tony Blair clearly isn't a woman, any rumour to that effect will only achieve widespread recognition by being first taken up by great swathes of the gullible. Contacting these people is simplicity itself. Simply spam half the world's inboxes with something suitably tabloid, "Phoney Tone Lacks A Bone?" should do it. Mustn't forget the question mark unless I want to get sued for defamation, insinuation and emasculation variously. Sit back and wait for my words to be forwarded on their way around the world.
Once the internet is awash with my conspiracy theory, the conventional news media will report the story in a humourous light. Think of the coverage those zany New Zealanders putting "Jedi" as their religion on their census forms got. Some jobbing reporter will feel obliged to question Tony Blair about it, he'll deliver a carefully prepared soundbite along the lines of "*grin* Our lovely policies mean it's better to be a woman under Labour, but no, I'm not one *grin*". This is when I'll strike.
"Prove it!"
Pandemonium! Before you know it, Blair will be enjoying similar seating arrangements to those puportedly instituted at the Vatican to prevent anything along the lines of the apocryphal Pope Joan business ever occurring. If six hundred and forty-five MPs giving him the Crocodile Dundee test doesn't leave him with significantly less spring in his step on the election trail, I don't know what will.
Start A Fake War Conflict So I Can Oppose It
- Using the latest in modern technology (an old video of PMQs, a pair of safety scissors and some sticky-backed plastic) splice together a "secret recording" of Tony Blair planning to attack a far-off country that deep down no-one really cares about.
- Reveal it to the student population and observe those who are currently between causes become briefly outraged. Tell them that not only do I oppose this illegal war but if they vote for me I'll also stick an extra two quid an hour on that minimum wage they're working their way through university on.
- Profit!!!
Let's face it, politics is all about appearance and Mr Tony isn't the (relative) head-turning hunk he was in '97. Neither has he hit the unelectably ugly lows of Steve Buscemi, Hilary Clinton or the late John Kerry. As with his party Tony Blair is arguably little more than the best of a bad bunch.
Now I'm no great shakes in the looks department, especially not with this somewhat Gallic nose of mine. I do however think I scrub up reasonably well, in addition to which I have an easy twenty years on the Prime Minister. Thus all I need is a quality makeover from a bunch of professionals like those on "Pretty Fly For A Gay Guy" and suddenly I'm the hottest new political heartthrob in town (If one discounts Andrew Marr since he's a commentator).
When Mr Blair looks in his magic Daily Mirror and sees himself unfavourably compared to someone as tall, charming and downright oversexy as myself, he is going to find himself in a quandry. Should he concede the position of least grotesque political figure, and the intrinsic trustworthiness that is associated with it in the voting public's mind? Or should he take the Gerhard Schroeder route of lifts in his shoes and hair dye aplenty? I think we'll see him in the courts disputing (read: confirming) media claims of the latter before you can say "That'll never work inertiacreep, you're more abrasive than charming!"
There you go, four near-foolproof plans for taking political control of Airstrip One. What more could you want? :p
The rant requested by kitt3h - sort of.
What's the deal with those crazy Europeans and the downright unAmerican mechanisms by which they flush their restroom chairs, eh? Well, tonight on the Scraping Your Barrel channel, Bob Munden, fourty-third president of the United States of America is going to be answering that question. Over to you, Bob.
England
There's an old saying that an Englishman's home is his castle. Well, I've been to both halves of England, London and Scotland, and I can tell you that that is no lie. All Englishmen have a throne room, where they like to sit and contemplate the day's crossword in The Times. When they're done for the morning, they use a six-foot-tall black and white device called a "butler" to flush their thrones behind themselves.
Particularly impoverished Englishmen may have only a one single overworked member of staff in their whole castle. If the butler where you're staying looks rushed off his feet it's probably a good idea to serve yourself come mealtimes.
France
The French flush is a variation on the pull chain and dates back to the French Revolution. Rather than having a simple chain to pull, the French adorn their flushes with strings of garlic, which represent the severed heads of nobility. This also goes a long way to explaining why there are no recorded instances of vampire attacks on French ladies powdering their nose.
Also, for some reason cisterns in France tend to be extremely wide. Since the seat is centrally placed, but the flush hangs down a good metre to one side it is necessary to stretch somewhat in order to pull it. How much further to the left the French lean is a popular topic of discussion the world over.
Germany
They may not know how to win a war, but they sure do know how to make a car. Rather than dedicating a room in the house to attending to nature's call the hyper-efficient Germans built their hygiene renewal enablers into their vehicles. Thus a personal pollution solution in Germany is called a "BMW" or a "Mercedes". Unlike those intended for export German models feature an extra "flush" pedal which disposes of unwanted matter through the exhaust. The fear of coming up behind a driver stepping on something other than the gas is the explanation for the lack of speed limits on German autobahnen.
Spain
The Spanish are the weirdest of all. There isn't a specific type of flush native to Spain, since there are no self-relieving facilities whatsoever in the whole country. Instead, waste fluids in the body are allowed to evaporate naturally. This is possible thanks to a combination of the fiery latin temperament and the traditional after-lunch siesta.
It is nigh-on impossible for those not raised in the country to naturally acquire this ability, which is why most foreigners only visit Spain for as long as they can cross their legs, or else stay by the sea.
Italy
Post-liberation, the I-talians are still slowly rebuilding their infrastructure with the help of America and her allies. Even so, few I-talians are lucky enough to have houses still in one piece, let alone their purity-enhancing furniture. Most I-talians do what must be done in one of the many empty oil drums which litter the country, whose original contents are confiscated so that I personally may search the black gold for WMD. No-one in I-taly regrets the exchange of their functional plumbing under a dictator for the hard-won stench of modern democracy.
Tune in next week to find out what the Grecians do with their by-products and the real origins of the Russian surname Putin!if these make you think "WTF?" you should see my previous attempts