Communal grieving, part 4
Or in this case, one hopes, a total lack of communal grieving.
In the grand scheme of things, there is much that deserves our sympathy: the plight of millions of poverty-stricken in war torn Africa, the persecuted in the Middle East; hedgehogs fooled into being born too late by our lengthy, but rapidly-ending Indian Summer; Newcastle United fans.
Clearly, there are many more that do not warrant sympathy: people with albums by Razorlight, Keane, Snow Patrol, Kasabian, James Blunt and their ilk in their music collections; Saddam Hussein; Republicans; George Michael.
Today, this latter bunch has a new leader. He is someone who has been on the "NO SYMPATHY" radar for a while, what with his smug nature when smarming about the foolishness of folk or playing money-flashing Godwhore on primetime TV. Most recently, he has been garnering headlines for his poor "woe-is-me" announcements following the revelation that he had been knocking off some bint behind his longstanding wife's back. His call for a bit of communal grieving seemed to originate in the mistaken belief that we should have sympathy for someone who clearly thinks his celebrity and pay packet excuse him from behaving with decency.
Looking at the state of the nation, one would have thought that a cast iron plan, yet remarkably it failed to find much favour. So today, Chris Tarrant, congratulations on stepping up to the plate marked CT. He has given an interview in which he underlines his class by deciding to woo his wife back by damning his mistress instead, dismissing her as having meant "nothing" to him despite seven years of illicit romance and lies. But that's merely the precursor for the punchline.
Clearly, Tarrant is so deluded that he is unable to look rationally at the SYMPATHY - NO SYMPATHY SCALE and place his problems therein. No, he obviously sees his plight as hovering somewhere between the child soldiers of the LRA and the families of the Moors Murders' victims.
Having already declared that his life since being kicked out of his marital home was like that of Osama bin Laden, he has now booked himself a holiday. Not just any holiday, but the most sanctimonious holiday of them all, one which warrants his stoning as a warm up to Saddam's hanging.
To wit: he plans to visit Auschwitz, believing that if he goes somewhere that has experienced so much misery, it will "put his problems into perspective".
How about climbing down from your pedestal of pity, bursting your flatulent bubble of over-inflated ego and realising that you are simply a CT who warrants NO SYMPATHY and save us all the trouble of having to find sharp ebough rocks to make sure your pummeled corpse is shredded beyond recognition.
This just in:
In related celebrity "news", The Hamster has made the shortlist for the Variety Club's Celebrity Of The Year, elevated to the dizzying heights of fellow nominees "Brucey" Forsyth, "Babs" Windsor, "Ant" Ant and "Dec" Dec, some old hag from Eastenders, Pukka Cookboy, Fingering on telly makes this Carol Smillie and Parkie because he crashed his car. I broke three wine glasses in one night a while back - one of them crystal as well, but that example of clumsiness hasn't seen me make the list.
Still, one can only hope it acts as an omen and some of his luck rubs off on the remainder of the nominees.
Or in this case, one hopes, a total lack of communal grieving.
In the grand scheme of things, there is much that deserves our sympathy: the plight of millions of poverty-stricken in war torn Africa, the persecuted in the Middle East; hedgehogs fooled into being born too late by our lengthy, but rapidly-ending Indian Summer; Newcastle United fans.
Clearly, there are many more that do not warrant sympathy: people with albums by Razorlight, Keane, Snow Patrol, Kasabian, James Blunt and their ilk in their music collections; Saddam Hussein; Republicans; George Michael.
Today, this latter bunch has a new leader. He is someone who has been on the "NO SYMPATHY" radar for a while, what with his smug nature when smarming about the foolishness of folk or playing money-flashing Godwhore on primetime TV. Most recently, he has been garnering headlines for his poor "woe-is-me" announcements following the revelation that he had been knocking off some bint behind his longstanding wife's back. His call for a bit of communal grieving seemed to originate in the mistaken belief that we should have sympathy for someone who clearly thinks his celebrity and pay packet excuse him from behaving with decency.
Looking at the state of the nation, one would have thought that a cast iron plan, yet remarkably it failed to find much favour. So today, Chris Tarrant, congratulations on stepping up to the plate marked CT. He has given an interview in which he underlines his class by deciding to woo his wife back by damning his mistress instead, dismissing her as having meant "nothing" to him despite seven years of illicit romance and lies. But that's merely the precursor for the punchline.
Clearly, Tarrant is so deluded that he is unable to look rationally at the SYMPATHY - NO SYMPATHY SCALE and place his problems therein. No, he obviously sees his plight as hovering somewhere between the child soldiers of the LRA and the families of the Moors Murders' victims.
Having already declared that his life since being kicked out of his marital home was like that of Osama bin Laden, he has now booked himself a holiday. Not just any holiday, but the most sanctimonious holiday of them all, one which warrants his stoning as a warm up to Saddam's hanging.
To wit: he plans to visit Auschwitz, believing that if he goes somewhere that has experienced so much misery, it will "put his problems into perspective".
How about climbing down from your pedestal of pity, bursting your flatulent bubble of over-inflated ego and realising that you are simply a CT who warrants NO SYMPATHY and save us all the trouble of having to find sharp ebough rocks to make sure your pummeled corpse is shredded beyond recognition.
This just in:
In related celebrity "news", The Hamster has made the shortlist for the Variety Club's Celebrity Of The Year, elevated to the dizzying heights of fellow nominees "Brucey" Forsyth, "Babs" Windsor, "Ant" Ant and "Dec" Dec, some old hag from Eastenders, Pukka Cookboy, Fingering on telly makes this Carol Smillie and Parkie because he crashed his car. I broke three wine glasses in one night a while back - one of them crystal as well, but that example of clumsiness hasn't seen me make the list.
Still, one can only hope it acts as an omen and some of his luck rubs off on the remainder of the nominees.
posted by Ewerhead Bulletin at 10:05 AM
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