Friday, December 29, 2006

A metaphor alert is issued for the central Texas region

Bush’s three-hour-a-day consideration of how to come to closure on a New Way Forward (TM) in Iraq was interrupted by a tornado warning issued for the central Texas region. He drove with Laura and the dogs to the ranch’s tornado shelter, but did not go inside.

According to Iraqi PM Maliki, “Those who reject the execution of Saddam are undermining the dignity of Iraq’s martyrs.” Well we wouldn’t want that. In fact, “Our respect for human rights requires us to execute him.” So to sum up, nothing says dignity and respect for human rights like a good old fashioned hanging.

Speaking of dignity and respect for human rights, here are some fresh London Review of Books personal ads, in case you’re looking for a date for New Year’s.
Ball-breaking irrational F (52). Very probably just like your mother. Box no. 24/0

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Amateur roadkill/wild mushroom chef living the Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall dream (F, 34) is fairly certain it will be a stray cat and another night of unwanted psychedelic flashes. Thanks for nothing River Cottage. Also the A405. Box no. 24/05

Just as chugging on a bottle of White Lightning on a park bench will make you nauseous and diminish the respect of your peers, yet taking just a glass of cold cider on a barmy summer evening will quench your thirst and take you back to heady days frolicking in West Country apple orchards, so it is with this ad. Man, 37. Refreshing in small sips where the delicate nuances of Somerset burst through full and flavoursome, but anything bigger and you’ll end up puking over your own shoes and smelling of wee. Box no. 01/02

When eventually calming down after a heated argument involving smashed plates, thrown cutlery, insults directed at your circus side-show of a family, and emotionally destructive sex, you should know now that I’m very unlikely to participate in that ‘no, really, I’m sorry, it was my fault’ charade. You accept all of the blame all of the time or you grow gills to breathe in the stale, bitter soup of my angry and eternal silence. Cuddly F, 36, brown hair, green eyes, degree in geology. Box no. 01/05

When I inevitably read this ad again in a ‘laugh-out loud’ follow-up volume of ‘hilarious’, ‘quirky’ and ‘endearing’ lonely hearts ads, it will be like opening a time-capsule of despair on the emptiest period of my pathetic existence. Unless you write now and agree to marry me. No pressure from ‘winning’, ‘charming’, ‘best loo-read’ F, 38. Box no. 24/06
That’s a reference to the book of collected LRB personals, my copy of which Amazon still hasn’t delivered.

Also, stop calling me Lou.

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