Sunday, May 04, 2008

The first thing we do, let’s kill all the economists

Great minds think alike. George Bush, Friday: “And I’m -- if you believe these economists, if they had three hands they’d say, on the one hand, on the other hand, and then on the third hand.” Hillary Clinton, today, asked to name even one economist who supports the idea of a gas-tax holiday: “Well I’ll tell you what, I’m not going to put my lot in with economists.”

Stoopid economists.

Headline of the day, emailed in by an Alert Reader: “Qatar Rulers Pay £26m for Bacon.” In fact, a painting by Francis Bacon (that the headline doesn’t also mention a £10m Damien Hirst sculpture – the Qataris are way, way over-paying – strongly suggests that the bacon mislead in the headline was intentional.)

Speaking of intentionally misleading, to fill up a slow Sunday, here are some more London Review of Books personals. (More of my LRB faves here.)
The low-resolution personal ad. When viewed from a distance it looks amazing, but up close it’s pretty poor. Man, 35, Gwent. Box no. 07/03

Women to 35 – you’re all invited to the party in my pants. It’s bring a bottle and, please, remember to remove your shoes before you step on the carpet – mum’s just had it cleaned. Stupid man, 33. Box no. 07/05

In France, it’s just a kiss. In England it’s just a muffin. In Belgium it’s just a waffle. In Germany it’s just a shepherd. You know what I’m saying. Man, 41. Box no. 07/06

Part biopic, part utopian vision, all epic of redemption amidst the trials of mankind. This personal ad has everything. Woman, 38. Only one conviction for nuisance calling. Box no. 07/07

England’s best hope for Olympic gold if ever there was an Olympic event for wearing plaid and brogues. Man, 56. Not a snappy dresser but extremely well-endowed. Box no. 07/10

As it happens, 11.34 am two weeks next Friday is the first day of the rest of my life. Nuclear physicist (M, 40) on the brink of time-travelling break-through. Write now to box no 07/11 but be aware that by the time I reply you will be 98 whereas I will have aged just twelve hours. You may have a good-looking grand-daughter by then though. Give her my number and tell her to look me up. Box no. 07/11

I’m still Jenny from the block. Which is odd because yesterday I was Keith from the allotment. Keith from the allotment, 49. You can call me Jenny.

Some men can only be loved by their own mother. Not me, I’ve got Mr Snuggley Panda. Male, 36, and Mr Snuggley Panda, also 36

I hope you’re sitting down while reading because this advert might just excite your socks off! Man, 37.

Don’t look back in anger, try condescension instead. Look sideways with schadenfreude and upward in revulsion. Serial divorcee (F, 53) has you in her sights next with a raft of sarcastic barbs and derisive statements, but a photo sent to box no. 09/02 along with a list of trite achievements that I’ll remain aloof and casually disdainful about should make the whole process slightly less painful by confronting the inevitable head on. Box no. 09/02

Newly divorced man, 46, looking for a woman to 50 who doesn’t conclude sexual intercourse with Queen Elizabeth I’s rebuke to Cardinal Wolsley. Box no. 09/03

Man, 41. Not the sharpest sandwich at the picnic. Box no. 07/01

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