*Ø* Please bury Ronnie soon, it's embarrassing
Jeez. If they don't plant the old guy soon he'll go off like a bucket of prawns. What can they be thinking? He's been dead for about a month already.
All I know is that I'm glad that I've chosen the road most travelled, the path of mediocre achievement. I don't want to lie in state, not in summer, anyway. And I'm sure my rello's wouldn't want it either. I've asked my friends to do something funny with my corpse, but hopefully not let it bloat up like someone from Jonestown or an American TV audience.
One idea I suggested years ago to Mr Peg and Baz le Tuff is to put my carcase in a trick coffin, one that's just held together with a few small nails or some Blu-Tak (TM), and get the hearse to do a roaring wheelie around Woolworths corner in Sydney at lunchtime, making sure that Wilson skittles a dozen or so office workers and unsuspecting shoppers. And chuck some pig offal into the casket beforehand, just for that Ed Wood-meets-Mel Gibson effect.
The other plan was to get hoisted at half-mast up a flagpole. And maybe ceremoniously bury a flag at the foot of it. Peg and Baz respect me, I'm sure, but I don't know if they would honour me that way. They're both pretty slack. And it could be pushing the friendship a bit far, but I have a feeling they'll actually do it. I've known them both to do sillier things over the past 43 years. One day I might tell all. Remind me to mention the cut-up Picasso stunt. "Subdivision art," Mr Peg called it.
The weather here in summer is probably why we don't make politicians lie in state in Australia. (Apart, of course, from the fact that we hate the lot of them.) We have too many blowflies, and it's just plain too warm most of the time, in most parts of the continent. It's even unwise to eat anything at a barbecue that you haven't actually seen taken from a freezer less than 10 minutes before burning. That includes lettuce, which I'm told harbours a great many micro-organisms. We lost a prime minister who ate a warm kebab once, which is why ever since, it's uncool to be an Arab here. And we certainly didn't stick him on a plinth in the hot sun so he would pong like Danish blue cheese. Must be an Old World thing, i.e, American.
Obsequies from the obsequious
Or maybe we don't honour our pollies the way the Yanks apparently do because we reckon our so-called leaders have done enough lying in state already and it'd be kinder to everyone to get them six foot under pushing up the daisies rather than take the risk that they're just pretending, or in a coma or something. I believe there was some doubt about that with the former US president.
However, our American cousins love a parade and any chance to get out those 300 million plastic flags. And 300 million obsequies about an old man who was either the greatest leader and nicest bloke in God's favourite hemisphere, or a cretinous, cruel bastard who oversaw the deaths of 100,000 Central Americans, depending on which bullshit website you trust.
I do give Reagan due credit for helping to end the Cold War (it's just the way he did it that makes me feel like dropping him off at Woolworths corner), but perhaps the commentators might like also to mention Gorby, who could be said to have had a teensy weensy bit to do with it as well. Although, according to Sakharov, one of the main factors in Gorbachev's backdown was that he was convinced that Star Wars would work, despite the frantic propaganda to the contrary that his KGB and Western friends of the USSR promulgated in the 1980s like a gaggle of disingenuous pre-schoolers pretending they aren't hiding anything behind their backs.
Vale, Ronald Wilson Reagan. Loved your hair. Just don't mention your middle name at the Pearly Gates.
Jeez. If they don't plant the old guy soon he'll go off like a bucket of prawns. What can they be thinking? He's been dead for about a month already.
All I know is that I'm glad that I've chosen the road most travelled, the path of mediocre achievement. I don't want to lie in state, not in summer, anyway. And I'm sure my rello's wouldn't want it either. I've asked my friends to do something funny with my corpse, but hopefully not let it bloat up like someone from Jonestown or an American TV audience.
One idea I suggested years ago to Mr Peg and Baz le Tuff is to put my carcase in a trick coffin, one that's just held together with a few small nails or some Blu-Tak (TM), and get the hearse to do a roaring wheelie around Woolworths corner in Sydney at lunchtime, making sure that Wilson skittles a dozen or so office workers and unsuspecting shoppers. And chuck some pig offal into the casket beforehand, just for that Ed Wood-meets-Mel Gibson effect.
The other plan was to get hoisted at half-mast up a flagpole. And maybe ceremoniously bury a flag at the foot of it. Peg and Baz respect me, I'm sure, but I don't know if they would honour me that way. They're both pretty slack. And it could be pushing the friendship a bit far, but I have a feeling they'll actually do it. I've known them both to do sillier things over the past 43 years. One day I might tell all. Remind me to mention the cut-up Picasso stunt. "Subdivision art," Mr Peg called it.
The weather here in summer is probably why we don't make politicians lie in state in Australia. (Apart, of course, from the fact that we hate the lot of them.) We have too many blowflies, and it's just plain too warm most of the time, in most parts of the continent. It's even unwise to eat anything at a barbecue that you haven't actually seen taken from a freezer less than 10 minutes before burning. That includes lettuce, which I'm told harbours a great many micro-organisms. We lost a prime minister who ate a warm kebab once, which is why ever since, it's uncool to be an Arab here. And we certainly didn't stick him on a plinth in the hot sun so he would pong like Danish blue cheese. Must be an Old World thing, i.e, American.
Obsequies from the obsequious
Or maybe we don't honour our pollies the way the Yanks apparently do because we reckon our so-called leaders have done enough lying in state already and it'd be kinder to everyone to get them six foot under pushing up the daisies rather than take the risk that they're just pretending, or in a coma or something. I believe there was some doubt about that with the former US president.
However, our American cousins love a parade and any chance to get out those 300 million plastic flags. And 300 million obsequies about an old man who was either the greatest leader and nicest bloke in God's favourite hemisphere, or a cretinous, cruel bastard who oversaw the deaths of 100,000 Central Americans, depending on which bullshit website you trust.
I do give Reagan due credit for helping to end the Cold War (it's just the way he did it that makes me feel like dropping him off at Woolworths corner), but perhaps the commentators might like also to mention Gorby, who could be said to have had a teensy weensy bit to do with it as well. Although, according to Sakharov, one of the main factors in Gorbachev's backdown was that he was convinced that Star Wars would work, despite the frantic propaganda to the contrary that his KGB and Western friends of the USSR promulgated in the 1980s like a gaggle of disingenuous pre-schoolers pretending they aren't hiding anything behind their backs.
Vale, Ronald Wilson Reagan. Loved your hair. Just don't mention your middle name at the Pearly Gates.
Pip Wilson posted item above at 11:20 AM | Permalink
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