Scene 5 - Witch Hunt Week

Scene 5:

The Witch: I'm not a witch I'm not a witch!

Sir Bedevere: But you are dressed as one

The Witch: *They* dressed me up like this!

Crowd: We didn't! We didn't...

The Witch: And this isn't my nose. It's a false one.

Sir Bedevere: [lifts up her false nose] Well?

Peasant 1: Well, we did do the nose.

Sir Bedevere: The nose?

Peasant 1: And the hat, but she is a witch!

Crowd: Yeah! Burn her! Burn her!

Sir Bedevere: Did you dress her up like this?

Peasant 1: No!

Peasant 3, Peasant 2: No!

Peasant 3: No!

Peasant 1: No!

Peasant 3,Peasant 2: No!

Peasant 1: Yes!

Peasant 2: Yes!

Peasant 1: Yeah a bit.

Peasant 3: A bit!

Peasant 1,Peasant 2: A bit!

Peasant 2: a bit

Peasant 1: But she has got a wart!

First, it was the outing of Miss California as a “typical American,” as most polls see it, because she shockingly believes that marriage should be between a man and a woman. The media can’t have fantastically beautiful people spouting non-sanctioned hate speech (otherwise known as conventional wisdom), so they must be ambushed during the most kitschy, stale anti-Feminist televised dog and pony show by a young crass fat gay gossip whore, whose entire corpus of work is the epitome of cultural and moral decrepitude. We're to believe that Miss California is a hideous foul witch worthy of the stake.

Second, it was the release of interrogation authorization memos by the Obama administration in order reveal the most heinous government sanctioned crime since Herod slew the Innocents one night a couple thousand years ago. The purpose was simple: to suss out, pillory and lock in a holding pattern former Bush administration officials so as to give the press a reason to forever and always ignore the incompetence, mismanagement and hackery of The Man Child’s administration on the economy, foreign relations, national security, and the choice of accessory dogs.

Third, it was Earth Day, “celebrated” across the apparently raped and bleeding landscape by multitudes of elementary school kids. If your kid didn’t show the proper prostration before Fury Gaia; if they did not pack a “trash free” lunch; if they did not walk to school; if they did not submit “Cool the Earth” coupons promising to limit their tiny little Croc-clad carbon footprints on the scorched globe; if they did not spend five minutes lecturing their parents on the merits of recycling plastic tampon applicators; if they did not attach an aluminum water bottle to their environmentally sustainable backpacks; if they did not wear green clothes to show their solidarity with the enviro-fascists – then their names went on a list being maintained by Al Gore’s Climate Project.

Fourth, again orchestrated by the Obama administration, where Obama called his cabinet to order and demanded they seek out and destroy $100 million in unnecessary spending. Burn it! No stack of surplus copy paper is safe anywhere in Federal DC.

Fifth, last week’s outing of average, pissed off Americans as right wing extremist crazy people who surfaced in a surprise assault on the Constitution on that most revered of national community days otherwise known as Tax Day continued in the MSM. Only the devil could inspire those people.

Sixth, apparently because the government does not pull all the strings on the Bank of America puppet, early this week rumors were lofted that BofA CEO Ken Lewis had to go, but Mr. Lewis, being a witch (really a Warlock) and using his dark arts, was able to put into the hands of the WSJ his testimony in February before the Grand Inquisitor and Master Witch Hunter, New York’s attorney general, that he was pressured by the Fed not to reveal what a massive black hole of losses Merrill Lynch represented to shareholders and to go ahead anyway with the government sanctioned bailout of ML. So now, because Ken Lewis did not stand up for shareholders because he was strongly advised by the government to do something against their interests, he should get the hell out of the way, with the likely result that the government will name who replaces him.

Seventh, President Obama, the Mexican government, and America's major media outlets and pussies, did all they could to pin a great deal of Mexico’s problems on America’s drug and gun habit, in the latter case by rolling out all types of weaponry, allegedly seized from narco-badasses and traced back to a sporting goods store in Ottumwa, Idaho (Iowa?). The message: America’s law abiding gun worshipers are an evil minority cult responsible for Mexico’s narco-terrorism and chaos, not the mainstream secular culture that bathes daily in fountain of gangsterism, drug use, libertine-ism, feelings, and Jeff “Dude, whatever!” Spicoli worship.

On The Monster Susan Boyle

Given unkind statements made by Saul Menowitz, regarding “fifteen minutes of fame” and “returning to the farm,” over on Rod Dreher’s absurd, self-reverential and prissy-serious Crunchy Con blog (comments that may have resulted in his being banned), Sydney Brillo Duodenum is forced to pass judgment on the musical idiot savant that is Susan Boyle.

Ms. Boyle, a Scottish lady in her late forties, who adheres strictly to a 1940s wartime manner of dress and personal hygiene, stormed the stage on “Britain’s Got Talent” television show, where she was loudly mocked by an audience of Britain’s Least Talented. Before an incredulous Simon Cowell and two other people (whose celebritude matters not to SBD and thus is undeserving of googlation and notation here), who eyerolled her presence, smirked to each other, queefed some quiet gas, and got ready to bang the big gong to have the obviously disturbed eccentric hauled from the stage and nationally humiliated, Ms. Boyle presented herself and promised to sing, in the fashion of her heroine Elaine Page, the grand dame of British musical theatre (not theater), one of those laborious angst songs from Les Miserables. Admittedly, SBD at first thought the person on stage was Prime Minister Gordon Brown, in drag as a result of a bet lost to the Hasty Pudding crowd. Laughs and guffaws from the weakchinned, loose toothed crowd of social welfare recipients came from all around. From the reaction of the crowd, you would think they had wheeled the Frankenstein Monster onto the stage. As the soaring taped violins commenced I Dreamed A Dream (ain’t we all, sister?) and The Monster squinted below gargantuan hemp woven eyebrows into the kliegs and opened her unkissed lips, she revealed a gift of nature that the over educated pricks and princesses in New York City pay $500 a ticket to hear at the Metropolitan Opera. That is not an overstatement.

Ms. Boyle’s first 15 seconds of singing earned her easily her fifteen minutes of fame, but she deserves more and should at least claim a full year of notoriety and touring, before returning to the farm that Saul Menowitz soils his pj bottoms about every night. Perhaps she can join up on tour with those fat Irish chicks who bang away on violins and fiddles. Anyhow, Ms. Boyle brought down the house like a guillotine on some over-powdered French aristo’s neck. The English say “gob smacked,” and so indeed they were. For a fleeting second, SBD saw lecherous desire on Simon Cowell’s face. And now we – the world – sit transfixed in our cubes and gray fabric windowless offices, tears streaming down our faces as we watch secretly Ms. Boyle’s performance over and over again on Youtube. Gosh darnit, I have a dream, too. Some day, some how. Maybe after I eat this Twinkie I can do something about it.

This is the type of “talent” that people enjoy. It’s not that she can sing. It’s that she has absolutely nothing else going for her. Her talent is improbability. We enjoy when a talent has been housed in some poor lost soul and obscured from public view by some bizarre family tragedy or personal mismanagement. Ms. Boyle has been holed up in a cottage most of her life attending to the needs of her mother following her stern father’s death. Her mother passed two years ago, but not before cajoling her daughter to make a go of it on Britain’s Got Talent. Wonderful drama. That this woman went 40 some years before being discovered is either a travesty or the typical rough justice of life. By Sydney Brillo Duodenum’s analysis, it’s a good thing that she went undiscovered all those years, otherwise we would have no reminders of the human condition and how some people's lives really are worse than our own. But make no mistake, she found the fortitude and spirit to leave the cottage and walk onto a national stage and belt out a big Fuck You to the rest of us. We all yearn for that day when we can sing Fuck You on a national stage. Few ever get it.

Much of what passes these days as accomplishment and talent is stage managed, industry manufactured, and strikes at our visual cortex. Hideous, computer aided fantasies. No surprise there; we all know robots will wipe us out in the end. The acceleration of the shallow talent happens all across the spectrum of human endeavor. Americans just elected such an individual. American Idol and Britain’s Got Talent are designed to suss out that "talent," but most of the clowns who show up have already been corrupted by the industry and by our terribly shallow and cynical public culture, which makes Western civilization such a joy to live in. Very little raw talent ever shows up. The multitude of obese flapping crows that flock to major metropolises every year for American Idol tryouts rightly elicits our mockery and virtual torrential downpours of rotten tomatoes and lettuce.

Now this New World that is Ms. Boyle remains to be fully discovered. Right now, she is the quintessential circus freak. In fact, the words "quintessential," "circus" and "freak" were invented for just this occasion. “You mean ugly people can sing?! Mommy I want to see The Monster. Take me to see The Monster NOW!!” And they will turn out. They turn out for that other British freak of nature Paul Potts, who won the 2007 Britain’s Got Talent for his opera chops. Mr. Potts is a bit different, as he had a history of amateur effort and performance cut short by a bike accident and the necessity to work in retail. Now, he’s huge in Germany. Ask David Hasselhoff what that means. The unemployed (unemployable?) Ms. Boyle comes to us straight from the shower she apparently uses once a fortnight. Who knows, it may be only a few years from now that Ms. Boyle is shopping for Malawi children to adopt. Then we can hate her. Now, it's all love and celebration.

Celebrity Sighting!!!

Sydney Brillo Duodenum had occasion to be in New York City yesterday. While strolling about Columbus Circle, he spied none other than Dustin Hoffman, the Actor. Mr. Hoffman was hustling towards the Time Warner Complex. He gave a curt brush off to an autograph seeker (not your host). He was carrying a small white bag, the merchant unknown.

Strangely, he refused to turn around at the loud call of "Hey, Rainman, Rainman, how many bricks are there in the pavement of Columbus Circle!"

Photographic proof is displayed below.