Archive for November, 2010

Come all ye faithful

Posted in Rants on November 24, 2010 by Bruno

It’s that time of year again. You can feel it in the crisp air. You can see it on the television: that Coca Cola-truck is on the move again. Holiday season. So shut up and start being happy.

First up is Thanksgiving. Probably the most sarcastic holiday ever invented. It’s the day the Americans say thanks to the Indians for welcoming the Pilgrims and sharing their turkey. Not many Indians are known to be very fond of that tradition. Actually, not many Indians are known to be, point final (most turkeys aren’t very fond of Thanksgiving either). It’s like the English would thank the Irish for the invention of potato blight. Or Israel having its national holiday on the birthday of the chemist who came up with Zyklon B.

And of course the big whammy is Christmas, previously known as the Winter Solstice. We’re celebrating the birth of a little Jew in a stable, just outside Bethlehem. He went on to say some pretty amazing shit (my theory is that he got infected with Creutzfeld-Jacob, what with that ox breathing down his neck just after he was born). He was also the first man to prove time travel is actually possible. He traveled to the seventies, contacted the marketeer who did the Beegees’ image building, took him to the Middle Ages and re-branded his whole franchise. And with some success: his book outsold Harry Potter. One of the most important things he said, was: Love thy neighbour as thyself. We must all have pretty low self esteem, judging by the way we treat our neighbours.

And the week after that we celebrate the New Year. Actually, the new year is to be celebrated right about Christmas (solstice remember) and January historically isn’t the start of the new year at all. The Romans started the year with March. January is named after two faced deity Janus (and not Harvey Dent, of Batman fame, as one might think). Most people are indeed very two faced around that time of year, promising to stop drinking, smoking of stuffing themselves and forgetting all about that promise by the end of the month.

In fact the whole holiday season is aimed at you consuming as much as you can, buying the most preposterous presents you can come up with. Not me. This holiday season I will give you my eternal friendship, my undying love, my shoulder to cry on. I might even lend you my ear. Not because I want to get back in touch with the real spirit of Christmas. No, it’s just I’m a stingy bastard.

The luck of the Irish

Posted in Rants on November 22, 2010 by Bruno

Okay, I get it. If even a minx with semi divine knockers as Cassandra wasn’t taken seriously (well she was actually, according to legend, by Ajax the Lesser) what hope do I have of being universally accepted as the herald of impending doom. My biggest ambition is to be your Tweety in the coal mine, hoping the Sylvesters amongst you leave me a window of opportunity to tweet my concern.

Because, yes, my dear reader, once again I have seen our future and I can tell you that we are – as was Cassandra after her close encounter with Ajax – utterly fucked.

I can hear you all sigh: “Knock it of, we’ve heard this one before. What is it now? The fact that the world is going to warm by at least 4 degrees centigrade if we don’t all hold our breaths and farts? The fact that Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Pope Nazinger are writing each other love letters and are planning war on the Axis of Evol-ution? The fact that the TEA-party thinks that the best way out of financial turmoil is to lynch a few negros, Klan-style?” No, alas, this is worse.

I foresee the end of the Euro. It has been a long time coming with the bankruptcy of Greece and the foul stench wafting of the Spanish and Portugese budget. But today from the sixth hour darkness fell upon all the land until the ninth hour and I can shout without any hesitation “Eloi Eloi lama sabachthani?”. Why? Because a new contestant has entered the game. Belgian minister of Finance Didier Reynders has promised one billion Euro to bail out the Irish.

As yis all know, I have nothing against the Irish. Au contraire. I have poured (pouring being the key word) several billions of Euros into the Irish economy myself, drinking about two livers worth of Guinness, Bulmers, Beamish, Jameson, Connemara and Tyrconnell. I have bought every album by the Virgin Prunes, Villagers, Divine Comedy, The Frames, The Guggenheim Grotto and other Irish bands that don’t have Bono as a lead -uhm- singer. There was a time I would have gladly given my heart – and other body parts – to a certain Fenian female. Not on loan, but to have and to hold and to do with as she saw fit (and fit she was).

But here’s the thing: we, the Belgians, are officially broke as well. We’re probably even broker than the Irish. Their just isn’t anyone to notice, since we’re busy deciding who’s in charge of the money we don’t have. So fer feck’s sake: don’t go spreading our bread around, will you?

So write to your local MP: NO MONEY FOR THE IRISH (nor the Spanish, Portugese, Walloons or Antverpians).

Suicide is painless

Posted in Uncategorized on November 21, 2010 by Bruno

I can hear you, the adulating masses, cry in unisono, not to do it. Still, you will not dissuade me. I’ve been on the cyberledge for a while now and it is time to take the plunge. I was living a lie. How could I ever have thought that the two square inches that fence in the Facebookstatus, would be enough to contain my ego? How could it ever give my quintessential Weltschmerz the Lebensraum it so desperately craves to flourish? How could I ever think that the jelly wrestling muses in my head would be content with a jarful of binary marmalade?

So no more. This is a goodbye note, to explain to you my social cyber suicide. The afterlife of Worldpress will update you with regular rantings from the great beyond. ‘Cause, don’t get me wrong: there is still a lot in this vale of tears that rubs me the wrong way (that escort last night just being the obvious example).

Last week, for instance, I went to Ghents brilliant new museum, STAM, to wander and wonder around in about 10.000 years of history. Neolithic spearheads, Roman drinking cups and of course overwhelming medieval regalia to feast your eyes on. Perfection. Well, almost perfection, thanks to you…

Look, I can understand you have urges. I get them too. But there’s no reason to flaunt the fourteen months old outcome of that urge whilst I’m talking to Charles V. It’s like me waving my collection of encrusted handkerchiefs in your face. And in what universe do you think I will applaud the fact that your little mewling cabbage drivels on a display containing an 1100 year old parchment confirming Ghents independence from the Count of Flanders? A squirt of bottled milk on a syndicates pamphlet dated 1904? No sir, not cute. Rule number one: as long as they shit themselves and think it amusing, they don’t belong in a museum, but in the confinement of their own house, so I don’t have to deal with that shit. Junior should’ve stayed with granny. Hell, Junior should’ve stayed in your scrotum, dude, ’cause if he grows up to be just such a dick as his dad, we’re in a right mess.

I was also honoured to meet your better half, the oven in which this little bun of fun was baked. Next time mummy thinks it’s perfectly okay to shout into her cellphone whilst standing in a medieval refectory, I shall have to amputate both her ears and arms and staple her mouth shut. Are we clear on that? Man, you must have been seriously loaded the night you rode that cow. And when I see how much extra weight she still carries around, I can only hope she had a cesarean. Because some things stretch beyond all repair and I can’t bear the thought of you being stuck with her for another fifty years and not have the occasional ten minutes of craic. Not even when the lights are out.

See, you think I could’ve bashed this guy the way I just did on Facebook?