In case you read the above title,
didn’t have a clue what I am writing about,
and therefore squealed
“Eeeew. I don’t think so”
and went back to reading the news about political Armageddon,
the above is from Dr Who.
Well, maybe not the bit about the Eurovision.
That will come later.
But, should you still be thinking,
having now stopped for a moment to read my intro,
that you still just reeeeaaallly aren’t sure –
about reading this blog I mean-
Dr Who is a political satire-
started about fifty years ago
by someone who wanted to free Wales from (tyranny? Old ladies in crowns? Corgies?)
And more important,
entrance into what the first writer felt was an unjust war.
And taxes.
Social mores,
after school science tv,
history….
Weeelll,
fifty years later….
Life, the universe, and everything, right?
So last night-
after one of those days you just want to stuff back in the bottle
and wait for it to turn into something besides vinegar,
we turned on the tube,
sat down on the yoga pillows-
no muscle strengthening, no tube.
Life the universe, and everything,
and watched:
a beautiful little fable about a slimy dinosaur-like being,
from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorian-
(is it just me, or does that sound like someone falling down stairs?)
who is evil, political, a banker,
from a family of bankers,
and wants to use the world for personal purposes.
Oops, sorry,
that was the eight o’clock news.
In this case,
we had a dino
who destroyed people,
to create a rift in the magic stones on the waterfront of Cardiff,
and was de-developed
(spoiler alarm)
into an egg,
the size of an ostrich egg,
with antenna.
After first divesting itself of a suit of human skin,
that,
being too small,
causes it to burp,
and pass wind,
in public.
Loudly.
Sort of like the group of red-scarved football fans
you meet on the narrow-gauge trains
on football game days here in Gutenberg Land-
eating chicken Mcnuggets under a sign that says
“absolutely no eating in the trains”
drinking beer,
under a sign that says
“absolutely no beverages”
and burping loudly
and passing wind.
And all we need is a subsidy
from the national health,
that would allow us to buy a sonic screwdriver,
to transform them back into ostrich eggs,
and send them to that planet
that makes every person automatically laugh out loud
and feel eminently successful,
when he gets the name right.
And you thought this blog wasn’t going to be political.
Oh,
PS
And then there is the Eurovision Song Contest.
Right??
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Quahog on a Tightrope 