From the depths of French police State lock-up, The Slog offers some madness to lighten the mood.
In the 1930s, there was a popular song called I’m in the mood for love. Celeste de Piffle von Rheinschnitzel emails to tell me that she is always in the nude for love. She is obviously a brazen hussy, and I refuse to be tempted.
An employee at the BBC writes at some length, his missive ending with this extraordinary message:
‘The BBC is not responsible for the content of this email, and anything written in this email does not necessarily reflect the BBC’s views or opinions.’
The complete abrogation of accountability felt by the Beeb these days is comprehensively summed up in the first part of the above assertion. At the same time, its grasp of grammatical logic is also a wonder to behold in the second part: one can’t have ‘anything written’ that doesn’t reflect something, because if you did, then nothing you wrote would reflect anything.
I have often had that feeling about BBCNews output, with specific relevance to reality; but should any allegedly unbiased State broadcaster have “views or opinions”? I would reply firmly in the negative, while reserving its right to interview people who represent certain opinons prividing they are balanced by those of others.
Occasional Slog guest contributor Saul Bollocks has submitted a piece he feels proves beyond any reasonable doubt that Erich von Danniken infected Earth with COVID19 following his return from a short vacation to the little-known planet of YelloPinko in the Seventh regional coordinate of the south-west percentile of the Honkytonk constellation.
Saul’s explanation of why nothing to do with C19 adds up as such is currently running neck and neck on internet surveys with the GlaxoSmithKline version of what’s going down. Top scientific experts here at Sloggers’ Roost HQ are working round the clock in a bid to analyse the up/down relationship.
During the current confinement, we wrinklies in self-isolation are turning on to the idea of having pets. I very much prefer wild animals to those of a domesticated nature, but one is bound to admit that feral species do not make for good companions, or even tolerable house guests.
Furthermore, it has come to my attention that wild conspiracy theories tend to attract censorious treatment at the hands of pinched social media goblins. Thus do I feel the need to seek out tame conspiracy theorists as my pets of choice.
In that context, goldfish fulfil a unique niche. It must be obvious to them that they occupy a bowl of water consisting of incredible tedium, and that such is a conspiracy to deprive them of access to something more inspiring, for example a pond.
But they suffer in silence, and their inability to bark without warning means one’s neighbours rarely if ever complain.
Unfortunately, they offer very limited conversational stimulation. Whereas by contrast, your tame conspiracy theorist is both reasonable, grounded, and well, not to beat about the bush, tame. I have therefore placed the following ad in the postal bargains space of Private Eye:
I feel certain that this attractive offer will see me inundated with enquiries. On Verra.
Commenting on the fact that the new 4,000-bed temporary NHS Nightingale hospital in east London gave succour to just 19 COVID19 patients over the Easter weekend, Imperial College Clay Modelling Champion Kneelby Fergatesun told a press conference, “If you divide 4,000 by 19, that works out at more than 22 beds per person, which just goes to show how well prepared the NHS has been thanks to the paper I presented to Cabinet on March 17th. Without this, there can be no doubt that 80,203 would’ve died there including the entire medical staff and it would’ve been necessary to seal off the entire site for at least 300 years”.
Commenting on Twitter later in the day, ITV cub reporter Piers Foreskin observed, “It is the duty of all of us to obey at all times and never indulge in wild conspiracy theories about me playing Paul McCartney’s phone messages at Mirror Christmas parties”.
The Slog 