Noam Chomsky's Arse
A Personal Touch by JB McGrath
With all this reaction to the Iraq War and the London bombings, people seem to have forgotten one important thing … No-one really cares.
Yes, that’s right. People are still doing the same things as they were before, it’s just that the name Michael Moore is dropped into more conversations. Just the other day, an acquaintance spoke to me about the movies she was planning to see on DVD – Shrek 2, Troy, the latest Ashton Kutcher movie and Farenheit 9/11. “I’ve heard it's really cool,” she said. “He like, Michael Moore, the director, like, really riffs on George Bush. It’s cool.”
But you know she’s still sleeping with two different men. Sometimes, I think, at the same time. I know, even after all that stuff from the Islamic fundamentalists about the immoral West.
And at a party the other night, a group of us were standing around, quoting how many Oliver Stone movies we had misunderstood when the talk got around, as it does, to Michael Moore. “He really knows his stuff,” said one bloke, who earlier revealed he scored an ounce off a guy behind the bar at the RE, a totally wicked occurrence, apparently. “He totally blew the lid off the whole 9/11 thing.” “Yeah, if you like him,” I said. “You should read Chomsky.”
“Chomsky my arse,” said someone who I will call Richard, although that is not his real name (his real name is Rick). That seemed to be a statement of profundity and hilarity because we all then raised our stubbies to Chomsky’s arse and roared heartily.
“Yeah,” said the first bloke, with his arm around the host’s sister, who was a little tipsy. “I bet Chomsky never went to Bali.”
“Yeah,” everyone agreed.
“But then that’s full of poor people trying to make a dollar by prostituting themselves and their culture for some horny westerners who don’t mind turning a paradise into a rubbish tip,” said Robert, who votes for the Greens. Robert was in the pool less than a minute later. I felt sorry for him so I fished him out and slapped him until he came to and coughed up some water. We all laughed at him but in a head-shaking way, as though we really did feel sorry for him, a man who couldn’t help himself.
Later we got high and a girl from Ascot was chatting me up. “Get lost, you fascist scum,” I said and everyone laughed at her. “Go and watch some Michael Moore, maybe you will learn something, you old tart.” I slapped her on the butt and she walked out of the room, pausing only to throw a bottle at me.
It was the worst of times, it was the best of times.
---------
JB McGrath is a fundamentalist reformist and is fluent in Espresso. He works in contemporary sociology and thinks he is being witty when mocking Big Brother.
With all this reaction to the Iraq War and the London bombings, people seem to have forgotten one important thing … No-one really cares.
Yes, that’s right. People are still doing the same things as they were before, it’s just that the name Michael Moore is dropped into more conversations. Just the other day, an acquaintance spoke to me about the movies she was planning to see on DVD – Shrek 2, Troy, the latest Ashton Kutcher movie and Farenheit 9/11. “I’ve heard it's really cool,” she said. “He like, Michael Moore, the director, like, really riffs on George Bush. It’s cool.”
But you know she’s still sleeping with two different men. Sometimes, I think, at the same time. I know, even after all that stuff from the Islamic fundamentalists about the immoral West.
And at a party the other night, a group of us were standing around, quoting how many Oliver Stone movies we had misunderstood when the talk got around, as it does, to Michael Moore. “He really knows his stuff,” said one bloke, who earlier revealed he scored an ounce off a guy behind the bar at the RE, a totally wicked occurrence, apparently. “He totally blew the lid off the whole 9/11 thing.” “Yeah, if you like him,” I said. “You should read Chomsky.”
“Chomsky my arse,” said someone who I will call Richard, although that is not his real name (his real name is Rick). That seemed to be a statement of profundity and hilarity because we all then raised our stubbies to Chomsky’s arse and roared heartily.
“Yeah,” said the first bloke, with his arm around the host’s sister, who was a little tipsy. “I bet Chomsky never went to Bali.”
“Yeah,” everyone agreed.
“But then that’s full of poor people trying to make a dollar by prostituting themselves and their culture for some horny westerners who don’t mind turning a paradise into a rubbish tip,” said Robert, who votes for the Greens. Robert was in the pool less than a minute later. I felt sorry for him so I fished him out and slapped him until he came to and coughed up some water. We all laughed at him but in a head-shaking way, as though we really did feel sorry for him, a man who couldn’t help himself.
Later we got high and a girl from Ascot was chatting me up. “Get lost, you fascist scum,” I said and everyone laughed at her. “Go and watch some Michael Moore, maybe you will learn something, you old tart.” I slapped her on the butt and she walked out of the room, pausing only to throw a bottle at me.
It was the worst of times, it was the best of times.
---------
JB McGrath is a fundamentalist reformist and is fluent in Espresso. He works in contemporary sociology and thinks he is being witty when mocking Big Brother.
posted by Lord Beavish at 5:02 pm
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