Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez getting chummy with Robert Mugabe, October 2005Most of my comrades on the hard left usually have a ready answer to the world’s ills.
“Palestinians good/Jews bad, nationalise stuff, troops out now”; the sort of stuff they can rattle off the tops of their heads, no thought required.
Mention Zimbabwe, however, and the reaction is a nervous foot-shuffling and sudden desire to be elsewhere.
This is because Zimbabwe is a bit of a tricky one for the comrades. They can’t blame the Jews, they can’t blame the US or UK governments (although some of them do give it a fair old crack), they can’t even blame the Mainstream Media.
Bugger, eh!
Best to say nothing then, since the alternative might be to analysis the situation in a way free of cliché and rhetoric and we can’t be having that.
The net result is that we have an issue the maddies would normally be slobbering over; a brutal dictator oppressing his people, a crisis that could
Not a demo, not a chant, not an online petition.
Not even a word from that vile Leninist cunt Jeff Sparrow
They just can’t bring themselves to criticise a man who calls himself “Comrade Mugabe”.
Good to see the spirit of aligning yourself with any fuckwit, as long as they spout the right clichés, lives on.
Incidentally, it was George Orwell’s birthday this week (25 June 1903).
I can’t imagine he would have stayed silent.
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The Opposition have suggested sending over Malcolm Fraser to talk to him. Just what exactly do they hope to achieve? Pantsing him?
Mal might be able to give him some tips about respecting the democratic process.
Bwhaaa.
I knew I couldn't write that and keep a straight face.
The solidarity seems to break down pretty easily these days if the issue doesn't involve jews or merkins.
racists!
Come again, John?
The tourette's is playing up again.
I knew a woman who had Tourette's.
Trouble was, she was too well brought up to swear properly.
Thus she would punctuate her conversation with cries of "flip" and "sugar".
True story.
A well-mannered neurological disorder is a pleasure to behold.
I should write to Oliver Sacks about it.
While you're there give him a kick on the nuts for Awakenings.
I wote a letter to Socialiast Alliance on this very topic a year ago. They didn't even print it.
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My birthday is the same as George Orwell's, June 25. And George Michael. And Melissa George. I should've been George Q.
Aw, fair go Perseus.
You can't hold Oliver Sacks responsible for everything Robin Williams does.
And Perseus, pretty much what I would have expected from the natural heirs of Lenin.
Aw, fair go Perseus.
You can't hold Oliver Sacks responsible for everything Robin Williams does.
Yeah Perseus, stop hating on Oliver Sacks, you h8trrr.
Oh wait, I made that comment.
Comedy Robin Williams = good.
Drama Robin Williams = bad
pretty much what I would have expected from the natural heirs of Lenin
He was sporting very few natural hairs there towards the end.
Sorry, Perseus.
I meant that h8ter Boogeyman.
Comedy Robin Williams = good.
Drama Robin Williams = bad
I dunno. I liked him as the psycho killer in that one with Al Pacino with insomnia. Oh yea, 'Insomnia'. And there was one where he ran a photo-developing booth he was alright in. Both were much better than Mrs. Doubtfire.
As a genuine insomniac, that movie drove me nuts.
What he needed was the hotel room we stayed in at Novotel at Darling Harbour at Christmas. The blackout curtain was amazing, seriously, pitch dark in the middle of the day.
"My birthday is the same as George Orwell's, June 25. And George Michael. And Melissa George. I should've been George Q."
And that, ladies and gentleman, proves once and for all that astrology is a crock of shit.
I liked him as the psycho killer in that one with Al Pacino with insomnia. Oh yea, 'Insomnia'. And there was one where he ran a photo-developing booth he was alright in.
Agreed. I will concede you the following amendment:
Comedy Robin Williams = Good
Psycho Robin Williams = Brilliant
Soppy drama Robin Williams = Bad.
Soppy feelgood comedy Robin Williams = Homocidal.
I still have nightmares where I die and the entire spiritual universe resembles What Dreams May Come. It's usually about the point when Cuba Gooding Jnr appears that I wake up screaming.
Oh, and happy birthday, PQ. What side of 40 are you pushing?
Thanks Boogey. Thirty fucking nine I just turned. I had a perfect birthday. I went to the dentist, then came home and rolled into the foetal position and wept because my life is a futile nightmare without meaning and I am one year closer to death. Then I looked in the mirror and said, "Nobody loves you" over and over until the neighbours complained.
Though I did book my ticket to Georgia for my 40th. As in the country in Asia, not the city in USA. I'm gonna look for the golden fleece.
Pfft. Golden Fleece. You know why you can't pick up a chick, Perseus? Because you're still riding around on that white horse with wings. Not very butch, son. Get a big black boat instead. Pillage a village or two.
You know, you're the second person to give me almost the same advice today. See, I was at a party last night, and I was with two other single male mates, and we were chatting up three single girls. But then I thought, "Oh, they're a bit young," and I kinda gave up, as did my mates.
Anyway, one of the chicks SMS'd me today to ask why we all went home instead of 'kicking on', and I fumbled some excuse, and her reply was this:
"You need to man the fuck up."
I might get a t-shirt printed.
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Aside from the golden fleece, ancinet Colchis was also the home of Medea. I'll try to pick one up in a cross-myth romance.
Perseus, if you can successfully assasinate Mugabwe (preferably whilst his wife is spending it big O/S) then I'm sure the drought in female companionship that you are currently experiencing will break.
I'd definitely join the queue of grateful horny women.
I could assasinate a President, or, I could, maybe, just ask a girl out on a date.
See, I was at a party last night, and I was with two other single male mates, and we were chatting up three single girls. But then I thought, "Oh, they're a bit young," and I kinda gave up, as did my mates.
Did this party have balloons and a jumping castle?
No, but it had $30 glasses of cognac and house red was $12.50 a glass.
Umm, they were 19, and fans of the band. I still think I did the right thing, even if wasn't the manly thing.
Umm, they were 19, and fans of the band. I still think I did the right thing, even if wasn't the manly thing.
Perseus you Greek god... did you not see "Almost Famous"? They (the groupies) know their place in the band so if they offer it is your duty to accept.
It is the way things are and should be... a right of passage one might say.
Mrs Loose Shunter's 'dirt unit' has turned up some interesting information on 'Dr' Sparrow, J that his 'sanitised' official biography won't tell you.
It appears that like most of the 'professional revolutionaries' of the Australian Left, he comes from a comfortably middle-class background, grew up in Brighton and managed to not complete a degree in law or medicine at Melbourne University on the way to becoming a professional revolutionary.
Described by an ex-girlfriend as 'too brilliant to hold down a cleaning job because "he simply cannot cope with the everyday"', he survived on being a modern-day version of a 'remittance man', being paid the equivalent of Austudy to not live at home.
In his later years, like all good 'professional revolutionaries', he's profited off the suffering of the underclass to feather his own nest.
Yes Jeff, what have you done lately for the marginalised of Melbourne? Or are the underclass your purport to uplift kept at a comfortable distance from your thoroughly bourgeois lifestyle.
My comment - Jeff Sparrow = oxygen thief.
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