A Franchise is Born

 

Scene: The office of Sol Fleischenberg II, Hollywood film producer. Enter Sol and his top ideas man Nino Zachetti¹

Sol: So, whadda you got, Nino. Hit me.

Nino: You'll love this, SF. We got fourteen writers on this one. Gonna be some fantastic tie-ins.

Sol: I hear jabber jabber but no goods, Nino

Nino: Period stuff is huge, SF. Posh English accents, broads in long, silk dresses, guys with wigs and fancy waistcoats, Sir this and Lady that schmoozing over candlelight, carriages clattering up to huge country houses, glittering balls...

Sol: And what's the angle? Joe Schmoe in Poughkeepsie wants to see action. There ain't no car chases in them days, are there?

Nino: We give 'em a hero. A real tough guy, he fights for justice and goes his own way, but get this - he's an expert in manners. He digs high fashion. If a guy disses a dame, he flicks a lace handkerchief  and says something like "Sir, I see you are no gentlemen".  If a dame begs him for help, he'll bow and say "Madam, I shall endeavour to give you satisfaction." When they ask how likes a meal, he'll go "I find it not displeasing". Sol, this is one classy gent."

Sol : Sounds a bit of a fairy to me. What's his monicker, Lord Limpwrist?"

Nino: Storm. Storm Austen. You get it?

Sol: I don't like it, Nino. Pause I LOVE it. 

Footnote

1. Okay, I used the name of a character in the film Double Indemnity. And why not?

Exclusive! Trump's Press Secretary tells all to this channel!

Source: New York Times

 

 This outlet is delighted to announce that we have obtained EXCLUSIVE rights to the forthcoming book by recently dismissed White House press secretary Katherine Zacharia. Starting today, and finishing today as well, we are proud to publish this no-holds-barred, insider's guide to what it is really like to work at the centre of power, at the right hand of the most wonderful human who has ever lived.  [Her words, not ours: Ed].

She may only have been in post five days but what a dramatic and awe-inspiring five days they were. Now, for the first time, we bring you the complete, unexpurgated, story:-

 Five Days That Shook The World

Day One

I woke in my apartment in a really fashionable part of Washington DC, no really it is, and I just knew something wonderful was going to happen. The phone rang. It was my analyst, postponing my next appointment. No, that wasn't the wonderful thing, I'm just setting the scene. Then it rang again. It was Susie Wiles, President Trump's chief of staff. 

"Katie, darling " she gushed "The P and I just adore your work. Can you start as press secretary right away?"

 "Oh my" I gushed back "That is just so fabulous. Just one question. Who is this 'P'?"

"It's what we insiders call the President, dear" she informed me "Now get over here"

"Sure thing, ma'am " I replied, still a bit gushy "But you know my shorthand isn't that great"

"You don't need it, you are the Press Secretary (she said that in capitals to emphasise her point), not a secretary"

Well, that was a relief. I changed into a power suit with big, padded shoulders and headed out to the White House.

Once I got there, I checked my make-up and hair, then found Susie in her office. She said she didn't have much time, but my office was over in the Executive Office Building and she would introduce me to the President soon.

I found my office, rather small and furnished with just one desk and one chair, but there was a lovely view of the junior clerks' car park. I knew everything was going to be just great.

Day Two

I brought some flowers to my office and arranged them in a vase. I popped into the restroom and gave my make-up a workover. After that, I practised saying "Hi, I'm the press secretary" and "Hi, I'm the Press Secretary" the way Susie did.

Day Three

I was in my office doing my nails when Susie phoned to say I was to come over to meet the President. I raced over to the White House. Susie took me into the Oval Office and there he was! He was so kind and gracious. He told me I had a gorgeous body, and he really appreciated that in a woman and maybe he and I could get together some time, there was a nice little golf course he owned with a really discreet hut on the fourteenth green and nobody needed to know. Susie had a sort of coughing fit and he broke off, looked puzzled for a moment, then told me to give the fake-news media hell. Then he sort of looked into the distance and he closed his eyes, and Susie led me out. She told me I would do my first press conference the next day. I was so excited I nearly forgot to check my make-up.

Day Four

At eleven in the morning I faced the world's press for the first time! I was very excited. I had on my biggest power suit and just knew my hair was perfect because I was two hours in the hairdresser on 12th Street before getting into work at ten minutes to eleven. I strode out to the podium, blinked a little at the camera flashes (OMG, did my mascara run?) and said in a really clear and loud voice "Hi, I'm the PRESS SECRETARY". I hadn't meant to do it all in capitals like that, it just slipped out, but boy were they impressed.

The first question was "Are you really qualified to be a Press Secretary?"

I said "Yes, Yes I am, I'm a hotshot lawyer from Harvard and I have the President's full confidence"

The next question was "You don't appear to have any qualifications and the President has never spent any time with you, so what the hell do you mean?"

I said that was not fair, and I had an office with flowers in, and why didn't they ask something people really wanted to know and not fake news questions?

The next question was something about Iran and sanctions and the streets of Whoremooz, wherever that is, and I must admit I lost it a little and said if they couldn't ask something nice, like where I bought my shoes, then they could all go swivel, and I stormed out with great dignity, knowing I had made sure that the views of the Administration had been clearly expressed to the Great American public.

Day Five

I had only just got into my office when Susie phoned, said the P (and I knew what she meant, this time) thought maybe I wasn't up to the job, and I should really think about it, and it was entirely up to me and my decision and he would be totally happy if I wished to continue, but if my desk wasn't cleared by ten o' clock, the secret service would throw me out into the street.

I took my flowers, and a box of brand new calling cards that said 'Katherine Zacharia, Press Secretary" and went home. I didn't bother checking my make-up though. 

 

The End

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Readers! Would you like your very own copy of Five Days That Shook The World, bound in genuine faux-leather Morocco with tassels and everything, for the low, low price of just £75 plus shipping, delivery, courier charge and damage insurance of only £29? Apply now to the usual address enclosing money and a sworn statement that you really are in possession of all your faculties and competent to make transactions over the Internet, and by return we will rush you a letter that acknowledges your order. It's as easy as that! Delivery of the book is guaranteed just as soon as we get some.

Terms and Conditions, sadly, do apply and amongst them, in very small print, there is one that says that you understand that it may be a long time before we do get any copies. A long time. A very long time. At least. 

When the Shooting Starts

Source: PBS News

"And now we take you over to WWZZ TV in Dallas, Texas for the shooting - here's Bob Bland [Who else? Ed]
 - And a very good day to viewers from England who join us on a pleasant December morning here at the Irving C Feisterschmekel III stadium in Dallas for what should be a first class execution. I'm  Bob Bland and with me is the man who will track every shot and analyse the wounds, Hiram Highslacker. Hiram, it's gonna be a great spectacle, right?
- Sure will be, Bob, there's gonna be six, maybe seven slugs of pure seven-millimeter lead perfection hurtling toward Mr Hasan at thirteen hundred feet per second. 
-  He's not allowed to shoot back, is he?
-No, he's tied to a stake blindfolded so there's only one direction those shells are going and it certainly is not toward the firing squad.
- Only one way this one is going to go, that's for sure. The books¹ are going 100 to 1² against Hasan.
- Not necessarily Bob, I think he may have a chance.
- You reckon it could be a draw, maybe even a fantastic win against the odds for the convict?
- Could be, Bob, I've been researching the stats of the guys doing the shooting and three or four might well miss.
- Even though they are the cream of the National Guard, Hiram? These guys are pros, I mean give them just a simple baton and they can knock in the head of some hippie student protestor, no issue.
-Trouble is, Bob, they mainly use automatic firearms and are trained to spray out maybe twenty, thirty rounds in a few seconds into an unarmed crowd. Give them a rifle and one shot and I think maybe the pressure of actually having to aim might tell. Plus they're on television and that brings its own pressures. They've already got offers of chat shows and personal appearances, plus sponsorship deals, and some of them don't even have agents.
- And who are the shooters to watch, Hiram?
- Sergeant Terwilliger should be able to nail his man, he likes a right shoulder flesh wound. Private Miller is going for the left hand, tricky to pull off but I know he's been practicing,  and Private Gonzalez has been transferred in from the Idaho Guard after a very good run of just nicking the right ear of anti-ICE demonstrators. The rest are more run of the mill guys, might hit the con, might blow their own feet off, we'll just have to wait and see.
- Hiram, it doesn't sound like any of these shots will be lethal.
- Perhaps not Bob, but if they pepper him enough, he'll probably lose enough blood between here and the  Parkland Health Hospital to push him over the line. If he survives that, the shock of the medical bills should finish him off.That'll be a win for the state and I don't see a rematch after that.
- Fascinating stuff from Hiram there, but now before they start the main event, here's a word about our sponsor,  Alvaro's Funeral and Pizza Parlour in down-town Dallas. About to collect the body of a loved one who's just been legally riddled with bullets but boy, you need some chow real quick? Get down to Alvaro's, order your coffin and a Tex-Mex Chili Bad Boy and you could be enjoying your meal even as they put the nails in. Special this month, four burials, eight family pizza meals and the funeral service of your choice for a low, low price. Put them away while you put it away at Alvaros.

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Footnotes:

1.  We call them bookies but it's the books or sportsbooks over there. We checked.  
2. We couldn't understand the way Americans calculate odds so stuck to the traditional British way. We hope this will not spoil your enjoyment of the otherwise perfect US dialogue attributed to the commentators.

Patronising Ad of the Week

This missive popped up as I browsed Reddit this morning. There is always an ad close to the top of the page and I usually let my gaze drift over them, unperturbed and frequently non-comprehending.  This one, though, demanded attention and it did so in an alarming manner. My browsing having been interrupted, I took in the main content of the message and was forced to contemplate it.

What caught me? Reader, it was a simple but misplaced comma. Can you spot it? [Don't offer any prizes, there is only one and most of them will find it. Ed]. There is no need for this comma. It wrongly breaks up the sentence. I suspect that someone fresh from working at a greengrocer who sells "tomato's" and "cucumber's" has been let loose on this slogan. They missed the golden chance to write "friend's" though.

On to the crux. "We" at Tesco Mobile know about us, the public. Our friends and family come first, yes, even ahead of a second-tier reseller of mobile phone services. Amazing, is it not? I wonder how they know. They certainly did not ask me.  I think I would remember a survey that asked me to rank in order of importance a) friends and family b) Tesco Mobile. 

The arrogance is astounding. Unless it is meant to be ironic and self-deprecating. "Yes, we are just one amongst many service providers but, you know, we really care and we are radiantly happy just to be runner-up in your affections, the top place couldn't have gone to a more deserving winner, we get a warm glow just being compared to your friends and family. And if you have a falling out with them, your family disown you and friends cross the street as you approach, fear not, we'll be there for you in the bad times as well as the good, the two of us against the world, hand in hand into a  brighter tomorrow"

The funny thing is that Tesco Mobile are not a network. They enable access. They are the equivalent of the assistant in the supermarket selling National Lottery tickets pretending they decide each week's winners. If they ceased operating tomorrow the mobile phone network and all the related stuff that links to the Internet would carry on without anyone noticing.

So, patronising, ungrammatical and incorrect. Not bad for two short sentences.  Perhaps all was explained in the video, the link to which comprised the body of the ad, but, as usual, I refused to watch it and we shall never know.

When Art Comes to the Crunch

Source: The Guardian

 I am at somewhat of a loss as to how to cover this story, which I inexplicably missed when it was published back in July. A well-known and highly controversial artist, Wim Schippers, died earlier this year. His final wish was for the realisation of a piece that, it seems, he regarded as having no meaning other than it being an outstandingly daft idea, namely creating a hexagon of solid peanut butter on the floor of an exhibition space.

I note that the Guardian entrusted the report to their European culture editor. I was tempted to ask our resident food and drink correspondent to compare the sculptural qualities of smooth vs crunchy peanut butter, or to get someone from a cleaning company to put in an estimate for the cost of getting the whole sticky mess off the floor, complete with musings of the efficacies of various chemical agents, but let us stay with the cultural side, and no sniggering at the back please, as we consider it as a work of art.

I have, more than once, defined art as anything that is intended to stimulate the senses and focussed on whether something presented as art can be called good art. As one who loves peanut butter, to step into a room redolent of the stuff would certainly stimulate my taste buds, so art it is. But good art? Let me invoke my three tests 

• Does it transcend the medium? Nope. Peanut butter spread on the floor is just peanut butter spread on the floor. One cannot even try to see patterns in the stuff because the "artist" specified that smooth butter be used and it was applied by the museum staff using plastering trowels. No attempt to make anything in the least bit sculptural.
• Is it original? Perhaps but every household with a toddler has probably experienced the "jam all over the kitchen table" moment. Anyway, I spread peanut butter (crunchy, preferably) over my toast every weekend for breakfast and jolly good it is too, but do I stick a slab on a canvas and rush round to the Royal Academy shouting "Let me in, I'm a sculptor of merit?". No, it's too far and I do not wish to be escorted from the premises and ejected into Piccadilly into an uncaring, possibly jeering, crowd. 
• Does it fill one's head with ideas? Does it fulfil the fundamental criterion of stimulation in a way that gladdens the heart? No. It does not move the emotions or inspire imagination. I don't pause to wonder what it tastes like because I know what it tastes like, there is nothing to look at other than a monotonous sheet of orange and I suppose one could breathe in the intoxicating aroma for a moment but then the only idea that would fill my head would be popping down to the museum cafe for something tasty.

It is not good art. It is just an exhibition of something that the "artist" did not make or interact with in any way, apart from getting others to open a few jars and stick the contents on the floor. Nonetheless the Museum Boijmans van Beuningen in Rotterdam were honoured to follow the instructions of the deceased Mr Schippers and it is curious to read this quote from The Guardian when they interviewed the museum's acting director, Sandra Kisters.

Kisters said the museum shop would also sell smooth peanut butter, so visitors “can make their own art at home”.

I wonder what goes through the head of anyone buying peanut butter from a museum gift shop in order to make art? Do they stop outside their local greengrocer, stroke their chins whilst contemplating cucumbers and think "I could buy 50 or 60 of those, stick them in a giant circle on a sheet of glass and hang them over the fireplace, be a great conversation piece"? When they visit [Ed - insert name of any well known Dutch supermarket here], do they order a gross of red peppers, a few cartons of orange juice and a basketful of  kale, go into the car park and chuck the whole lot at a fence  "to make people think about the futility of conflict"? We already know about how bananas can be used to make easy money and win awards, so it seems that any foodstuff, applied liberally to a wall or maybe just thrown around the room can command a hefty price tag and garner critical acclaim for the bloke who opened the packet.

I do know what goes through the head of museum directors, acting or not. It's the pleasing chink of cash registers as they watch another deluded customer fill a basket with jars of stuff they could have bought for half the price at the supermarket down the road.