Wednesday, October 26, 2005

You'll never squawk alone

IN A WEEK when we seem to be living in a Monty Python sketch, it’s entirely appropriate that the news should be dominated by a dead parrot.

At least I assume that it’s dead. Does anyone know for sure? Maybe it’s still nailed to its perch, instead of pushing up the daisies or having joined the bleeding choir invisible.

And why are we importing parrots anyway? Who wants the smelly, noisy, feathered cousin of a pterodactyl in their home?

The only person I know who owns one is Blow Dry Burton, the village’s hairdresser to the stars (Madge Hindle, Joe Pasquale and Sir Roy Strong). It’s a big African Grey with a bad attitude and despite having owned it for seven years, he’s never got close enough to it to even give it a name.

The feathered monster has LOVE and HATE tattooed on its claws, it smokes roll-ups out of the corner of its beak and lurks swearing in its cage, snapping pencils with its beak every time you poke it, while a terrified Blow Dry is reduced to hurling millet through the cage door from the other side of the kitchen. It’s not so much a pet as a psychotic squatter. And the bastards live for years as well. Trust me, a sudden case of Bird Flu would be a mercy.

Of course, there were no guesses where this killer virus would first strike. Yep, the Scousers are in there already. And bear in mind the fact that these sad people had recently tried to claim hurricane-battered New Orleans as their twin town (utter nonsense) and had then gone on to issue a formal apology to a bunch of Welsh druids for flooding them out of their homes 40 years ago when a reservoir needed to be built.

It all began last Wednesday, when rumours started circulating in the Anfield district of Liverpool that the body of a baby had been found in a bin bag outside an angling shop. Overnight a Diana-esque shrine began to grow, with cards, teddy bears and more than a dozen bunches of flowers laid at the scene by neighbourhood grief junkies. One card read: "RIP Little Baby, safe in the arms of Jesus. From someone who is a loving mother."

Now no-one knew the “mother” involved in this so-called incident and no-one knew the “baby” who was the alleged victim. But that didn’t stop them. Soon there wasn’t a spare carnation to be had from Crosby to Croxteth. Welcome to Merseyside, the only place in the country where florists’ vans have sirens and flashing blue lights.

One small problem. After the cops had cordoned off the scene and called in forensic scientists, the dead “baby” turned out to be … a chicken carcass. Of course, that hasn’t stopped the Scousers. A drunken mob has already burned down a branch of KFC, wanted posters of Bernard Matthews have gone up on lampposts and Paul McCartney has reformed the band Wings to play a charity concert. Meanwhile the Liver Bird has been taken into protective quarantine.

Altogether now: “Squawk on, squawk on, with hope in your heart …”

I SEE that fat people are moaning that they’re being discriminated against in the workplace. Well why not?

As far as I know, there aren’t any fat catwalk models, slimming consultants, personal trainers or firemen. Why should there be? And there’s only one vacancy for a Dawn French and that’s filled (to some tune) at the moment.

Put yourself in the shoes of an employer. Two women turn up for interview. One is a 20-stone lard bucket who’ll spill out of her office chair, take days off sick with obesity-related illnesses, wear tracksuit bottoms to work and generally sweat a lot. The other is slim, fit and has big breasts. Which one would you give the job to?

“It’s me glands, me metabolism,” they moan. “I’m big boned.” No you’re not, you’re just fucking fat. Eat less and take some exercise, for Christ’s sake.

And let me make another suggestion. You know those metal frames that EasyJet have put up at airports to check the size of your carry-on bags? If it doesn’t go in, it doesn’t go on? Why not do the same with fat people?

There should be an average human-sized cut-out at every check-in desk. If the fatties can’t waddle through it without touching the sides, then they have to buy an extra seat. That way I won’t have to put up with someone else’s buttocks infringing my personal space at 30,000 feet for four hours.

THE DAUGHTER of Private Harry Farr, a First World War soldier who survived the Somme but was then court martialled and shot for cowardice after refusing to return to the front, has gone to the High Court to try to get her father pardoned.

She argued that his name should be cleared because he was suffering from shellshock, or “acute post-traumatic stress disorder”. Mrs Gertrude Harris said that the execution had been a stigma on the family, but her father had never shown cowardice and that the court martial didn’t take into account the evidence of his illness or his previous good record.

Well I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t wash. You didn’t see Baldrick bottling it, did you? What if every poor bugger who was trapped in the trenches decided that they didn’t fancy the next suicidal assault because they had “acute post-traumatic stress disorder”? We’d all be speaking German and eating Bratwurst. Applying bogus Nanny State bogus science to the case doesn’t change a thing.

And imagine if she wins. Won't a compo claim be just around the corner?

MORE DISTRESSING signs of the Times We Live In. Breakfast telly features a family of scrotes where both children AND their mother are taking the drug Ritalin because they suffer from Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, another recently-invented excuse for bad behaviour.

Another TV programme shows a 16-year-old girl drinking herself stupid every night, but doesn’t question why she’s been given her own council flat and £46 a week in benefits to get pissed on when she should still be living at home.

Meanwhile millions of people tune in on Saturday evening to watch a sad parade of desperate wannabees who think they can sing but actually sound like a pet shop on fire. I wonder what Harry Farr would have made of all this.

O The views of Mr Beelzebub are purely personal and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Editor or staff of this website, of anyone surprised that after banning pig-related toys and calendars from offices, the Forces of Evil have now declared war on piggy banks, of anyone wondering if animal rights protesters will turn down their bird flu vaccinations because the drug has been tested on animals, or of anyone not celebrating Devon & Cornwall police’s attempt to stop dangerous old people driving. And how do you tell who’s dangerous? Well let’s start with anyone wearing a hat behind the wheel.


Anonymous Theotherhalf said...

Your cornflakes taste strange this morning? Someone must have really peed all over them! Your comments are turning rather iffy,parrots are ok, fat people and scousers yeah ok fair game. Harry Farr? You should hang your head for that item, unless of course you are speaking from personal experience.
Now you prat,what the hell is the offence at wearing a hat?Maybe you enjoy getting your head wet, from this display you'll not harm your brains which must be located someplace lower in your anatomy. Get real Bazza, keep some credability, tarring all the older generation with the same brush doesn't work. Yes, I'm a wrinkly (not a crumbly)and yes, I can drive - not that I have to boast about my qualifications for doing so to you.

8:16 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I guess Fernando Alonzo might object about the wearing a hat behind the wheel deal!

10:40 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I was only thinking this morning that age is a terrible thing. All those parts which functioned so well in my youth are slowly shrinking, becoming less active, or even atrophied. Fortunately, my sense of humour is still as good as it was, my tolerance levels are only slightly diminished, and my head hasn't shrunk so far that my hat falls over my eyes, blinding me to obvious truths.

12:04 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm with Bazza on the soldier. For goodness sake. It's been the best part of a100 years. The bloke's daughter could only have been a few months old when her dad was shot. No one remembers the first world war. I doubth that people stand in the street pointing at the old woman and saying: "You see her over there? She's the one whose father was shot a hundred years ago for being a terrible coward."

I think the woman's daughter is in on this. She's hoping for that big compo cheque. And if I'm not mistaken, I can smell te presence of an ambulance chasing lawyer on legal aid.

12:10 AM  
Blogger BarryBeelzebub said...

Dear theotherhalf

Why shouldn't old people get some stick now and then? They're the ones driving the wrong way down the motorway in a Honda Civic, or forgetting which is the accelerator and which is the brake in Sainsburys car park. And I like hats. I have several.

2:40 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Is this a domestic tiff or can anyone join in?

2:50 AM  
Blogger BarryBeelzebub said...

From the BBC:

"A 71-year-old man gave his wife the shock of her life when he crashed their car into the front room.

"It sounded like a bomb going off," said Sandra Nairn, who was in the kitchen of the couple's home in Formby, Merseyside, when the crash happened.

Charles Nairn had been reversing the automatic car down the drive when he lost control and then sped forward.

Mr Nairn, who is now waiting to find our the cost of the damage, was left uninjured but shocked by the smash."

The prosecution rests ...

2:04 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

It can't be long before you have to transfer from your Rover into one of those electrically powered trikes that old folk wearing slippers like to nip down the shops with. Still, at least you can drive those will pissed out of your mind... Apparently it's legal. Pass another Buckfast and Vimto, will you?

2:19 AM  
Blogger God said...

I with you on this one Bazza - oxygen thieves should have their licences revoked when they hit 65 (or the car in front). The old coffin dodgers really are a menace especially on a Sunday when they seem to come out in droves.

11:08 PM  
Blogger rogerzeeblogger said...

très amusant. best blog I've read.. now If I could only figure out how to post a reply... trying again.. sorry to use you like this... lol.. have tried to reply a couple of times and finaly conceded to creating a blog. will see if this works.. and of course I'm not male.. just a dizzy blonde.. but I won't tell you that because I'll blow my cover...

12:54 AM  
Blogger rogerzeeblogger said...

oh my goodness it worked... sorry about that!!!! laughing... comment was... 'très amusant.. imagine the fatty chaos with people jammed in the guages at easyjet.. more queues' !!!

12:57 AM  
Blogger Chris said...

Barry, most of the time I'm in agreement with you, but belittling Harry Farr like that - my great-grandfather fought in the Great War, and suffered continual nightmares because of it.

I bet you watched "Paths of Glory" with a smile on your face, thinking good enough for the cowardly froggies.

2:42 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

If I may add a comment as someone who has spent a little time looking at military history: All the men shot for desertion/cowardice during WWI were repeat offenders. In other words, they had deserted/shown cowardice, been caught and punished in a more lenient manner at least once before.

Now justice was pretty rough 100 years ago not least in an army struggling to cope with the effects of a type of war for which it was totally unprepared. But a lot of things used to be done more harshely in days gone by. Are we going to apologise for everything that we now perceive as "unjust"?

Harry Farr was a victim of the times in which he lived, but millions of other soldiers lived through the same times without running away. What do we do to their memory if we pardon someone most of them would have despised?

6:16 AM  

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