#257: It's Raining Men

Standing on a box at the banks of the Torrens this morning was a tiny man being filmed by a camera crew. It wasn’t anything important, just a self described ‘weathergirl’ (his words, not mine) who, due to the many years present on the idiot box, clearly has an overinflated sense of worth and being. How tiny is he? If you dressed him in an all green outfit then the Irish would have thoughts that the leprechauns were invading St Patricks Day early this year, instead of around 10pm when the many pints of black stuff really kick in and the pubs start throwing the drunks out.

So what made today any different for the Little Man from Channel 7? Only that he spent the better part of the morning alternately praising and abusing the city of Adelaide, egged on, for the most part, by the co-owner of the Sydney Kings, a bald headed thing who could give John Laws, Ray Hadley, Bob Francis and Alan Jones runs for their money in the uneducated, uninformed arsehole comments department, who was born here (Largs Bay – say no more, explains everything – most of them are thicker than curdled cream and are about as appealing), moved away and hasn’t lived here since. The attacks primarily came from a general frustration over the lack of shrieking monkeys that usually attend on location weather reports – you know the people; they bring over signs and slogans, cheer every utterance, do stupid things, make sure their kids are dragged out and humiliated and generally act like Chinese dancing bears on hotplates. It might have helped their cause if they realised that, by going out on a thirty minute delay, it would have taken a decent amount of time for anyone to get the message. “But we posted it on Facebook!” they cried, seemingly puzzled by the fact that not everyone in Adelaide follows their waste of a Facebook page, let alone reads it.  Certainly nobody with a brain reads it.

Here’s a hint, my little chum, when you’re actually in a city and you want the local inhabitants to come out and support you, being sarcastic and abusing the place isn’t going to help your cause all that much, but, by all means, keep up the good work. Next time I’ll make a point of popping down and punting you straight into the Torrens itself. Until then feel free pop over to Cronulla, yell out, “Fuck all Lebos!” and see which city really is the most violent (yes, they cranked out the same old, tired, serial killer jokes…yawn…).

I don’t know why I watch such shit in the morning, other than it gets me into the shower faster, if only to get away from them. It also helps me wash more as I generally feel dirty from the fake, often sleazy smiles on display, not to mention the ignorant comments that are uttered, in the name of ‘news’. Surely there’s an ambulance somewhere just waiting for the Bald One to leap into? If not then maybe one can be arranged? I’m not into S&M, but watching the morning ‘news’ shows comes as close to self-harm as I ever want to be.

Oh Lord, save me from the people who know nothing yet insist on putting it on display for the nation to view on a daily basis…keep pandering to the lowest common denominator kiddies. There’s a good reason why you’re not taken seriously, not that you’ll ever understand it.

Words for Kochie to live by