A Little Light Relief (Unless You're Poultry, I Guess)

Escaped tigers caught by throwing them chickens.

It isn't clear whether the chickens were roast, fried, or still squawking. Nor is the specific manner of the "throwing" discussed, though until evidence to the contrary arrives I fully intend to assume some kind of trebuchet was employed. The idea of providing all zoos and circuses with emergency chickens is one that should be studied more closely, I think. "In case of emergency, break neck".

I also enjoyed the image of the police holding the tigers at the station until their owner coughed up his fine. One wonders whether the animals were just locked in the cells with half a dozen terrified drunkards and Danny Trejo (who I have learned from Hollywood can be found in every Mexican or Californian jail simultaneously).

Of course, while I'm sure people are relieved that these dangerous animals have been rounded up and detained, can I remind the Mexican police that the chupacabra still remains at large. Perhaps some emergency goats are what is called for?

Captured

Dead

Incarcerated in multiple locations

At large

Can I Just Say...

Bosh.

Also, a brief safety announcement. Anyone possessing unopened cans of John Smith's are advised to treat them with extreme caution. Danny was foolish enough to remove one from the fridge without taking security precautions, and the damn thing exploded. Whole kitchen covered in beer, Danny constantly whining about his "soaked ass", not really a lot of fun.

Presented Without Comment

The Daily Kos Election Scoreboard.

See you on the other side.

200 Posts Fiesta!

Hoorah! 200 posts and I am still going strong (where "going strong" is defined as "continues to exist"). Let us celebrate this unlikely turn of events with a veritable smorgasbord of content.

• Today we celebrate Danny's birthday, he of the eponymous "Danny Show". Whilst it would be deeply tempting to offer praise to him through the medium of the maths he loves so much, it's probably less geeky to just post a video:

• Circumstances (read: whining friends) conspired to prevent me watching more than one new horror film at Halloweenapalooza this weekend. Fortunately, it was [Rec], a brilliant little zombie film from Spain which has three things going for it. Firstly, it's pretty short, and very fast. Secondly, it manages to do something no other zombie film has done, which is to suggest a reason behind the chaos that isn't total bollocks (it also leaves you to work out what the Hell the last scene is about, which is nice of them). Thirdly, the main character is almost unbearably cute (apparently a genuine Spanish TV presenter, which means this is 21st Century Spain's equivalent of Ghost Watch), and although they attempt to appeal to women as well with an (apparently) attractive fireman, he gets brutalised pretty quickly. A2 was very upset, which only added to the fun.

• Anyone looking for a blend of cuteness and full on weirdness should check out zoo animals with birthday cakes. Note especially how apparently the giant panda is somewhat more keen on cake than it apparently is in having sex, or continuing the species, or anything like that (h/t to Hullabaloo)
  

• Hilzoy gets a shiny penny for being the first person I've read to finally work out what I thought was obvious:

  It's a real relief, after years of watching politicians grab as hard as they can for each micro-advantage at each moment in time, to see someone with larger sense of what matters: of the arc of a campaign, of when you can afford to hang back and let your opponent wear himself out, and when you need for everything to come together.

  It's been obvious for months now that Obama has been saving the best for last, and that every single person who whined that he wasn't hitting hard enough and that the race was too close and wah wah wah owes the campaign an apology. I know there's no way to prove this, but I have no doubt that the electoral college wouldn't look too different to how it does now even had the financial sector not gone into melt-down. Obama fought a strategy-heavy campaign that has beaten the crap out of McCain's tactics-obsessed one, and people are finally starting to notice.
  

Cautiously Upbeat

So, tomorrow is The Election. And no, I don't feel any shame in being a Yorkshireman and describing voting in the new American President as being The Election. Look at how big America is. Look at how shiny.

It seems completely implausible at this point that McCain can win. Fears about interference at the ballot box (though in many areas"ballot box" might be less appropriate a term than "evil Republican touch-screen battle droid") and the Bradley Effect notwithstanding, McCain has had his chips (I've been waiting months to make that joke, which is probably more than a little sad).

I admit it, I am excited. The prospect of watching the Republicans ground into the dirt as the evening goes on reminds me of the happy days of my youth watching the Tories get bitch-slapped across the county back in '97. I may even shed a tear for truth, justice and the American way, despite the fact that for a committed Americophile, I don't think I actually like the American way all that much.

The problem, though, is the same as it was in '97. I know full well that election day is liable to be the last time I actually feel happy about any of this. I genuinely like Obama, but at the end of the day he's just a politician, with all that implies. He's also centre-right by any objective standard, which makes it hard to be bouncing with joy that he's liable to take the Oval. I've spent the last few months cheering on the lesser of two evils because the alternative was so totally, hideously, bat-shit monstrous in its evilness it was the only plausible alternative. Remember that episode of The Simpsons when Bart and Lisa fought to get "Diamond" Joe Quimby re-elected because the alternative was Sideshow Bob? It's a lot like that.

Once the Republican juice is sluiced from the West Wing, though, and all the T-shirts asking "What Would Evil Jesus Do?" have been burned in the Rose Garden, we'll just be left with the fact that the guy in charge isn't really who or what a lot of us would want in an ideal world. Whilst Blair's Labour was obviously incalculably better than the Tories, they still didn't really represent anything particularly good. [1]

Add to this the fact that, as many smarter commentators than I have pointed out, the GOP are always happiest in opposition, since all they're really interested in is preventing government from actually functioning, whilst demonising the left (I've noted before that little is likely to change in America as long as the downtrodden need the Democrats, and the rich don't need anyone). It's going to be a horrible, horrible first term as we watch the Republicans attempt to gridlock Congress and watch President Obama pass legislation that we probably won't be able to describe in more favourable terms than "Not as bad as Bush's, at least".

On the other hand, there is one reason why the Obama White House will keep me smiling. As long as he's in there, there's far less chance of another Iraq. At this point something like one million Iraqis have died since the start of the "cakewalk". That's 3.3% of their entire population. That's half of New York, for God's sake. The "coalition of the willing" turned up, deposed a dictator, and in the process they nuked half of New York. As appalling and tragic as 9/11 certainly was, I'm sure the irony of that fact isn't lost on anyone.

So roll on President Obama, and let's just try to get through this first term without the centre deciding it cannot hold.

[1] Though they did do a number of very good things. Repealing Section 28, for example, which they did the year I became a Newly Qualified Teacher, and was probably the only law I can think of so abhorrent that I would rather have been fired than obey it.

In Which Two Comedians, Two Journalists, And A Smug-Faced Moron Are Challenged

C once pointed out to me that I'm not as funny as I think I am. Which, I would imagine, is true, mainly because I don't think anyone is as funny as they think they are. Sooner or later everyone comes out with a line that proves to be a total dud.

Of course, some people are less aware of their official position on the Groucho Marx scale of funniness than other. So it is with Jonathan Ross, a man who is genuinely funny, but takes over so completely any situation in which someone has hooked him into a microphone that one can only conclude he thinks he's being paid by the word, and that everyone surrounding him is on their day off. If Ross was forced to complete a jigsaw puzzle or solve a Rubik's cube in between each quip, television might be better off.

Still, better Ross than Russell Brand, whose own opinion of his Marx rating isn't really so relevant as the fact that the man is possibly the least funny person I've ever seen. Not even the least funny comedian. Given the choice between a Brand gig and an hour's lecture on gingivitis from my dentist, I would choose the latter without a second thought, and not just in the hope of getting a sugar-free lollipop. Brand is nothing more than an expensive rug wrapped around a foul-mouthed twiglet, and topped with the pelt of a particularly vain honey badger. That, my friends, is his shtick. His scarf is funnier than he is. My scarf is funnier than he is. I am pleased that he survived his battle with heroin addiction, but I am happy that my sister survived her last approach toward status epilepticus, and I'd hesitate suggesting she should take up a career in show business.

All of which is my way of saying that, in the grand scheme of things, the recent furore over their comments to Andrew Sachs isn't something I'm liable to lose any sleep over. Prank calls are a pretty desperate attempt to gain laughs in the first place (it's just the entertainment world's equivalent and pointing and jeering in the playground), and although sometimes you can drop something new or intelligent into the mix (or just skewer someone who really had it coming), in general it's just a cheap approximation of comedy, in which the "comedian" stoking up confusion in their victims, rather than doing what they're supposed to do and confuse you. If what they'd done had been funnier (or funny), I'd be more likely to feel like defending them, but they were doing a shitty, shitty shtick and it went wrong (and you have to ask: isn't there someone out there in the country who would deserve being fucked with on air, or at least someone who deserved it more than Andrew Sachs?).

So, in itself, I don't care about their suspension. I would be quite happy with both of them being sacked, not because they offended me with the broadcast (like 99.9% of the people who have complained to the BBC over this, I didn't actually hear the original program), but because one of them is a talentless hack, and the other seems to have colonised the entertainment landscape like kudzu weed. While I take the point that there's was hardly the most offensive comment broadcast this year, or probably in that week, there is a genuine difference between saying something rude about someone, and actively being obnoxious to unwitting people who are just trying to go about their day. It's an invasion of privacy, and doubly bad in this case since it's not implausible to suggest Baille didn't want the radio-going public to hear about her dalliance with Brand (I notice Peter Thatchell doesn't think this matters because she's a burlesque dancer, apparently the choice to reveal yourself in certain ways means you no longer get to object to any other revelation, either). That's why Marina Hyde comparing this incident to someone on Mock The Week saying that the Queen is so old "[her] pussy's haunted" is flawed. It's not a pleasant image, and with all these things the less someone seems to deserve a kicking the more objectionable these things become (and I have no problem with the Queen, so long as I don't have to meet her, which would be embarrassing for all concerned), but no-one rang up Buckingham Palace and tried to tape the Queen's response to such a charge, nor was the comedian plausibly claiming direct experience with which to back up the claim.

Like I say, then, Ross is an egomaniac, Brand less than worthless, and their transgression boorish, intrusive and totally without merit. So let them get hung out to dry, I say. I don't even mind that most people who complained didn't originally hear the broadcast; the idea that a complaint can only be made at the exact time the comment is made, and by those listening at the time, is transparently ridiculous. I grant that without hearing the comment, I can't be sure that it hasn't been misrepresented to me (though I've read enough accounts to be fairly sure of the basics), and so I'd want to hear it for myself before I actually complained, but I don't actual need to be an "eye" witness or anything.

On the other hand, though, this "outrage" has led to Richard Littlejohn once again rising from the wood-work (I haven't heard from him since I stopped reading his column on the advice of my doctor, and my friends, and everyone within hearing range of my indignant splutters) to point to this situation as evidence that the BBC refuses to tolerate questioning (which is an interesting position to hold after two suspensions and a resignation). And he's always worth giving a kicking to. Hyde does an admirable job herself. Why, she asks, with the world in the middle of a financial meltdown at least in part caused by fat cats deciding that they needed to be that little bit fatter, is he wasting his time slapping around the BBC because someone that worked for them turned out to be an arse?

Where is Littlejohn's righteous anger on that other obscenely arrogant "nationalised industry", the British banking system? Why, in weeks of financial meltdown, has he not once found himself able to summon even a hundredth of this level of ire to rail against the people who caused the mess, and the misery that will befall his readers as a result? After the Lloyds boss made the bonus announcement, Littlejohn led his column with some anecdote about a scaffolder who'd apparently been unfairly threatened with a £300 fine.

Frankly the most surprising aspect of Littlejohn's latest display of his spectacular lack of priorities is that he hasn't found a way to blame either homosexuals or the Lib Dems for any of this. If it can't immediately be reduced to a story about Littlejohn's unbelievably romanticised past, when men were men and receiving a beating from Matron was a formulative experience, then Littlejohn isn't interested. Anything not directly comparable for the halcyon days of yore that never actually existed in the first place, and Littlejohn has nothing to say (by which I mean he remains entirely silent, as oppose to his usual habit of flapping his gums without saying anything of the slightest substance). The man isn't a journalist in any meaningful sense, simply a man who repeats rumour and gossip and then confidently asserts that it wasn't like that in his day. As a commentator his hackery is so total and so obvious that refuting him is as easy as it is pointless. I spent some time wondering whether I should dip into the copy of Littlejohn's Britain that A gave me as an "ironic" Christmas present last year, but I realised eventually that it couldn't possibly entertain on its own merits, and countering his arguments would be like trying to convince a monkey not to chuck its excrement around.

In summary, then:

• Ross needs to shut up for at least 80% of the time his smug face can be seen on screen;
• Brand needs to shut up entirely forever, donate his clothes to posh drapers, and devote the rest of his life to finding a way to erase his existence from the public conscience;
• Thatchell should stick to discussing human rights violations instead of positioning himself as the universal arbiter of offensiveness (though he does correctly point out there are others who should also be run out of town with pitchforks before the two clowns mentioned above);
• Hyde's comparisons aren't that good, but she's a useful person to have around when right-wing blowhards need a good kicking;
• Richard Littlejohn is the worst person in the world outside of rapists and murderers.

You're Lucky It's Halloweenapalooza

Due to today's festivities I don't have the time to rip this idiocy apart as much as I would like to. Let's just say that if you write an article titled "11 Horror Franchises That Should Have Stopped At 1", you probably shouldn't discuss sequels that by your own admission were often just as good as the original, and sometimes better. And yes, it should surprise no-one to learn that I'm talking about Romero's zombie films. OK, Land and Diary were both disappointments, but since the second two sequels and both re-makes are all brilliant, the series should really belong in an article called "11 Horror Franchises That Are Fucking Awesome But Went Tits Up Eventually, As Is The Way Of All Things". I grant you that it doesn't really scan, but precision is important in such things.

It's also worth nothing that the general fact that the number of a sequel is inversely proportional to the quality of the film isn't a property of horror franchises, it's a property of sequels. Not even just films, either, series of novels or comics are often afflicted by the same problem. Picking on horror (admittedly presumably because it's Halloween) seems more than a little odd.