17.2.06

The French Are Revolting.

The French have lost another battle.

(Whch should really come as no surprise to anyone who has even a passing acquaintance with 20th century history.)

Those of you who drop by here regularly may remember a post I'd done on the Clemenceau - a ship loaded to the gunwhales with asbestos, headed to India for dismantling, courtesy the frogs.

Well, the handful of people who decided to take on the snail-eaters, won.
They took on the entire damn French government, and other allied interests. And won.

The Clemenceau has been ordered back home.

Read more about it here.

Of course, anyone who has ever read half a cheesy thriller, will tell you that the French will probably deep six the damn ship along the way - claiming, with straight faces, that it wasn't seaworthy. Hence the title of this post.

14.2.06

Just Press Play

Wake up in the morning, to Dylan's nasal whine.

Bob Seger takes over, with the day's first cigarette.

Give voice to Marley in the shower.

John Mellencamp strolls along, on the way to office.

Step into a meeting with U2.

Most times, B B King sympathises when it's over.

Some times, things go well, and Skynyrd's jukin' too.

Play hookie from work, for an hour, with Jimmy Buffett.

Led Zep provides an escort back.

5:00 pm and it's time for Tom Petty.

7:00 pm and J J Cale takes over the watch.

Think about stepping out for a beer with the Stones about 9-ish.

Stay at work instead, Dire Straits indeed.

Eventually, head home to my brown eyed girl and Van the Man.

The next morning, just press play.

Thanks for tuning in to the soundtrack of my life.

13.2.06

Wishful Thinking

I've been an ardent fan of The Onion for quite a while now.

I admire their style of humour, which is as side-splitting, as it is incisive and relevant to the crap that passes for a geo-political scenario today.

This is one of their pieces that I honestly wish was for real.

Enjoy.

1.2.06

An open letter to Mick Jagger

Dear Mick,

I've given this a great deal of thought, and have decided that the fate of the world rests in your liver spotted hands. It won't take much to save this shit-hole we inhabit (I know it stinks, but its the only one we've got.) All you have to do is become President of the United States.

Of course you have questions about inhabiting 1600 Penn. Ave.
Here are a few compelling reasons for calling the furniture movers immediately...

1) If the world has to be ruled by a white, geriatric, imbalanced anglo-saxon, well - to be perfectly honest - I'd rather it was you.

2) If the devil's got to have my sympathy, you asked for it well in advance.

3) Your way of solving international conflicts would only involve a battle of the bands.

4) You say you can't get no satisfaction, with so much more panache.

5) Nobody would object to Keith Richards subpoenaing Google files - everyone knows he's a dirty old man anyway.

6) When stories about your drug usage leaked out, they wouldn't harm your popularity ratings.

7) You've had more practice at looking good in spandex.

8) You could sack Donald Rumsfeld and hire James Brown instead.

9) White House press conferences would finally get more attention than Osama's Greatest Hits, vol xxxvii.

10) "Please allow me to introduce myself..." sounds a hell of a lot better than "My Fellow Americans..."

Think it over.

No. Seriously.

Think it over.