Saturday, January 26, 2013


Bless me, Oprah, for I have sinned.  I have been unfaithful to my blog with that cheap and easy tramp, Facebook.  Can't help it -- I am weak and selfish, and FB satisfies my urge to pontificate quickly and without prescription medication.


Mine favourite actroid of late, Balancebeam Cabbagepatch, has taken it upon himself to portray a first-class sh#t, in the form of Wikileaker and professional misanthrope Julian Assange, Ecuador's "Man Who Came to Dinner", in some Dreamworks (no great surprise) flick due out in the fall.  Can't imagine what would drive anybody to identify his own face with that of the self-sodden creep who cares not a whit whose lives he may ruin, or even cause to be lost, by making government documents indiscriminately public.  Fortunately, he deals in wholesale bulk product, most of which is such a bore that even the world's homicidal bad-boys probably can't be bothered to sift through it all -- but you never know when our strange world may produce a terrorist with as many personality disorders as the Ass-hat himself, who decides to plough through the files and find a way to kill off one of my kids or his military brethren. 

Julian Ass-hat is a scourge and a curse upon civilization, and I wonder how many of those involved in bringing him unmerited cinematic attention would appreciate having their addresses, phone numbers, bank accounts, incomes, family members' homes, and private email exchanges published just because Julian knows that he can.  He's apparently quite pissed off about the film, so if I were Cumberbatch and Co., I'd be sniffing out a witness protection program.

The Cumberboy is now one of the highest-demand talents in his profession, and seems to be accepting as much work as a human bean can handle.  This is a two-fold problem:  (a) he is in serious risk of being over-exposed, and if the Assange pic is a genuine lemon (which is entirely possible, since Ass-hat is well past his best-before date for his 15 minutes of ill-gotten fame), there will be the sound of a massive dull thud just as his star is in ascendancy; and (b) if he doesn't take a break he'll never meet a nice girl and settle down and have lots of lovely children, which he's always saying he wants to do. 

[See what happens when there's Too Much Information floating around the inter-webs?]

Far better to apply one's long face and cupid's bow lips to a more fitting biography. 

Anyone thought about Mr. Clusterbomb for a life of Albrecht Dürer?

Can you see it?  Huh?  Huh?