We decided to opt-out of the Kate and Bill Wales story as we can only tolerate a certain percentage of madness in any given fiscal year. Royal weddings can easily exceed our mandated maximum, especially if they occur in the UK. The madness doesn’t necessarily happen because of the media, as it is expected the ink-stained wretches go all sloppy, but more because of the rampant venal merchandising that gloms its’ mitts onto any occasion.
For instance, the ‘replica’ Royal engagement ring only available in this limited time offer, strict limit of one per household, normally priced at $119.00, now just $39.90, with a hinged velveteen box and Certificate of Authenticity. If one combined folded cigarette foil for the ‘silver’, broken windshield glass for the ‘diamonds’ and a shard of an old Noxzema jar for the ‘sapphire’, then assembled the pieces could be construed as a ‘replica’ of the Kate and Bill engagement ring. It’s so ugly that the ring itself will scuttle under the fridge if you turn on the kitchen lights.
By the same rules of ‘replica’ commemoratives, I’m Ray Charles, because I have at least two feet and so did Ray. We’ll overlook the logic of the comparison as I am younger, Caucasian, untalented, won’t sing, can’t play the piano, am partially sighted and not currently dead. I can however provide a Certificate of Authenticity. I’ll even throw in a hinged velveteen box, so you can call me Ray Charles too.
The madness comes from the reaction of supposedly sane consumers who upon seeing the commercials for any kind of commemorative, immediately whip out the credit card and start pounding the phone to order this material. The Cook Islands, the Franklin Mint and hundreds of other commemorative manufacturers seem to tap into some poorly formed area of the consumer brain that insists on parting with money for commemoratives and collectibles. Why? Are we actually that malformed and lacking in self-esteem that we think the possession of recycled-glass-not-even-close replica of some dead Royal’s ring, somehow will convey the status of near-Royalty to our mantle, if we had a mantle?
Yes. We are that dumb. If we weren’t, these commemorative folks would have gone out of business generations ago, but, like mercury in the bloodstream, they’re still with us.
As for Kate and Bill? We wish them well.
Guest Commentator–Mason Baveux
We’re up to our gumboot tops on the job, so we bought Mason a mickey of Palm Breeze to fill in. Mason?
Thanks again there lad for the ticket to bloggery and the mickey of coffee sweetener will go a long way to takin the chill out of the weather. You asked me to look over the news and see what comes up, so’s I did.
Libya: Them NATO lads are doin a no-fly zone sos to keep Moe Cadaffy from killin everyone what isn’t him. She’s a good idea on the surface, but they’s overlookin the oblivious. Airplanes cost fer gas and guns and people what to drive’em and change the oil. That adds up to a bit of change, and change is what Mo Cadaffy don’t want.
If they’d just off Mo Cadaffy, then the NATO flyboys (and girls) can go home. Bomb the snot out of his house, then make the ashes bounce again, then once more to make sure. If Libya can’t get change after that, then to hell with them all. We’re not invadin, move on.
Japan. Jeeze that makes me head hurt. The ground goes shaky, then the Sue-nami comes ashore and washes about 50 thousand folks away. Then they get a bunch of reactors goin all cattywampus threatening to melt through the planet to come out around Ann Arbor Michigan. All I know for sure is it ain’t no easy fix and it won’t be done by dinner time, even if media don’t cover it no more.
The Media. I’ve had me about enough of them pundicks talkin their jaws off about how some politician is or isn’t left or right, or up or down. Hey, media! Whyn’t ya try lookin for some facts once in a while, as your opinions don’t mean jack squat. We got a one-time Cabinet advisor up here cavortin with some 22 year old ‘sex trade worker’ (which is just code for she’s a whore) who’s what wound up ownin’ about 20 percent of some shell-game sellin water filters to First National reservations with Federal funding, all run by this one time advisor who’s gettin rich and getting his handrail shined. The last time we had somethin’ this tacky was when Mackenzie King would ask someone to lend him five bucks after a Cabinet meeting. I’s so fed up with the bullhockey that passes for reportin, that I’m about ready to renounce my membership in the Nancy Wilson Fan Club.
Late Breakin’ News. Hey, we got a bulletin here and I’s always wanted to say that. Seems that our esteemed Federal Representatives have decided to dissolve Parliament and toss us off the dock of a Federal Election into a half-frozen lake and it ain’t even the 2-4 Weekend yet.
Nows, being thrown off the dock is how I learned to swim, but dammit Janet, this time we get thrown off the dock with a chain around our neck and the four cinderblocks we’ve got for party leaders are goin to take us all to the bottom. It sure looks like we’re not going to be votin for anything, but just votin for the one that doesn’t actually suck as much shiite as the other three.
I wanta pass a law that all of them, that Browshirt Harper, Iggy the Undead, Jack the Meat Department Manager at Sobey’s and Gilles Doucheppe be legally prohibited from ever being organ donors. We surely don’t want that kind of genetic material bein out and about. I’m sort of thinkin of passin the hat at the Center to send all four of them to Japan to go stand on a reactor for an afternoon. They’d be dumb enough to do it, if we told them it was a campaign contribution. With any luck, it’d be a one-way ticket.
We could find some retired hockey players with multiple concussions who’d run our government. I know a guy named Slappy who runs the Zamboni up Middletown way. Slappy still wears his hockey helmet from Junior A thirty years ago and for five bucks he’ll eat a stick of butter on a dare, then puke it up. He couldn’t be any worse than the collection of lint we got runnin things now.
Frig Dave! What the hell are we gonna do?
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