August 31, 2010

The Opening Monologue – Tuesday the 31st of August 2010

Written by Vittorio Leonardi.

Good evening.

The only thing that remains constant is change. It seems to be the one thing that you can really count on. Politicians come and, thankfully, go. Icons we thought would be around for several more decades, a Princess Diana or a Michael Jackson, can be taken away in a moment. Here at home, many pundits are wondering if the last wave of strike action and corruption could be the final straw that breaks the Zuma camel’s back. Everywhere, it seems that Bob Dylan was right, “The Times They Are a-Changin”.

So let’s have a look at who should be staying and who, we can only hope, will be beating a hasty path to Darwin Award Heaven.

Woody Allen said: Paranoia is knowing all the facts.

It’s strange how, occasionally, life truly does imitate art. For example, do you remember what happened to the other double-0 numbers in the James Bond stories? They usually ended up floating in a river or full of holes. Now, call me paranoid, but this time, it seems that it’s happened for real and just down the street from Commander Bond’s employer.

The decomposing body of a British spy, Gareth Williams, age 31, has been found in his apartment.

Now here’s where the paranoia engine kicks in.

  1. He was dead for at least two weeks when they found him. His bosses… that are also spies… couldn’t find him for two weeks.

  1. His body was found stuffed in a sport’s bag, in his bath.

  1. The crime scene is a few hundred yards from MI6’s front door.

  1. The apartment is owned by a private company called New Rodina. That’s Russian for Motherland

  1. His cell phone and several SIM cards were all neatly laid out on a table.

  1. He was employed as a communications officer at the UK Government’s “listening post” – GCHQ – Government Communications Headquarters.

Beware the scary donut!!

But here’s the proof of something shifty going on. Meet Gareth Williams.

He’s an avid cyclist! What the hell kind of spy rides around on a bicycle? Ian Fleming would turn in his secret lair if he heard tell of a bicycle-riding, healthy-living secret agent. I submit to you that it was Zombie Fleming that killed the agent. So enraged was the author of spy novels that he tore himself from his earthen grave and sought to punish the ill-suited spy. Why else was the body trussed up like a take-away? Because Zombie Fleming wanted to nom, nom, nom!

Elsewhere, a British Airways flight from London to Honk Kong successfully tested the latest in air-panic causing technology. A pilot caused a plane to become 100 pounds heavier with poo when he mistakenly played an emergency message.

Allow me to set the scene: you’re cruising at 9kms (30000 feet) up, enjoying whatever nibbles you can con out of the ever-present waitressing staff. You think of all the fun things you’re going to be doing in Hong Kong. Perhaps you’ll even try a new girl/guy out at Madam Ho’s House of Hump. You’re comfortable, content and relaxed person.

Then you hear this:

“This is an emergency. We may shortly need to make an emergency landing on water.”

Panic much?

Here’s what the passengers had to squeal:

Michelle Lord, 32, “People were terrified. We all thought we were going to die.”

Another traveller said: “I can’t think of anything worse than being told your plane’s about to crash.”

You have no imagination, whoever you are.

Here’s what the airline had to say: “We would like to apologise to passengers on board the flight for causing them undue distress.”

What does he mean by “undue distress”? Is there such a thing as “due distress”?

I knew it!

There is no such thing as turbulence. It’s the bored pilot jerking us around! Turbulence, my aching ass!!

Across the pond, in America, the militant wing of the pharmaceutical companies – the D.E.A. or Drug Enforcement Administration – is in search of translators.

Ebonics translators to be precise.

For all the squares out there, Ebonics, a.k.a. African American Vernacular English, is an ever-evolving English vocabulary with African language structure.

Basically, the D.E.A. needs translators to understand what some brothers are saying during drug deals.

Fair enough.

Clearly they need to know what’s being said so they can build a case. But, as always, a story like this brings out the special people.

Aloysius (what?) Hogan, the government relations director of English First, had this to say:

“Hiring translators for languages that are of questionable merit to begin with is just going in the wrong direction. I’m not aware of Ebonics training schools or tests. I don’t know how they’d establish that someone speaks Ebonics,” he said.

Simple. You listen.

“I support the concept of pursuing drug dealers if they’re using code words, but this is definitely going in the wrong direction.”

For those of you that are wondering, English First is a national lobbying group that promotes the use of English. I didn’t realise that the language was under threat. It seems a little rude.

“Sure I’ll buy your drugs but remember, I only accept English crack.”

Every day, you see people driving as though they’re in a different postal code or dimension to you. Well, the next time you see someone swerve, here’s a reason to consider and cringe about.

Police pulled over a car in Elmwood Place, Ohio one evening. They had pulled the car off the road because it had illegally tinted windows. But when they looked inside they found Colondra (what kind of parent does that to a child) Hamilton, with her pants unzipped and a sex toy in her lap.

Here’s Colondra!!!

Methinks the sex toy was blindfolded.

But wait there’s more. She wasn’t only servicing her needs while driving; Colondra was using the toy while watching porn on a laptop that a passenger in the front seat held up so she could see it!

Holy crap lady!! Can’t you wait till you get home?

The cops booked her on what has, just now, become my favourite charge ever – “driving with inappropriate alertness.”

The sex toy has since been sent for counselling.

Why? Need I remind you, it was with that!

Staying with roadside fun, if you thought our rush hour was bad; spare a thought for the drivers on the Beijing-Tibet highway.

They’ve been stuck in traffic for over 10 days! Construction on the highway won’t be finished till the 17th of September. The average mileage covered in a day has been clocked at one kilometre a day. Surprisingly, there have been no road rage incidents. That’s because the drivers are too busy getting raped by the local villagers. Financially speaking anyway. The villagers know that they’re the only source of food the drivers have so they have no qualms about jacking up their prices to Himalayan heights.

I guess the moral of this story is a simple one: you see what happens when you screw the Dalai Lama? Karma is an eternal bitch.

Soldiers in Taiwan have been issued new orders. They’re banned from napping or even closing their eyes while wearing their uniforms in public.

“Servicemen should avoid napping or resting with their eyes closed while taking public transportation to maintain the image of the armed forces,” the ministry said in a statement.

Wow, what an inspiring message. The Army – We’re not sleeping on the job… WE. NEVER. SLEEP.

I bet Freddie Kruger never killed a Taiwanese soldier.

And soon there will be no drinking and no talking. You know, Taiwan’s right, they’re nothing like the Chinese.

Speaking of staying up, coffee is one of the true gifts of nature and still one of the only narcotics allowed in the work place.

But, as with any drink, it would seem there are connoisseurs for it. Self-appointed babbling turd-stirrers that just love to tell you how one thing is subtly different from another because it got more sun, more tannins or was fermented in a guru’s appendix before harvesting.

Nowhere is this more true than in Jakarta, where ranks of coffee slurpers are upset because their favourite nectar is about to be mass produced. The coffee cherries they’re so reverent of are found, half-digested – in the POO of the wild civet. These coffee jockeys are terrified that if planned farming of these birds occurs, the coffee’s flavour will become monotonous.

You sad, strange little toss-pots.

By the by, the coffee sells for $250 per kilo. If you’re just after a buzz, try cocaine. Not only will it keep you awake, it’ll give you a God complex, make your weiner small and empty out your bank account too.

Perhaps the Taiwanese military commanders could use some to balance the crap between their ears.

Have you ever wondered if you were too drunk? Well, a German man complaining about a large zit on his scalp, had a .22 calibre bullet removed from the suppurating sore. Here’s the kicker: it’s been there for five+ years! Apparently, one new years eve, Captain Boozehound felt something strike the back of his pip while he wandered the streets, four sheets to the wind, during New Year’s celebrations in 2004 or 2005.

You see, he can’t remember… In the words of Rowley Birkin QC:

“I freely admit that I was very, very drunk.”

And finally… If you ever needed proof that Kazakhstan might be a bad place to live, look no further. This guy has single-handedly undone all of Borat’s fine average work.

A 52-year old Kazakh man that was about to be extradited by Spanish authorities after serving a five-year prison sentence, cut off his weiner to avoid going home.

While surrounded by several cops, he slipped a knife out of his clothing and severed all ties with Mr. Happy. Nice job watching the prisoner, fellas.

I guess Spanish prison sex can just break a man.

Mind you, he was 52. Methinks he was just getting tired of that long dry spell and just decided to cut back on some excess baggage.

This concludes this week’s edition of The Opening Monologue. See you next week and remember; you haven’t heard it all till you’ve heard The Last Say On Sunday.