I sat down this evening to watch the new Jennifer Saunders series on the television. So far, not up to her usual standards, but still quite funny. She plays a female version of Jeremy Kyle, and in the first episode gets set upon by one of the guests. Since watching I have been disturbed to discover how much I would enjoy seeing Jeremy Kyle getting smacked around the head with a cricket bat. This is not the sort of image that a peace loving, gentle and caring person normally has to contend with. I am so disturbed by this, that I am thinking of applying to appear on the Trisha Goddard show to discuss the problem, except I might be tempted to kick the smug cow in the tits. Or I could go over the seas to Dr Phil, but I might pull his all’s smartass moustache over his all’s head and shove it up his all’s ugly butt. It was meant to be a comedy programme, for God’s sake.
Even more disturbing was the documentary on the children who sang on “Another Brick in the Wall”. With their apparently progressive headmistress conceding that there was room for “one” eccentric teacher in each school. The teacher in question had actually made a difference by conveying his enthusiasm for his subject to his students. Heaven forfend that we should allow those sorts of people in our schools. (Yes, yes, I know that you can only get a very superficial view in 45 minutes). No, let’s populate the staffrooms of our centres of learning with mindless, efficient, soulless drudges who excel in getting their charges through an endless stream of meaningless examinations. Fuck the lot of them. Look out for me on the 11 o’clock news running round the department of education with my Kalashnikov.
Reg, you take over.
9 comments:
I didn't see it. Is it on BBC 12 over the weekend?
When you go postal, can you make sure you spare the ex, who has apparently qualified as a teacher, as she earns far more than I do so hasn't hassled me over my inability to regularly pay maintenance
Odd you should mention the Department for Education - because Ziggi's latest post tells us that there is now no such animal. Mr Brown has abolished it, apparently.
.....and then those self, same talentless, "those-who-can-do", elbow-patched bores insist on talking to you like a kid when they amble into the pub at 3.30pm after "another hard day" followed by them bleating on and on about how "I was in at 9am this morning, you know? Roll on the 23-week half-term, it's only a week away again, thank God. You don't know how much stress we're under, sharpening all that chalk and putting ticks and crosses in red ink on exercise books.".....and the fucking lecturers are no bleedin' better, and these shoes are killing me, and when are we going to get some decent weather, and who is fucking Britney soddin' Spears anyway and why do fucking children's television presenters feel they have to shout, I mean are all our kids fucking deaf, and whatever happened to National Service, and don't get me started on that bloody Robinson witch and her fucking love of Maxwell which turned into an "Oh, I never really liked him anyway" once he fell off the soddin' boat, and when they threw away the placenta they got rid of the wrong bit as far as Clarkson is concerned and........and.......and.....Still, mustn't grumble.
I see Reg is going for my position as house misanthrope.
there is no department for education - get with the times Sid.
No, there isn't a department of education. I killed the fuckers last night. And I still have bullets left for anyone else making smartarse remarks.
Jonny
*sigh*
And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself - well...
how did I get here?
I am very disappointed that you "would enjoy seeing Jeremy Kyle getting smacked around the head with a cricket bat."
Wouldn't you rather be the one who smacks Jeremy Kyle around the head with a cricket bat? I would.
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