Blogging is easy. You just sit there and type. Where it gets complicated is those occasions where those treacherous little fingers of yours take you into areas that are well off your original intentions. I started writing this article a week ago when it was more topical and as a matter of contrast wanted to mention in passing the D-day heroes whose anniversary was coming up.
A little mention became an article in its own right and by the end of it, I didn’t want to soil the memory of them by mentioning scum like these people in the same piece. I went with the emergent D-day piece because it was mete, it was fitting, and that was that. Doing anything else would have been a gross betrayal. Some things are appropriate, some are not, it’s actually more a matter of common decency and taste.
Picky though I may be, I prefer to write about fine ordinary people than disagreeable people like these ones, but at the end of the day I’ve a long memory and will always come back – old times are not forgotten.
You’ll find a YouTube video here of people discussing a possible movie. It’s a bit long and could do with some editing down. Watch it or not, but I’ll be discussing it.
They’re a bunch of people sitting around a table in Hollywood restaurant discussing some business. It’s all very slick, very articulate and oh so with it. Stylish. Smooth. They talk about money having no morality, Washington being just like Hollywood in that it’s all show, everyone snickers knowingly like the well-groomed dentitionally perfect Tinsel town imbeciles they are, and it totally encapsulates everything I really despise about people who have no vestige of a soul, no morality, not even a festering drop-off shitty bit of old scabbed up ethics, just the money fixation and to hell with anything else.
They’ll bend over and grab their heels for anyone, just as long as that person has the wherewithal to pay them handsomely for giving them one up the rear end. Whores, harlots and rent boys assiduously plying their trade for all they’re worth, every single bloody one of them.
They’re talking to someone they were gullible enough to believe was a representative of a foreign Arab company, an oil company. Yes, that Big Oil which all us skeptics are supposed to be working for. He tells them up front that letting America develop its gas and oil resources by fracking would make it energy independent. He wants them to make an anti-fracking propaganda movie for his client. Obviously, using fracking is a sin and would they help him by doing the movie he’d totally finance?
Of course they will. He’s dangling nine million Yankee dollars in front of them to make the movie. Nine million gorgeous lubbly jubbly smackeroos. Rub your hands together. Yummie. You can almost see the dollar signs glowing in their greedy, beady, feral little eyes.
Yankee boys being IED’ed all to hell over there but do they give a damn? Do they shit.
He tells them that he’s just protecting the bottom line of a big oil interest client, he’s representing someone else. They nod like hell. Gimme, gimme – gimme those dollars. They’re just pigs smelling the prospect of fresh swill being sloshed into their feeder trough and doing the tongues hanging out of their gob money thing for all they’re worth. Everyone is a sophisticate, a grown up around a swanky linen-covered table in a Californian restaurant that most of us couldn’t even afford a bloody starter in. Of course they understand – money has no morality, they explain. Snigger, snigger. Everyone is being oh so clever, so cute, so slick.
The conversation moves over to the tricky subject of concealing where the money might be coming from for this indignantly self-righteous movie, a morality tale for the twenty-first century. The agent has barely broached the subject before they all pile in. There’s an indecency, a scurried and sordid haste about it. It won’t be a problem, they can bury anything so grubby as that. Everyone is falling over themselves to keep the Arab sucker on the line. Lotsa accountancy fudges can be used, nobody will ever know. Trust us. We know how to do this stuff, we’re Hollywood sharpies.
That dirty little secret will never escape out of the circle of people around this table, they confidentially assure him. They can nearly taste the money at this stage.
It was a sting, of course it was, but that’s the sort of thing I do myself. The people who did it call themselves citizen journalists and I can think of no nobler title for them. If investigative journalism has gone all establishment, it’s left to guys like them to talk some truth, to expose the filthy rotten underbelly nobody cares to talk about. Forget the house-trained and house-broken curs of the MSM, we’re it nowadays. I’m afraid we’re all you’ve got left.
The picture atop of this piece is Jane Fonda manning an anti-aircraft gun in Hanoi circa 1972 at the height of the Vietnam war. She’s even wearing a bloody helmet. Perhaps it might help her shoot down those airmen, her own countrymen. There are none of their bodies in sight but what the hell. She looks triumphant and very defiantly sixties. There’s some things you do that can never be forgiven.
I suppose growing up in the shadow of a Dad who could really talk to you out of the celluloid, the best she could do was desperately flash her meagre little titties in some rather kitsch soft porno movies but failing that, become a bit stylishly radical. I’ve always thought that the poor cow was basically silly, almost chronically desperate to be considered somehow significant.
The thing is, she was essentially stoopid and will always be. She has some sort of flimsy, albeit inane excuse. On the other hand, those people actively conspiring with the agent of a foreign power to do harm to their own country for nothing more than money are in another totally different category.
Congratulations, you’ve managed to get lower than Jane Fonda.
Let me show you a different picture, a different America. It’s one of those ten or eleven surviving photographs taken by the photographer Robert Capa as he came ashore at Omaha beach. It’s a young man in the hell of it. Look carefully at it, really carefully. He’s under pressure but the thing is, his head is still up. There’s still a determination. He will get there, the whole plan has gone to shit, he knows it but the poor bastard hasn’t given up, and you can see it in his face. That’s why we were always going to kick their Nazi asses in the end.
I’d rather take my slim chances in the surf with him than those slimy scumbags around the table. Any day.
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