Saturday, July 17, 2010

Tom, Dick, Harry & The Bill

Glad the World Cup is over. Who could have foreseen such an outcome (besides the odd octopus and the parakeet)? The Germans played like Oranges and the Dutch went for a Manschafft make-over. It does seem to work. Plying the traditional tactics of the old enemy took them all the way to the finals. And who’d have seen a long fragmented show of national unity from the Spaniards? They went Swiss the first match and at long last, broke that haunting melody that's jinxed them for years. Any irony in the fact that they played the “tike taka” football of Michels and Cruijff against the Dutch? And Jesus! What happened to the fruitful Oranje? Third appearance in the finals of a World Cup and they decide to go “Foot-Kwon-Do”? Apparently, the Foot-Kan't &Won't-Do.  
It broke my heart. If there’s any consolation it’s the fact that the English went English sooner than expected. The Italians showed how much they missed Zidane and the French, well, the French had an inner revelation that brought them closer to President Sarkozy. And thank god that bloody Octopus has officially retired (yeah and after a four-year sojourn, decides to make a comeback for one last hurrah! Hopefully he’ll tentacle the English to win it (imagine the media circus!).
Here’s hoping the Brazilians don’t do the vuvuzela.
Back to the daily grind and its taxes everywhere; must be the taxes as my regular pan shop’s prices for a pack of Wills is suddenly Nu 60 – a Nu 10 raise. In places unfamiliar it’s a whooping Nu 100. Just might work, these taxes (just one nick: if cigarettes are illegal, where does the sale-money go?)
The other items on the tax list were junk food – yup, they are unhealthy and try saying that to families that are poor and actually eat them noodles for meals. The biggest tax noise was on cars. Lot of vuvuzelas here buzzing on the unfairness of it all. Don’t look at me; I drive a 20-year old Toyota Corona and I’ve decided I’m gonna die before the car or the three "Rs" do. The Opposition Leader has called for the resignation of the Finance Minister. The FM is not responding to the OL’s call. The PM was on the news the other day, giving his State of the Nation address. I liked most of what I heard – that in the long run these taxes will bridge the gap between the rich and the poor. Bridge the gap somehow reminds me of Mao Khola and we all know that's not too encouraging. The PM's outline verbally drawing how it will help do that via taxes that first shake up the poorer lot sounded nice and puzzling. The PM also mentioned making the Bhutanese responsible “tax-paying citizens”. That had a ring of holistic altruism about it – we do need to contribute. Anyway the debate is on about the very nature of that taxation being “UnConstitutional” as the Upper House called it and a “Bill” that needs reviewing and approval. The Lower House is sticking with the fact that it’s no “Bill” – that it could be Tom, Dick or even Harry but certainly not a Bill. The status quo as it sits is “will the real Bill please stand up?”
Forgot I haven’t blogged in ages. Writing is not the fun it used to be and anything that isn’t fun isn’t fun to play with. So I took an inspired look into the man that is Hunter S Thompson.
Here are a few of the man’s quotable quotes:
"We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a saltshaker half-full of cocaine and a whole multicolored collection of uppers, downers, laughers, screamers . . . Also, a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge and I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon . . ."
—Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, 1971

"The Sixties were an era of extreme reality. I miss the smell of tear gas. I miss the fear of getting beaten."
—Independent on Sunday, October 12, 1997

"Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men's reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of 'the rat race' is not yet final."
—The Great Shark Hunt, 1979

"If I'd written the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people—including me—would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism."
—Rolling Stone, February 15, 1973

#06 - DISCO
"I feel the same way about disco as I do about herpes."
—Speech, University of Colorado, 1977

"Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish—a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow—to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested . . . Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll."
—Gonzo Papers, Vol. 2: Generation of Swine: Tales of Shame and Degradation in the '80s, 1988

#04 - FEAR
"We are turning into a nation of whimpering slaves to Fear—fear of war, fear of poverty, fear of random terrorism, fear of getting down-sized or fired because of the plunging economy, fear of getting evicted for bad debts or suddenly getting locked up in a military detention camp on vague charges of being a Terrorist sympathizer."
—"Extreme Behavior in Aspen," February 3, 2003

"My concept of death for a long time was to come down that mountain road at 120 and just keep going straight right there, burst out through the barrier and hang out above all that . . . and there I'd be, sitting in the front seat, stark naked, with a case of whiskey next to me and a case of dynamite in the trunk . . . honking the horn, and the lights on, and just sit there in space for an instant, a human bomb, and fall down into that mess of steel mills. It'd be a tremendous goddam explosion. No pain. No one would get hurt. I'm pretty sure, unless they've changed the highway, that launching place is still there. As soon as I get home, I ought to take the drive just to check it out."
—Quoted in St. Petersburg Times, February 22, 2005

"In a nation ruled by swine, all pigs are upwardly mobile—and the rest of us are fucked until we can put our acts together: not necessarily to win, but mainly to keep from losing completely. We owe that to ourselves and our crippled self-image as something better than a nation of panicked sheep."
—The Great Shark Hunt, 1979

"There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn a crystal blue lake into a puddle of black poison right in front of your eyes, there is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation. It's a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die."
—Gonzo Papers, Vol. 2: Generation of Swine: Tales of Shame and Degradation in the '80s, 1988

And some…
Suicide note
§  Football seasons over. No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won't hurt.

Ps: YourLustForLifeStartsRightNow!


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