Saturday 17 March 2012

L(F)UCK (of)f The Irish

I’m afraid all my good behaviour on St Patrick’s Eve wasn’t rewarded on St Patrick’s Day. My drunken laziness should have been rewarded with Irish rewards: a horse in a lift in a block of council flats; sex with a beautiful-but-mentally-deficient 15-year-old female relative; a good hiding from a group of people who essentially believe in the same religion as me, or leaving explosives in a British town or city (generally giving people enough notice to get out of the surrounding area)*.

Instead I seemed to be ill. The truth was I hadn’t quite lived up to the image of the toothless, staggering drunken idiot Irish man we all have in our heads. Yesterday I only had 5 or 6 Guinesses (Yes, I know this is a bit to drink for some people but for me it’s not that much – especially with a hangover.) so I didn’t really deserve any St Patrick’s Day rewards. But being ill? Fuck off.

It’s almost like there is some sense of poetic justice in someone berating the Irish finding himself ill on the very day most of his nation are out celebrating the national saint of a country other than their own, specifically the patron saint of Ireland. Not that it is a xenophobic thing against the Irish. Or a patriotic thing for old George (St George), I just don’t understand why people have the big wanting to be Irish thing going on but aren’t that bothered about being English. Maybe it’s because being proud of being English had some god awful connotations from about 1969 until…well onwards. And I suppose being English had some negative connotations before 1969 people just hadn’t realised it was wrong to kill people all over the world while plundering their countries for resources.

*was this last one too much? It’s only meant to be a (mainly) humorous ribbing of the Irish. Mainly in this sense means about 40% affectionate joking to 60% malice.

Tango and Cash back

You know when you haven’t watched a film for a while? And then you watch it and you think it would have been as good as you remembered it as being if Sylvester Stallone hadn’t clearly insisting on script rewrites so that LITERALLY every line his character, Ray Tango, had be a sarcastic pun/quip. The film? Tango and Cash. The thing was that most of them didn’t even make sense and/or weren’t remotely funny/puns didn’t work. But you got that he was clever because he wore glasses… GLASSES…it was Sylvester Stallone in glasses. (One of the first lines was a police man saying how Tango thought he was Rambo! Brilliant.)

I did like that this was allowed to happen though; the glory of the 1980s when stars could make anything they want happen on a film before studios got all powerful and made films without any wit, puns that make sense, jokes that are funny or stars.

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