Once again the world held it's breath as the shadow of terror fell over us all.
Thank the lord of all that is holy that this time, this time, sanity prevailed. The moderate, sensible voice of American conservative thinking has once more saved us from certain doom.
It seems there was a clear and present danger that a woman in an advert might have been allowed to wear a scarf.
Yes. You read that right, a scarf. DEMON.
This was not just any scarf though, oh no. This was the Osama Bin Laden of scarves. A scarf which is remorselessly black and white, which is sickening in it's tasseled edges. It looks a little bit like a traditional Arab keffiyeh scarf which is sometimes worn by terrorists. It's not one, it just looks a bit like one.
Thank god though for conservative America, which stamped it's massive feet and whipped up an outcry, so the ad has been pulled. Thank god they are focused on the important stuff. I'm sure at this very moment St Peter is putting a big 'tick' next to their names on the 'Who gets into heaven' list. Either that or laughing heartily at their malformed sense of right and wrong.
I don't see much wrong with lots of conservatism really, for example I like family values. However I can't help but notice a lack of consistency. Those same terrorists who wear scarves also hold guns. I haven't noticed any outcry from conservative America against guns.
Fair enough though. Guns don't kill people. Scarves do.
Now that I think about it those same terrorists wear shoes. SHOES! I might start a campaign to have all ads removed in which people wear shoes. Who's with me?
read about the idiocy
At the weekend I was scraping off wallpaper in the hallway. Beneath it there was layer of thick, bright orange rubbery paint. It was dirty and seemed to bubble of it's own accord. As I dragged the pallet knife across it I felt a shudder, I wobbled on the stepladder and almost lost my footing. Unexpectedly scared and alone in the house, I decided a tea break was in order.
I turned to step down from the ladder and noticed the floor had gone. In its place was a choppy paper sea, waves of dirty yellow-white rising and falling across the hall. I took my foot off the last rung and tried to find purchase on the floor but no matter how hard I stretched, all I could feel was the rough, hot, wet edges of the curled-over lining paper. Standing at the top of a flight of stairs and aware I was over-stretching, I pulled my foot back toward the step-ladder. Or at least I tried to; but the paper had stuck to me.
I kicked my foot a few times but again nearly lost my balance. It was like the paper wanted to stick to something. No, not something, someone and not anyone, me. I suddenly knew true fear, this was not an accident, this was revenge. I had dislodged it from it's vertical life. What was it now, laying curled, worthless and ruined? Not even truly horizontal. I had done this. I would pay.
I felt the curls of paper move around my leg and tighten. I stifled a scream, this was stupid, this couldn't possibly be happening.
From there, once established, the thick, suffocating scraps of paper slid up to my torso and finally enveloped my head.
As it went dark and the damp, glue-covered paper filled my throat, all I could think was; I should have got a man in.
