Tuesday, February 07, 2006

A Night At 'Gerry Springer - The Opera'

Last Thursday I got out of work as early as I possibly could, ran a few red lights to get to the childminder, whipped the small boy into the car, ran a few more red lights, pushed him up the stairs into the house, deployed Shrek as he demanded ("Threk! Don-key! Cat! Now!"), gave him some food (does yoghurt count as food?), left him alone and got changed into - What? What the fuck do you wear to go to the opera? Oh, some jeans and a nice jumper. That'll do nicely.
The small boy is two-and-a-half years old, which by some co-incidence is exactly the same time since we've been out. Anywhere. Let alone the opera.
His Mum gets home just in time and just knows exactly what to get changed into. How the fuck does she do that? Must be why I married her. So she could look fantastically at home in the opera thing and I could look like some bloke in jeans and a jumper.
So we arrive at 'Gerry Springer - The Opera'. We look forward to a feast of soprano and vibratto, a smorgasbord of bass and tenor. Instead, we get "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fucking fucking fuck!!" Sung beautifully. And the odd "cunt". And Satan giving the baby-boy Jesus a hard time. Even the word "And" sung by a classically trained cast brings tears to the eyes. Not to mention the poor fuckers with the chocolate lesbian relationships.
Get home, contrast this with the complete acquittal of Nick Griffin and the partial acquittal - and complete demonisation- of Abu Hamza.
Both cunts, but only one is going to prison. Griffin, you are a lucky fucker.

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