CREDIT CRUNCHIE: delicious honey comb, wrapped in chocolate, costs more than your house.
Alright soft lad.
As you know, when not lurking, Phantom of the Opera stylee, in the eaves of the green room arts centre, plotting which VAUDEVILLE acts to nurture and which to destroy;
I, THE VAUDEVILLIAN saddle up the elephants, link the wagons to the back of a clown and take the whole merry shebang to a quiet watering hole I know. There, in the seclusion and shade of the lime trees: I mix myself a margarita, pop my feet on the coffee table (actually fashioned from the skeletons of my Siamese twin sisters); and, with a loud sigh, I open up the paper and peruse the follies of the world of normals.
IN THESE BLOGS I GIVE VENT TO MY FURY AND MY WISDOM.
I see a very rich man has blown his families heads off, then did himself in. Apparently he had financial worries. These rich people, eh? You can just imagine the internal dialogue: “I can’t bear the ignominy of seeing my family poor! Better they have their heads gunned in, than be forced to live, love, dream and experience, in some lower middle class neighbourhood. My kids going to state school! My wife shopping in TK MAXX! It’s too horrible to contemplate.
I’d better murder us all.”
BUT WAIT. We must now speak of relative poverty.
Like all thinking people in Britain, I am obsessed with that monstrous and demeaning construct, CLASS. Probably I would have said to Chris Foster:
” You think you’re life is bad? You should see some of the people I know!”
But that is in fact absurd. Here is a man in such HELL that he’s killing himself and his family. So clearly, he’s about as poor as a man can be.
It just goes to show doesn’t it? I am the ultimate inverse snob, but I caught meself just in time! So remember, my friends: When you’re risking life and limb to rig the leccy meter, or turning to prostitution to put food on the table-
could be worse. You could be posh and mad. Or worse-
OFFSPRING OF THE POSH AND MAD.
Now. Let’s go and sell some sperm and get a pint, shall we?
Your mam’s special friend,
THE VAUDEVILLIAN