Thoughts on the WAG and SAG-AFTRA strikes

It's interesting how much work is going on to undermine the written word today, isn't it. 

It's interesting just how much work is going on 

to undermine the written word

today. I mean right now, in sweating offices and boardrooms,

men who are paid more money than I am ever going to see

before I shuffle off this mortal coil, are talking to shady guys

like the man I once met in a Baltimore restaurant

who seemed like the epitome of charming evil, 

to try and find the dirt to turn a snitch with,

and all with the intention

of replacing professional writers - not weirdoes like me,

who will always be shouting out here at the edge of the 

boarded-up shopfronts, but people paid to write the actual words

which millions remember, mimic, maul into ubiquity

with machines with which, we are told, will outwrite

Wilder, all the while unable 

to write more than a third-form book report. 

It's absolute exhaustion. Is this why

e said the mind was wider than the sky?

To satisfy the kind of men who dined with Harvey Weinstein? 

George Osborne Is Weak

 

And so is everyone soiling their pants over one of the Just Stop Oil people getting him point-blank with some orange confetti. Emphasis on 'some'. Look how little that lady is throwing at him, in my little collage piece above (which is just a bit of banter, right chaps? After all, I'm not even using simunition rounds...) . Look how little hits him! If you genuinely find this terrifying then look away now, because I'm about to blow your tiny, cowardly little mind. 

That's me covered in fake blood and very real confetti after the first prop rehearsal for Shotgun Wedding back in 2015. We learned two things from that rehearsal: one, that the literally underground venue we were using wasn't really set up for a situation where gallons of sugar syrup and food colouring were being thrown around, and, two, that the blood may have looked impressive but the confetti really didn't. So going forward, we decided to bulk out the confetti with dry rice. 

The thing about having handfuls of dry rice thrown at you by people who've been whipped up into a frenzy? That isn't like having confetti lightly tumble down upon and around you. That shit hurts. 

And here's me after the last performance of the tour, at which I specifically instructed the audience to try and throw rice with sufficient force to stop me performing (they didn't in the end, but it did get pretty close). As you can see, I'm absolutely plastered with the stuff. 

A tiny bit of confetti? Don't make me laugh. Frankly, from everything I hear about Georgie 'Porgie' Osborne lately, he wants to be thankful he didn't get hit with something much stronger than novelty wedding favors. I mean, I would have turned up with a brick before I read this Thursday's Popbitch...