Thursday, 17 December 2009

Death by Zombie, or Death by Vampire?


Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

Well... no, Mr. Frost. Bullshit. Because when the world does end -- and it will end. Horribly. -- it will not be anything so benign as fire or ice. This is I have realised. The fate of our world will, quite simply, be a matter of either death by zombie or death by vampire.

Everything that happens in our world, it seems clear to me now, is inching us closer and closer to one of these inevitable conclusions. It's only a question of who will get there first, who will inflict the final blow. Will it be death by zombie? gruesome, rotting flesh of the undead inevitable masses clawing through our skulls to feast upon what little nutrition might yet be housed in our increasingly spongy brains? Or will it be death by vampire? the slow, seductive sucking of our lifeforce by evil overlords who, having taken from us whatever they need to survive and thrive, will toss our empty bodies away like yesterday's copy of The Daily Telegraph.

Both are kinda sexy, I suppose. In their own way.

Why have I come to this conclusion -- or rather, you might ask, why I have only just come to this conclusion? Look around you! It is hopeless. Whenever the will of blank-eyed, thoughtless masses wins, whenever the mind-eating banality of the crowds takes another bite of our cultural body, it is a victory for the zombies. In this way, the triumph of the Twilight saga is a triumph for not the vampire, no, but for the zombies that would throw themselves at Robert Pattinson's feet. And if, for example, Lord Monckton and the rest of the climate change deniers, fuelled by the ancient evil of corporate money, manage to derail the Copenhagen talks, what is that if not a victory for the vampires, who will leave not only our species but the whole planet in ruin just to stave-off their insatiable thirst?

So I'm now, finally, going to see everything in this world of ours in its proper context, as either a step closer towards death by vampire or death by zombie. Which does raise one small conundrum, however:

If the X Factor single gets to Christmas #1, is that a case of death by zombie or vampire? have the zombies won the day, with their text-voting and brainless iTunes addictions? or are they merely the Renfield-like servants of the true Master, the Prince of Saturday Night Darkness himself, Count Cowell?

What's it going to be? Not that it matters, I suppose. But I'd like to know what's killing me softly this week.

Of course, there is an increasingly likelihood that X Factor won't win at all, which will be some small comfort to all us chainsaw-weilding, garlic-wearing amateur Van Helsings out there. (So, if you haven't already, get out there and buy 'Killing in the Name'.) It's only delaying the inevitable, but hooray for small victories.

Monday, 14 December 2009

Hitler: More than just a maniacal mass-murderer.

WAY too busy to be writing blogs, oh, for weeks now. And who'd want to bother with creative self-expression when there are student essays to mark? Anyway, I have managed to pull myself away for just a mo to pass along this little gem. Forthwith, I present to you, Viscount Monckton of Brenchley!



The Guardian account is here.

And who could pass up yet another chance to comment on a use of Hitler by right-wing fear-mongerers? Oh, not I! Because it was not so long ago that I was pointing out how the insidious little pigeon-shit AN Wilson -- in the Mail, where else? The Official 'You're Like Hitler, You Are!' Newspaper -- was likening Hitler to scientists whose research had the temerity to disagree with his fairy-tale Weltanschauung. Or was that the other way around? I don't remember. Anyway, here we go again. Thank you Lord Monckton, you giant bug-eyed hereditary shitface, and Congratulations!; you are this week's recipient of the Completely Inappropriate Evocation of Hitler Award.

The Completely Inappropriate Evocation of Hitler Awards -- or FUCKWITs, for short -- is bestowed whenever I feel like it to those public figures who, through a Completely Inappropriate Evocation of Hitler, demonstrate an obsessed-paranoid of the world, a foot-stamping, superstitious obstinacy and a Cyclopean view of history. Sorry. I shouldn't say that. It's rude to Cyclops (who, By God! really ARE Hitler!). But the recipients of FUCKWITs also demonstrate a relationship with morality that, optimistically, kindly, one might describe as merely perverse.

Because why is it that the winning FUCKWITs invariably and inevitably seem to be those people who, in all likelihood, would have spent the better part of the 1930s stood before the mirror in the boudoir, dressed in standard issue brown suits learning to say Willkommen! like they really meant it? No, I don't think it is an accident. It may be because their view of the world is so completely back-assward that they actually do see themselves as the victims, the last defenders of truth and justice. (Though I rather like the explanation I heard earlier today, that they are just sublimating their own guilt.)

So, just for the record, Lord Monckton, AN Wilson, Melanie Phillips and whoever else aspires to a FUCKWIT, not to dampen your ambitions (because, hey, you've got to make your name some way), but it's like this:

Hate-spreading, mass-murdering fascists with unfashionable facial hair: Bad.

Seed-eating, hemp-knitting, pro-environmental activists and glass-eyed, Bunsen-burning, University Challenge obsessives: I'm sorry, just not in the same league. In fact, in terms you can understand: UnBad.

On the other hand, paranoid, self-serving, profit-seeking mouthpieces of capitalism who thought the Crusades were a bloody good show?... Well. Keep up the good work. You'll be surrounded by more FUCKWITs before you know it.