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Weird Soup
MEDIA FABLES FOR BROKEN HEARTED NIHILISTS


OCTOBER 2004
"She was tall and beautiful and resembled August Stringberg from certain angles. We spent the summer exploring award-winning multi-cultural restaurants of startlingly authenticity. 'I'm an undercover anarchist,' she confided to me and in an attempt to impress her, I travelled to Downing Street to blow up the Deputy Prime Minister by stuffing my pants full of explosives and embracing him warmly. Before I could implement my plan, two plain-clothed policewomen grappled me to the floor. I grappled them back eagerly and was charged with sexual harassment."

APRIL 2004
"There's a short guided tour through Morrissey's subconscious (Saturdays only) and few remain unmoved by this experience. Teenagers of all sizes have been known to produce whole buckets of tears. All security staff carry emergency buckets in case of excessive weeping. The walls have been reinforced to withstand the depth of such emotion: "I am normally not like this," several people will tell you, cheerfully sobbing to themselves, wracked with rare, usually unfelt, poignant depths."

OCTOBER 2003
"The body of the author is being transported by Ford Capri to the doorstep of the nearest cathedral, followed by a 32-piece kettle drum procession. Along the way people throw fruit and coins, possibly as a kind of tribute."

MAY 2003
"Of his forthcoming war, the General says: 'My forthcoming war will be radically different in tone to any of my previous ones. We will sit down on Perspex chairs and discuss my forthcoming war days in advance. My forthcoming war will alter many people's perceptions of what a war can achieve. It will be a friendly war. A war with scruples. Nobody will disagree about this war. Small children will even laugh about my forthcoming war. They are already selling themselves to fund my forthcoming war. My forthcoming war will put smiles back on innocent faces. My forthcoming war will be great entertainment value for all involved in it. Nobody will be injured in my forthcoming war. My forthcoming war will be good for everybody concerned.'"

OCTOBER 2002
"Hairline scattered gently across his head like hilltop grass, reclining slowly into a circular granite bath, bubbles luxuriant around his naked torso ("There's been a move in our society from utility toward indulging yourself," he has noted), eager to eliminate the natural odours his body has accumulated during the day, recognising immediately the ritualistic element of the whole bathing process, suddenly comprehending how the sensual aromatic experience of bathing offers our secularised culture a cheap shot of symbolic atonement, some purification, plus a little rebirth."

JULY 2002
"Sadness is sweeping through the organization like a particularly toxic strain of influenza. Infiltrating every level. From half-cut French lieutenants to cutting edge lit-bitch receptionists. Several architects dreaming lazily in the lobby appearing confused, morally lost, tortured by maze-like thoughts of realist literature. In a desperate bid to boost morale, the President of the organization is emailing bad jokes to everybody else within the organization."

JUNE 2002
"Authors, piled in groups, were busy, frequently mistaking the skull of the Marquis de Sade for an antique cocktail shaker. Rather shy in Rome, my eyes grew blue, while my friends all discussed the latest books. 'But it's not practical,' I pointed out."

FEBRUARY 2002
"Now. Afraid that my bubble might burst again, I cooled off self-analysis by hiring surly call girls with thick lips, a course of action which seems to have had unfavorable consequences for my marital status and previous inborn sociability. Abandoned to float freely through the social spheres, I cast off the golden fetters of Odette, my former wife, and began stimulating myself by injecting fluids into my veins"

JANUARY 2002
"As for quality live entertainment in Kandahar: looking for drugged-up girls? Jumpy with adrenaline, through the darkness of the nearest table? Performing for you? Wondering, what innocence once dwelt there within that delicate frame of long hair, lost eyes, repeatedly opening/closing legs? Well, Kandahar isn't really good for that kind of thing, I've found."




 
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