It seems to me that the readers of this blog fall into two camps. One camp likes it when I review the back of a shoe or my lack of pants or unicorn eyes. The other is Camp Granada. Hello!
Anyway, I said I wouldn’t do another review of a person for a while, but then this Miranda Devine thing happened, but it’s OK, because she’s not really a person, more like institutionalised stupidity.
If you haven’t already, read Devine’s article here. Making sense of that article is like trying to play dot-to-dot on the hung, flayed and dried fur of a cheetah. It’s distasteful, offensive, cruel, illogical and completely pointless. After being summarily offended, I re-read the article with the intention of joining those dots. My critical faculties, who I imagine as a pleasantly plump retiree, sitting out in the back garden of my mind wearing cableknit, was unfortunately not up to the task. In fact, they suffered a massive heart attack and their face melted and was eaten by the tiny dogs that are my common sense and sense of ethical responsibilities. Thanks Miranda Devine, you killed my brain-pensioner.
But I wouldn’t let all that made up nonsense stand in my way! I persisted, trying to see how Penny Wong’s incipient child caused the London riots, how the presence of a penis in a family will benefit it, how being Catholic had anything to do with the patronising inspidity of the last paragraph of that article. Comprehension eluded me, until with a snap like time flowing backwards or the invention of testicles, my brain learned how to see the world like Miranda Devine does.
|Oh, I get it now. It’s all coming together, like maniac soup.|
It’s a world without logic or comprehension, where simply the presence of two things can logically lead to yet more unidentified objects. With all the grace and skill of a blind, whisky sick cowboy riding an enormous earthworm, Devine rounds up whatever unfortunate objects, concepts and events she can find and rustles them into the shit-stained paddock that she calls her articles.
It’s this kind of revolutionary thinking that led my fellow Twitter brethren @Flyfromadream to make the link between ‘journalist’ Miranda Devine and south Sydney train station, Miranda Station. Most normal people realise that the only connection between the two is one of proper nounery, but not with the patented Devine way of thinking. Is Miranda Devine a train station in disguise, and if so, what is her secret agenda? Was Miranda Devine a train station first, or did she eventually devolve in a platform for teenagers from the Shire to disembark upon so that they can shop in the largest shopping centre in the Southern Hemisphere?
LACK OF STARS:
Maybe this isn’t a new way of thinking. Maybe her way of drawing connections between entirely separated events is exactly what it looks like – a spurious attempt at writing relevant journalism by a bitter, conservative, homophobic, relic from the unenlightened past. Maybe. But if anyone was to ever embody the ideals and writing style of a train station from the Shire, it would have to be Miranda Devine. What was my point again? Oh yeah. The riots. I’m so against them.
0/5. I need to review something favourably next, I’m beginning to feel… dirty.