Some things happened recently on the used-syringe and broken beer bottle-ridden St. Kilda beach. I wrote some satire about these events.
If you don’t know what satire is, and apparently a lot of people don’t these days, I feel it is important that I point out that my use of multiple parenthesis is not because I believe the left-wing bias in the media is a Jewish conspiracy, but because I am mocking morons who might believe such silly nonsense.
Indeed, I don’t even believe there is a left-wing bias in the media: any political bias in any entity big enough to be called “the [something]” is by default in support of the status quo (assuming the status quo is stable, of course; and nothing is more stable than the Australian parliament at the moment), regardless of what it is; well, that and profit of course—which is probably more important, if we’re being honest.
And what is profitable? In precise order: Horror, whatever may save us from such horror, a vision of every day existence that is characterised by an unbearable ennui merely so that any minor event may be sensationalised whenever required, sensuality and, lastly, eccentricity (whether to be patronised or mocked).
Now, you may be wondering why sensuality is so low on the list, but the product that is being sold is the audience’s attention to advertisers, so the objective is to keep the audience watching and not to institute a system of positive reinforcement through encouraging associations; not to mention that it makes the eroticism of the ad breaks all the more contrasting and alluring. Anyway, if sensuality were enough to keep your attention for extended periods of time, you’d be masturbating while reading this (if you are, I’m very flattered), rather than off buying a packet of cigarettes because you saw some glamorous strumpet sucking on a fag . On other hand, you’re less likely to buy them if instead of an attractive logo (what’s even better than porn? Logos! Chimpanzees will give up food while electrocuting themselves, just so they can have a single glimpse of those iconic Golden Arches—note I don’t even need to tell you what Golden Arches refers to!—Bonobos, on the other hand, will pick the porn every time) or a scene of simulated fellatio, there is a picture of a hideous tumour on the packet instead. And, incidentally, this may well sustain your attention for a longer period of time (depending on how fast you can bring yourself to climax) than a fag’s white smoke blowing all over a strumpet’s face.
Err, what was I saying? Anyway, even if all this makes me sound terribly cynical, at least I understand what satire is. Or do I? You be the judge.
