In the old days, I used to wake up to the morning paper, neatly folded on a silver salver and presented by my valet along with the kedgeree and the brace of grilled quail. Now I wake up to an inbox of Internet stories forwarded by readers that cumulatively feel like the front page from some bizarro kingdom cooked up for an unpersuasive dystopian satire. For example, a headline from the Washington Examiner:
“Transsexual Cabaret Performer Vomits on Susan Sarandon.”
An accident? Or the pilot for a hot new reality format? In other news, the London Evening Standard reports:
“Number 10 Denies Naked Gordon Brown Called Aide C-word.”
The second round of the hot new reality show? No, the prime ministerial nude had been trying to fix up some one-on-one face time with Barack Obama only to be rebuffed and having to settle for a hurried few minutes with the President in the aisle of the UN kitchen as they exited the big world leaders’ banquet in New York. Hence, his naked fury. You don’t have to be a G7 head of government to appreciate that that’s not the most helpful headline at this stage in the electoral cycle. But, as is the way, the story quickly moved on:
“Gordon Brown’s Staff Called Bullying Helpline.”
Indeed. According to the BBC, members of the British prime minister’s staff had called the National Bullying Helpline for advice and counselling. After all, as the Financial Times reported:
“Bullying: Seven Per Cent of Cabinet Office Staff Are Victims.”
No doubt. As I said, for a satirical novel it’s all a bit too obvious: the internal contradictions of the Big Government nanny state finally implode when the paranoid leader’s underlings start clogging up the 24-hour bullying helpline. Too pat, too neat. Perhaps it would work as a musical, with Bye Bye Birdie’s Telephone Hour number retooled for teary stenographers, distraught Lord Privy Seals and other minions of the ruthless Gordon: Bye Bye Brownie. “I have never hit anybody,” responded the prime minister, after allegations that he forced a secretary from her chair for typing too slowly. From the Times of London:
“Yes, Prime Minister: the Culture of Fear at Number 10.”
Another Downing Street staffer claimed to be “scared” of Mr. Brown. Big deal. Except that he’s a member of the personal protection security detail. So the guy who’s meant to take a bullet for you is reduced to a quivering jellyfish because your lingo gets a bit salty? What if there was a security incident such as took place at the Vancouver opening ceremony? From the New York Post:
“Mentally Ill Man Breaches Olympics Security to Get Near Biden.”
Wow. That’s almost as alarming as “Mentally Ill Man Breaches Olympics Security to Get Near Opening Ceremony.” He was stopped just a few feet away from Joe Biden. As the RCMP’s assistant commissioner Bud Mercer explained, “He had an infatuation with the U.S. vice-president.” CTV reports that the man has now been “committed to a psychiatric facility for treatment.” Evidently, an infatuation with Joe Biden is the one illness for which there’s no wait time in British Columbia.
But what of all those layers of crack security he breached with his homemade ID? It consisted of three words—ALL ACCESS PASS—in big letters; looks like it was downloaded from a Jonas Brothers tour memorabilia site. Shouldn’t we show that this kind of incompetence won’t be tolerated and fire the useless ninnies who let him through? Don’t even think about it. From the Australian:
