Tuesday, 20 April 2010

You're fired.

So I was watching the Apprentice last night (Gee Note: The American version not the British one. For the record however I have to admit I prefer the British one. For three reasons actually. One the British version has no budget, and so rather than get the contestants to design an ad campaign with Right Guard using superstar basketball players, in Blighty you're much more likely to have a task where the teams have to shovel horse crap for six hours and then try and sell it as some sort of new age health treatment. Secondly Donald Trump is a hell of a lot more lenient than Sir Alan Sugar is. You always get the feeling with "The Donald" that his tough guy boardroom act is all just a show for the cameras. With "Shugs" however it's not hard to imagine him firing some poor sap, before following them outside and beating them to a bloody pulp with a stick just for wasting his time. Thirdly with the last couple of seasons of the American Apprentice being "celebrity" based, everyone is just so damn nice to each other. In Britain the contestants generally hate each other almost instantaneously, making it way more entertaining. Maybe that's a cultural thing though. I mean all the Americans I've ever met in my life have been really nice. Including that dude who worked in our local KFC who was so good at his job it used to confuse me. "Uh honey. I've just got us a chicken meal and at no point did I have to complain about them forgetting the Pepsi. Or the fries. Or the chicken. What the f*** is going here?") when Australian chef Curtis Stone made an observation about team mate and ex professional wrestler Bill Goldberg.

"Strewth, that Goldberg's a bit of a gallah!" he said (Gee Note: OK he didn't really. It's just I didn't write down exactly what he said and, you know, all Australian's say stuff like that right? Right?). "The funny thing is that when he gets angry or annoyed about something he growls.". They then, of course, cut to a shot of Goldberg growling at something off camera. The thing is upon seeing this the future ex-Mrs. Davies immediately looked up and said:

"You do that."

"Do what my sugar dumpling?" I replied.

"Growl at things that annoy you."

"No I don't"

"You do."

"No I don't. I've never growled at anything in my life."

"Yeah right. You growl at the television when there's a soap opera on. You growled at the guinea pig hutch you had to build. You growl at people who walk slowly in front of you in supermarkets. Hell last week you growled at those Jehovah witnesses who knocked on our door."

"Well I was in the middle of someth… Wait. I don't growl that much surely?"

"Yes. Yes you do."

Convinced however that my sweet little Irish flower had lost her mind (Gee Note: It was bound to happen at some point. I mean there's only so many times she can come home to find me wearing a feathers on my head pretending to be Sitting Bull before it gets too much ya know?) I decided to make a note of how many times I grumbled in frustration over the course of the following afternoon.

Now many of our eagle eyed readers may (Gee Note: Want to invest in some plastic surgery and gets some less weird looking peepers?) have noticed that I haven't posted anything on here in a while. The truth is that, well, I think I have a case of bloggers block. For some reason nothing I sit down and type is coming out right at the moment. It's not for a lack of trying either. I mean take today for example. I woke up, booted up the laptop, opened up a Word document, stomped off downstairs for a cup of coffee, accidentally poured a small amount of boiling water on to my slippers, swore very loudly, stomped off back upstairs having forgotten to actually make said cup of coffee, typed five lines in to the word document, stopped, stared at the screen, deleted the five lines, stared at the screen a bit more, realised I didn't have a cup of coffee in front of me, sighed, stomped off back downstairs muttering dark omens under my breath, made the coffee, stomped back upstairs, settled in front of the laptop, placed my fingers on the keyboard, and then…


Not a damn thing.

So, despite myself, I growled. Heartily. And then I found that I continued to do so at the slightest things as the day wore on. Children playing outside in what seemed to be a game based around who could shriek the loudest? They got a growling. The Tory politician on the television who looked like a slug with an inflated ego shoe horned in to a cheap suit? He got a growling. The toaster managing to burn everything while being on the lowest setting? That got a special, extra long, you sonofabitch growling.

My point is the future ex-Mrs. Davies (Gee Note: And it pains me to say this) is right. I do growl an awful lot.

Thankfully something has brightened my day to the point where I'm actually growling a lot less and typing a lot more. The reason? Well it turns out my lot in life could be much worse. I could be living in Tehran.

Now Tehran is the capital city of Iran. (Gee Note: You remember Iran right? The country George W. Bush was always on the brink of blowing up but never quite got around to it?) It is also the 20th largest city in world. This sprawling metropolis is situated at the foot of the Tochal mountain range and is basically the centre of all industrial and cultural activity in Iran. Alas when the architects decided to build Tehran obviously none of them were well versed in seismology, as the place is sat slap bang on a series of tectonic fault lines that make Madonna’s craggy face look like a satin gown. This led to devastating consequences in 2003 when in the township of Bam a massive earthquake claimed the lives of 25,000 people.

Such is the concern about this potential natural nightmare that Iran’s President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad has started to publicly announce that, really, people should start getting the heck out of Dodge Tehran and relocate somewhere where the ceiling might not fall in on them at any given moment. Plans have even put forward to build a new capital city near the calm and non-shaking Qom.

However there may be an easier solution to not getting covered in tons of rubble. And all it requires is Iran’s women to stop acting so slutty, cover up their cleavages, and cease leading poor men astray by making the sex with them. Or so says Hojatoleslam Kazem Sedighi.

Sedighi is an Iranian cleric who said just that last Friday while addressing a crowd of worshippers in the nations capital. Delivering a sermon on the subject of “general repentance” (Gee Note: Which is repenting for nothing specific I guess. It would be like walking in to a Catholic confessional box and saying “Bless me father for I have sinned”. “What are you sorry for my son?” “Well… um… oh just, you know, my whole vibe. It‘s like “Woah bad stuff happening here!” ya know?”). During this speech, displaying a level of scientific knowledge that would rival the dude who thought drilling a hole in to your skull was a good way to get rid of a headache, he said:

Many women who do not dress modestly lead young men astray and spread adultery in society which increases earthquakes.

What can we do to avoid being buried under the rubble? (Gee Note: We’ve already been through this. Maybe not building your house on top of a fault line would be a good place to start?) There is no other solution but to take refuge in religion and to adapt our lives to Islam's moral codes (Gee Note: Oh. Sorry. My mistake.)

Now before we all start scratching our heads and going “Wah?” the good cleric does at least try and back up his argument. By making absolutely no sense at all of course.

If a natural earthquake hits Tehran, no one will be able to confront such a calamity but God's power, only God's power. So lets not disappoint God.

OK here’s the thing. Let’s say for a moment that God exists and that He’s all powerful and what not. Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, He has a bit more on his plate than worrying about young Iranians showing hair under their headscarves. “Oh those armies in Afghanistan blowing each others heads off for no reason at all is rather tiresome. But what really get’s my goat is when I see those girls in Iran flashing their ankles like nobodies business. It makes me so angry. Grrrrr”. 

You see the truth is that if God exists then surely one rule fits all right? I mean you can’t claim that you have to live under a certain set of circumstances to avoid His wrath if other people elsewhere are managing to do just that without any consequences. My point is, if God thinks “promiscuous women” are so horrendous, then how in the names of all things Holy is Las Vegas still standing? Or New York? Or London? Or in fact any place in which women aren’t encouraged to melt away in to the background so as not to upset the men folk? It’s simply a redundant and stupid argument.

God doesn't cause earthquakes. Nor does he look the other way when they happen just to smite people for the type of clothes they wear. Instead God moves through the people who work for the emergency services, risking their own lives trying to save others. Through the people who bring aid to those effected. Through those who offer their prayers hoping for the safe return of as many people as possible.

The truth is that God may work in mysterious ways. But killing people for expressing themselves with the way they dress probably isn’t one of them.

Although if it does annoy Him, I wonder if He growls?

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