It’s a girl! The most beautiful and important baby girl ever to be born was born today (Saturday), guys. Jay-Z and Beyonce had a baby girl and nobody died today. George Lucas scrapped plans to make 3 more Star Wars movies. Kim Jong-Un decided to go easy on South Korea. A couple of normal people even thought about Occupy Wall Street and wondered what was going on with that.
Oh, ha ha! Houston. Idiots. Fucking stupid idiots. Oh, she’s a showbiz princess all right, whether or NOT Jay-Z and Beyonce want her to be. This is a democracy, and entertainers are part of the 1%.
I’m not sure why, but Beyonce’s age is always quickly followed by Jay-Z’s “real name”, like Lois Lane just had Superman’s baby and the papers had to rush to tell us that Superman is Clark Kent.
He is like a superhero. When ladies get on elevators with him they see 10 years of the future for like 3 minutes. I wonder if having a baby knocks it down to 98 problems or makes it like 99, 999, 999 problems.
The Globe And Mail really took it to some potentially Anti-Abortion zone, but the Post outdid themselves by bringing out the occultist in all of us:
But if you’re thinking Beyonce is the world’s most beautiful woman, Conrad Black has an essay concerning true adulation for you to read.
Really? The Falklands? That’s Conrad Black’s favourite thing about Margaret Thatcher? It’s barely a subplot in the Adrian Mole books. And how many crust punk songs about Thatcher are about the Falklands? OK, probably a lot, but we’re talking proportionately.
Oh, but she was unpopular too. Mostly with sexists. You know: Continental Europeans, left-leaning journalists, all the usual skirt-chasing wards of the patriarchy.
Look, I was going to talk about Mitt Romney, but this Thatcher thing is too big. I’m devoting the rest of this column, written on the happiest day of the 21st century, to Conrad Black’s Penthouse Forum letter to Thatcher.
Vocab! Sir! Please! Moreover: what kind of fantasy about the middle class inBritaindoes Conrad Black maintain is true here? None of that was in any Kinks songs. And when he says something like “infelicitous combination of Colonel Blimp fuddy-duddies and sticky-fingered, vulgar parvenus”, what kind of fantasy about the readers of the National Post- or any newspaper, for that matter- gives Black the license to dictate to a prison typist in this manner? Is this what jail is like? If so, I kind of want to go.
He gets more excited regarding her debate-style, stiffeningly remembering her response to “pusillanimity” (that’s the “Conrad Black has a boner” way of saying “cowardice”). Obviously quite taken with Thatcher’s manners, Black invokes a sexual vulnerability to preserve her from the brutish, emotionless world of men.
RIVALLED ONLY BY CHURCHILL AS THE GREATEST PRIME MINISTER, HE MEANS. LET THAT SINK IN. HE MENTIONED PITT (THE ELDER), EVEN. THEN HE GOES ON TO CALL BRITISH AIRWAYS “THE WORLD’S FINEST AIRLINE”. WHAT IS THAT ABOUT?
He’s so hard he practically has blueballs here; the unkillable Thatcher is also unflappable, unswerving in her resolve and conservatism. She can take on terrorists, the Irish, Argentinians, Marxists, union leaders,Western Europe, and Conrad Black’s heart. You can imagine a picture of Thatcher surrounded by hearts in his 1984 scrap book.
I guess the truth is that when a young man goes to jail, he’s locked in his heart with his desires. Black is living by the Marquis de Sade’s advice: “So long as the laws remain such as they are today, employ some discretion: loud opinion forces us to do so; but in privacy and silence let us compensate ourselves for that cruel chastity we are obliged to display in public.”