Guess Who's Coming To The Last Supper, Judas

Dearest Shivaun,

Thank you once again for the ego boost.

My apologies for the title. It is just emblematic of a certain happening lately that was neither sound nor fury yet amounted to nil except a conclusion. Also, the drive to slash & burn in me is still asimmer.

As my sister Melissa puts it, there are just creatures in this earth who derive a sense of accomplishment in wounding others to deter attention from their own inadequacies-- troglodytes with bank accounts in lieu of character. They drivel media fed trivia and spew Hallmark card confuscianism & cliff-noted versions of the Good Book in the hopes these might get mistaken for a brain. They believe in fine dining, labeled finery, polyester cabbage rose chintz and mall tinsel sensibilities as the height of culture yet make criminally odious pasta. "The pasta is the star, bitch," to paraphrase Neil Perry (I added the bitch.) They also think Nickelback is Rock 'n Roll.

I also apologize. I've yet to research Feeder and Muse. Your European rock band IQ may be a little more sophisticated than mine Yank. I've lately been subsisting only on VH1, MTV ( it's not even MTV2) and My Space. I've yet to buy new issues of Raygun, Spin & RS and also per recommendation of one of my patients who used to learn guitar under the tutelage of Hendrix, Paste. The boob tube has been pelting me with the likes of Simpson, Hilton and Blunt.

I truly believe that James Blunt is in liege with the devil and so are those clueless souls who swoon to the strains of "You're Beautiful". Former captain of the British Army my arse (or is it Navy?). Priscilla, Queen of the Desert has more balls than that pussyman.

Anyway in the vein of the plebes, you have all the gifts to strike back with your grammar skills and poetic vocabulary the mediocre can't even begin to grasp. The blog is mightier than the bitch. 

Albino monks all seem more palatable. Paul Bettany has got a hot arse.

Love you and take care. My best regards to Ant.