Straight into stuff. No messing.
Crikey. I should be awed by this. On newsnight Jeremy Paxman is interviewing Richard Dawkins about his latest book " The God Delusion ". But I'm not awed. The pair of them come across as ridiculous old men trying to out-smarm each other.
Dawkins talks as if he's never met anybody who can match his intellect and self-belief. Paxman talks as if he's met plenty of people who can match his intellect, but not his ego. The two of them chunter on about the book, which seems to be quite derivative and not at all cutting edge. It would appear that Dawkins might have had a bit of a funny turn when the Da Vinci Code became more popular than his own books. By the sound of it, Dawkins wrote the book in a hurry, in a fit of pique, and in order to get one in before the cryogenic storage facility called him back to his icy cot.
Paxman wasn't even listening. His once-chiselled features (now melting and bulbating into a living portrait by Lucien Freud) were frozen, as he fired off curt question after curt question. "Are you saying the miracles are all lies? What about the new testament? Are people happier for not believing in God?" Dawkins tilted his head at an angle sufficient enough to make his glasses look straight and replied with answers that were little more than talking in his sleep.
The conclusion I arrived at was shocking. Dawkins is poop. Paxman is past it. Move along now, nothing to see.
On the same programme, the Newsnight Late Review.
J G Ballard. A book about how consumerism is ruining society. Oh puh-lease. It was just Ballard still attempting to compete against the great late Anthony Burgess in the Duke-of-English-Letters-Hates-Modern-Life marathon. Jay Gee, it's over. You lost thirty years ago. Idiot.
One more thing. Charlie Brooker wrote a piece rubbishing Banksy, the scrawny-minded idiot-savaloy of graffiti. It's great, check it out. Everything I'd ever bitterly thought about Banksy was put into crisp and succint words that made me laugh. Banksy, you're an amateur and a fraud. You appeal hugely to those people with tiny weeny malfunctioning question glands. Just eff off with your tags and chit. You're not big and you're certainly not clever. Example? Goes to the Israel/Palestine border and paints a picture of a blue sky, to remind people that peace is better than war. Great insight. Great effort there Banksy. What next? Pee-ing about with Paris Hilton's CD in record shops? That's like, so relevant and worthwhile. Sheesh.
That's it. I'm back to writing my book now.
Kiss kiss.
Dawkins talks as if he's never met anybody who can match his intellect and self-belief. Paxman talks as if he's met plenty of people who can match his intellect, but not his ego. The two of them chunter on about the book, which seems to be quite derivative and not at all cutting edge. It would appear that Dawkins might have had a bit of a funny turn when the Da Vinci Code became more popular than his own books. By the sound of it, Dawkins wrote the book in a hurry, in a fit of pique, and in order to get one in before the cryogenic storage facility called him back to his icy cot.
Paxman wasn't even listening. His once-chiselled features (now melting and bulbating into a living portrait by Lucien Freud) were frozen, as he fired off curt question after curt question. "Are you saying the miracles are all lies? What about the new testament? Are people happier for not believing in God?" Dawkins tilted his head at an angle sufficient enough to make his glasses look straight and replied with answers that were little more than talking in his sleep.
The conclusion I arrived at was shocking. Dawkins is poop. Paxman is past it. Move along now, nothing to see.
On the same programme, the Newsnight Late Review.
J G Ballard. A book about how consumerism is ruining society. Oh puh-lease. It was just Ballard still attempting to compete against the great late Anthony Burgess in the Duke-of-English-Letters-Hates-Modern-Life marathon. Jay Gee, it's over. You lost thirty years ago. Idiot.
One more thing. Charlie Brooker wrote a piece rubbishing Banksy, the scrawny-minded idiot-savaloy of graffiti. It's great, check it out. Everything I'd ever bitterly thought about Banksy was put into crisp and succint words that made me laugh. Banksy, you're an amateur and a fraud. You appeal hugely to those people with tiny weeny malfunctioning question glands. Just eff off with your tags and chit. You're not big and you're certainly not clever. Example? Goes to the Israel/Palestine border and paints a picture of a blue sky, to remind people that peace is better than war. Great insight. Great effort there Banksy. What next? Pee-ing about with Paris Hilton's CD in record shops? That's like, so relevant and worthwhile. Sheesh.
That's it. I'm back to writing my book now.
Kiss kiss.
posted by familyhobgoblin at 3:26 PM
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