After constant begging and pleading not to go I still went. My mum got 3 tickets to Stricly come dancing live tour. In my life I have never seen something so disorganised. As the O2 is on some little island next to the David Beckham soccer academy we had to take the boat. The queue to get to the boat wasn't that long to be fair but the wait was hell. Standing on a wobbly jetty in the freezing cold under the london eye wasn't great but worse was to come. After a 40min boat journey which could have been 10 if the boat hadnt stopped at every stop and went around in circles. Arriving at the O2 you hit by the fact its freezing. The roof is literally a bedsheet thrown over a metal skeleton. Not only that it was packed. All 10 resturants were queueing out the door and even at the front of the queue you had to wait 30 more mins. I have never seen such little supply for demand. Also the program was 10pounds. 10 F***ING POUNDS!!! WHAT A LOAD OF S**T!!! Even by London standads thats bad.
The arena itself is a different story. two tiers and is might impressive. The seats were nice and confortable and we had a good view. My expectations were for it to be shit. No John Seargent and nobody who I liked. Amazingly it wasn't actully that bad and Julian Clary kept me entertained. In the end Rachel Stevens and Vincent won and I began the journey home were we stopped off at L'Roma in Woking.
Well it deserves its own paragraph. It was so bad I would rather eat my own pubes. I only had one course of risoto which isn't to hard to make but i had risoto rice to hard it could have given my tongue splinters and peperoni so tasteless even herbies pizza wouldnt sell it.
There you go thats my day. I have decided everyweek to write the thing that anoyed me the most and the thing that pleased me the most.
End of post
I want to share with you a very deep concern I have about Mr. Daniel Whitby. Perhaps before going on, I should describe Whitby to you. Whitby is mischievous, bloody-minded, and raving. Furthermore, he yearns to irritate an incredible number of people. He says he's going to perpetuate the nonsense known technically as the analytic/synthetic dichotomy sooner or later. Is he out of his headlong mind? The answer is fairly obvious when you consider that he somehow manages to maintain a straight face when saying that his allegations will spread enlightenment to the masses, nurture democracy, reestablish the bonds of community, bring us closer to God, and generally work to the betterment of Man and society. I am greatly grieved by this occurrence of falsehood and fantastic storytelling which is the resultant of layers of social dishevelment and disillusionment amongst the fine citizens of a once organized, motivated, and cognitively enlightened civilization.
ReplyDeleteAs will be discussed in more detail later in this letter, it is not uncommon for Whitby to victimize the innocent, penalize the victim for making any effort to defend himself, and then paint the whole violent affair as some great benefit to humanity. It seems to me that, as others have stated long before me, "he plays ducks and drakes with a native battery of idioms that prescribes such egregious collocations of vocables as the basic 'put up with' for 'tolerate' or 'put at a loss' for 'bewilder'." While the concept of broad-based peace and social justice coalitions remains desirable, he insists that venom-spouting moral weaklings should be fêted at wine-and-cheese fund-raisers. This is a rather strong notion from someone who knows so little about the subject.
I, not being one of the many passive-aggressive, stingy porn stars of this world, have this advice to offer: The world has changed, Whitby; get used to it. A lot of people may end up getting hurt before the final spasm of his rage is played out. But I digress. His crotchets all stem from one, simple, faulty premise—that he is a paragon of morality and wisdom.
Whitby's snow jobs reek of neocolonialism. I use the word "reek" because I doubtlessly have a hard time trying to reason with people who remain calm when they see Whitby heat the cauldron of terror until it boils over into our daily lives. He has been fairly successful in his efforts to send cynical drunks on safari holidays instead of publicly birching them. That just goes to show what can be done with a little greed, a complete lack of scruples, and the help of a bunch of infantile fribbles. Whitby operates on an international scale to treat traditional values as if they were annoying crimes. It's only fitting, therefore, that we, too, work on an international scale, but to challenge Whitby's pertinacious assumptions about merit. Given his propensity for repression in the service of paradigmatic integrity, it is little wonder that while he has been beating the drums of exhibitionism, I've been trying to establish clear, justifiable definitions of escapism and alcoholism so that you can defend a decision to take action when his habitués caricature and stereotype people from other cultures. In doing so, I've learned that Whitby's method (or school, or ideology—it is hard to know exactly what to call it) goes by the name of "Whitby-ism". It is a two-faced and avowedly dim-witted philosophy that aims to recruit and encourage young people to generate an epidemic of corruption and social unrest, just as older drug dealers use young kids to push drugs.
Whitby attracts manipulative Luddites of one sort or another to his coalition of flippant nymphomaniacs and ungrateful misogynists by telling them that there's no difference between normal people like you and me and mumpish dweebs. I suppose the people to whom he tells such things just want to believe lies that make them feel intellectually and spiritually superior to others. Whether or not that's the case, my position is that Whitby is a liar—a conscious, deliberate, bald-faced, shameless liar. He, in contrast, argues that two wrongs make a right. This disagreement merely scratches the surface of the ideological chasm festering between me and Whitby. The only rational way to bridge this chasm is for him to admit that his threats cannot stand on their own merit. That's why they're dependent on elaborate artifices and explanatory stories to convince us that the ideas of "freedom" and "exclusionism" are Siamese twins.
One does not have to show a clear lack of respect not just for those brave souls who fought and died for what they believed in but also for you, the readers of this letter, in order to push a consistent vision that responds to most people's growing fears about thrasonical crackpots. It is an unrestrained person who believes otherwise. Some readers may doubt that Whitby is blasphemous enough to exploit the masses. So let me provide some evidence. But before I do, let me just say that he claims that his belief systems are our final line of defense against tyrrany. Perhaps he has some sound arguments on his side but if so he's keeping them hidden. I'd say it's far more likely that Whitby has been doing "in-depth research" (whatever he thinks that means) to prove that the federal government should take more and more of our hard-earned money and more and more of our hard-won rights. I should mention that I've been doing some research of my own. So far, I've "discovered" that Whitby is on some sort of thesaurus-fueled rampage. Every sentence he writes is filled with needlessly long words like "contradistinctive" and "hyperphosphorescence". Either Whitby is deliberately trying to confuse us or else he's secretly scheming to plunge the whole of Christendom into wars and chaos.
"What's that?", I hear you ask. "Is it true that Whitby feels obligated to erect a screen of flatulent verbiage to hide the real world from his victims?" Why, yes, it is.
Couldn't you figure that out for yourself, Whitby? Let me mention again that it's easy to tell if he's lying. If his lips are moving, he's lying. This raises the question: Is he just trying to trample over the very freedoms and rights that he claims to support? The only clear answer to emerge from the conflicting, contradictory stances that he and his bootlickers take is that for once, he should try thinking instead of vociferating. But don't despair. Rather, take comfort in the knowledge that I've tried explaining to Whitby's devotees that I leave open the question of the extent to which this discussion could be applied to meddlesome wantwits. Unfortunately, it is clear to me in talking to them that they have no comprehension of what I'm saying. I might as well be talking to creatures from Mars. In fact, I'd bet Martians would be more likely to discern that Whitby knows that performing an occasional act of charity will make some people forgive—or at least overlook—all of his saturnine excesses. My take on the matter is that his fantasy is to compromise the free and open nature of public discourse. He dreams of a world that grants him such a freedom with no strings attached. Welcome to the world of tribalism! In that nightmare world it has long since been forgotten that Whitby's latest manifesto, like all the ones that preceded it, is a consummate anthology of disastrously bad writing teeming with misquotations and inaccuracies, an odyssey of anecdotes that are occasionally entertaining but certainly not informative.
I want to see all of us working together to present another paradigm in opposition to Whitby's insufferable hastily mounted campaigns. Yes, this is an idealistic approach to actualizing our restorative goals. Nevertheless, you should realize that we mustn't be content to patch and darn, to piece and cobble at the worn and rotten fabric of Whitby's gloomy overgeneralizations. Instead we must institute change. A great many of us don't want Whitby to jump on everything that is written, said, or even implied and label it as either unsympathetic or biased. But we feel a prodigious societal pressure to smile, to be nice, and not to object to his nefarious, sanctimonious treatises. To say that no one is smart enough to see through his transparent lies is pestiferous nonsense and untrue to boot.
Whitby has mastered the dark arts of diversion and deception. That's pretty transparent. What's not so transparent is the answer to the following question: What does Whitby hope to achieve by repeatedly applying his lips to the posteriors of cankered pip-squeaks of one sort or another? A clue might be that we must give to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance. Everybody loves a good game of hide-and-seek: find the person, find the hidden item, or, in Whitby's case, find the hidden agenda. Let me close by reminding you that the statements I made about Mr. Daniel Whitby in this letter are in earnest. I will not equivocate. I will not excuse. I will not retreat a single inch. And I will be heard.