Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Since it is St Valentine's day, traditionally a time of shockingly dreadful poetry ( I just heard one on the radio: why can't people who can barely string a sentence together realise that 99.999999999% of people simply cannot write poetry, including those who can make a reasonable stab at prose, and that therefore virtually no one in the world should under any circumstances compose verse. Please) I thought I would add to the canon. It is inspired (I use the word in its loosest possible sense) not by love, but by its ugly sister, loathing.

Ballad of an editor who still owes me money

Well, he's a boil-brained blubber-blunder
Soil-stained head of dunder
Canker-sore
Wanker-bore

Once he was my editor
But I am still his creditor

Well, he's a lizard-tongued lumpen-headed
Canker blossom brain-deaded
Truth-mangler
Jeans:Wrangler

Once he was my editor
But I am still his creditor

Well, he's a pestilent pie-faced pigeonshit
He's a lumbering faecal dangling bit
Scatologically adverse
Universally perverse

Once he was my editor
But I am still his creditor

Well, he's a whimpering welching woodworm
With all the charm of heartburn
A louse, a lying leech
A fraudster and a thief

Once he was my editor
But I remain his creditor

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

Recently, I embarked on a project which involved writing sarcastic letters to famous people. Marginally more recently, I abandoned the project.
Here is a letter I wrote to human profanity machine, Gordon Ramsay.

Dear Gordon Ramsay,

I do not know this for sure, but I would guess that your television appearances have elicited more than a few letters of complaint regarding your language. I refer, Mr Ramsay, to your frequent employment of terms such as ‘fuck’, ‘fucking’, ‘fucker’, ‘fuckwit’, ‘fucked’, ‘fucked up’ and ‘for fuck’s sake’.

Fear not, I am no Mary Whitehouse. In fact, your ill-tempered badinage with the inept nincompoops who surround you in the kitchen in such shows as Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares and The F Word has never failed to bring a smile to my face. Truly, you are a master of the profane putdown.

On your recent appearance on Friday Night with Jonathan Ross, you, not once, not twice, but thrice referred to that show’s irreverent host as a ‘fucker’. Bravo, Mr Ramsay; that put the cheeky rapscallion in his place! On a marginally less recent appearance on The Late Late Show you insulted its host, Pat Kenny. Speaking for the Irish nation, I thank you sincerely for this.

I hope I have made plain my admiration for your colourful language and devil-may-care attitude to the linguistic conventions of television. However, as alluded to earlier, I do have a complaint. It concerns the soundtrack of curse-induced bleeps that invariably accompanies your shows. At times, your programmes sound like Morse code. This is deeply irritating.

In this regard, I have a suggestion. Decreasing your reliance on the word ‘fuck’ and its variants and drawing on a broader palette of profanity would have a twofold beneficial effect. It would:

A) Reduce the frequency of the beeping sounds which pepper your shows
B) Allow you to verbally eviscerate your incompetent kitchen helpers in a more stylish and synonymous fashion.

So, what do I mean by suggesting you expand your range of abusive language? Shakespeare, as I’m sure you know, was a master of insults: the Gordon Ramsay of the Tudor era, if you will. Here are a few examples of how some typical kitchen scenarios could be resolved in an insultingly Shakespearean, but non-beep-inducing, fashion.

Instead of: “I don’t believe it; what the fuck are you doing? Can’t you even chop carrots, you fucking idiot?” (two beeps)

Say: “Verily, I shudder. Canst thou not cleave a carrot? Thou ist a maladroit malt-worm!” (no beeps)

Instead of: “You’ve overdone the fucking salmon, you fuckwit.” (two beeps)

Say: “Accursed vessel of calamity! Thou hast spoiled the salmon.” (no beeps)

Instead of: “You’re going to put me out of fucking business, you fucking incompetent spineless fucker.” (three beeps)

Say: Thou ist a lumbering lemon-brained canker-blossom and thou hast wreaked devastation on mine house.” (no beeps)

In an emergency, you could actually quote the Bard, rather than merely devising insults in his style. If, I don’t know, say, a chef incorrectly cuts a Japanese blowfish, you could roll out this little beauty: “Methinkst thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.” (All’s Well That Ends Well)

I hope my modest suggestions may be of some use to you.

Keep up the good work.

All the fucking best,

Seán Kenny