John Cleese covered it yonks ago; something like – “Do not ever mention the war.” – as he goose-stepped their lunch to his German guests in ‘
’. Fawlty Towers
To excessively belabour an almost expired horse – for the life of me I cannot figure why these people set up ‘fora-for comment’ when they get super crossgrained, then shitcan anyone who disagrees with their pet agenda.
If it upsets them that someone out there might vehemently disagree with them – then they should make some other choice – maybe get their sorry arses down to the pub and drink ‘emselves crosseyed – perhaps stay home to suck on a couple of spliffs – or maybe just beat the living daylights out of ‘Freud’ their pet hamster.
Their fun is setting up all these ‘ah so controversial issues’ in cyberspace (most pinched from other sites) then waiting like the grim reaper to mow down any poor bastard who begs to disagree.
“Free speech is the cornerstone of our democracy.” Or so they declaim.
Yet the second someone takes a bite out of their tailfeathers they instantly lose all aplomb, drop their guise and come out of their corner snarling.
Any half trained sociologist could spend a lifetime writing papers about this paradoxical behaviour (except, of course, in this present climate they’d never get funding or gain tenure with any of our ‘learned institutions’.)
Then again it does seem that the internet might well be a little more of a hollow shell than most might expect.
I’m reasonably confident that, (other than the padding to keep the lowlife happy) there is sweet FA out there by way of making knowledge available or reasoned discourse accessible to the ‘common man’.
In fact it has so often been mentioned when things become somewhat heated –
‘C’mon bastard – if I could get you out in the street, I’d bash yer’ – etc etc
The berk rules these days.
Allegedly ‘wise men’ shitcan people who have taken hours to compose comment.
So giving up in sheer frustration our punter nips down to the local pub for a few tankards and some socialization.
Our lad lifts his glass, slurps down the first mouthful, and as he plonks his glass down on the bartop accidentally gains eye contact with the tattoed angry opposite him,over there.
“Whatt’re you lookin’ at shithead?” – asks the pug.
And then she’s on for one and all !
Nah, Mr. Passant (and the rest of your incestuous mates) you happen to be as rough, disputative and unimpressively common as any ‘bogan’.
So very little of this hate nausea used to happen when I was young and immortal and whenever it did – it usually ceased before anyone was badly hurt. (except down in
, that is.) melbourne