Today is Blue Monday, which is supposedly the most depressing day of the year. Of course, there is some logic to back up this claim. The formula is:
So, according to the science boffins (at Sky Travel, mind you), 16 January 2012 will be the most depressing day of this year. I was surprised that this year didn’t lead to a slightly different conclusion, what with the world predicted to end and all (which I would’ve assumed might lead to a slight dip in happiness levels), but whatever.
You know me, I never argue with science—especially when it’s used to advertise a Murdoch media organ—so I guess, facts is facts, and today we’re all depressed. Therefore, I’d like to offer a couple helpful suggestions to get you through.
You see what I’ve done here? It’s called satire.
1. This year, Blue Monday is also Martin Luther King Jr Day in America. Perhaps it would cheer you up to remember how far we’ve come with eliminating racism and making it safe to peacefully protest.
2. Get some rest, eat right, take some exercise and remember that whatever is wrong in your life is no worse today than it will be tomorrow.
I suppose if you’re struggling today, you could always try to distract yourself until midnight. Snuggle up with a copy of The Sun or The Wall Street Journal, maybe watch a show on Fox or a film you’ve saved on Sky+. Rupert Murdoch’s going to get your money one way or another, so give in to Blue Monday and do as you’re told.
Despite what you may have heard in today’s select committee, I was never present at any discussions between Coulson, Cameron and Brooks. A certain flame-haired so-and-so is clearly only dragging my name into the proceedings to make herself appear more likeable by association with such a popular, attractive and clean-as-a-whistle writer as my good self. And the implication that I have locked lips with either of the Murdochs—come on, you know how I feel about Australians!
At this point, I am not likely to get my legal team involved: there are much bigger fish to fry first. I’ve hardly been harmed in the way others have by News Corporation and far be it from me to draw the attention away from the real crimes this soulless organization has committed.
I’m sure the fact that when you click on Rupert Murdoch’s Wikipedia page you are immediately redirected to the Amazon entry for my latest novel is purely a technical hiccup and will be straightened out soon.
Remember when you were little and got into trouble? Maybe you were passing notes in class or were caught sneaking back into your bedroom window past your curfew. There’s that split second when the light goes on or the door opens and you hear that adult voice asking, “What are you doing?” and you know they know the answer to the question and that the whole world’s going to be crashing down on you momentarily and there’s not a single thing you can do to stop it. It may be one of the most horrible feelings in the universe.
Being “invited” to appear before a parliamentary committee investigating a scandal of this magnitude is at least five or six times worse than that feeling. I can barely imagine it.
But then again I can barely imagine most of things this lot has done.
However, this has got to be a little nerve-wracking for them. Maybe not as nerve-wracking as getting your hopes up that your missing daughter is still alive because a journalist has deleted her voicemails, but still pretty worrying.
Although I have never been put into this position myself (it’s actually relatively easy to stay out of trouble like this), I do have some advice which Mssrs Murdoch and Mrs Brooks might want to take on board for tomorrow.
Don’t worry too much about how you look: everyone already hates you so you won’t be winning over any hearts by dressing “innocently.” Rebekah, the red hair—it is what it is; people might make jokes about it, but the truth is, it’s not your red hair but the moral vacuum behind your eyes which is your worst physical trait.
It appears that your primary concern is “avoiding self-incrimination.” This isn’t going to be as simple as it sounds. In America, they’ve got a little trick called “pleading the Fifth,” which means you can refuse to answer any question—this is because no one can be forced into giving self-incriminating evidence. It’s legal and I suppose there are cases where it’s probably a good thing: maybe a witness could put a drug dealer into jail, but because she once bought a joint off him and is therefore also guilty of a crime, she might refuse to incriminate herself. However, ask almost anyone who has seen a witness plead the Fifth and the first assumption that is made is that she is GUILTY—probably of even worse things than she is trying to hide.
Now the particular issues which are bound to be raised tomorrow are a bit heavier than a spliff or two. They’re actually rather mind-blowing (I would list them but I already know that you know), and appearing to be focused only on your own future is not going to make you smell too sweet. This isn’t just about Sienna Miller, you know? This is about big, bad, and horrible things. Sitting in a silence or refusing to answer or redirecting the questions is not advised.
At the same time, I would not suggest you do what’s been done in previous committee hearings, which is to deny and lie. The jig, as they say, is up. I don’t want to see a repeat of this tomorrow, and I bet you don’t either, because face it, it’s pretty humiliating:
Shameful.
So, what are you to do, you ask? You are indeed in a bit of a pickle. I’m afraid that there’s really only one option for you: say what you knew and when you knew it. If it makes you look bad, you are bad, and you deserve everything that you get.
Not too many people in the mood for bigging up ol’ Rebekah Brooks today, were there? A staff member said, “For the sake of one person, 500 people at the News of the World have been sacrificed”; Nick Clegg has called for her to go; David Cameron claimed he would have taken her resignation and I confess I’ve never been too keen on her face since the whole Ross Kemp incident. Basically, she’s pretty much top of everybody’s shit list.
Except there’s one man who just can’t quit her. It’s the lovely Mister Murdoch. Why hasn’t he sacrificed her as many assumed he would and believe he should?
Today Rebekah Brooks reportedly told those News of the World staffers who could bear to listen:
I am a working journalist who has worked here since I was 19 years old. You are trying to say to me that because an allegation came in that we do not know if it is true, you think I should resign? If you think this is a bundle of laughs trying to fight and get this company’s reputation back, it isn’t.
We have more visibility perhaps with what we can see coming than you guys. I am tied by the criminal investigation but I think in a year’s time, every single one of you in this room might come up and say “I see what she saw now.”
Hmmm. . . is this just a typical journalist’s teaser to get us to tune in later? No. I’m afraid it’s the truth. She’s seen a few things; she indeed knows things that we do not know.
So what’s she on about? You may think that she’s just hinting at the fact that closing the News of the World was simply a gesture, and that it will be back to Sunday business as usual shortly (just with The Sun at the top of the page instead). Some speculate the real pay off of closing the newspaper will come when the BSkyB bid goes through.
The truth is Murdoch won’t axe her because she is privy to some sensational information about the man. Exactly what that sensational information is is what everyone wants to know. I’m afraid it’s far worse than anyone imagines. Here is just a taster of the things that I can’t tell you about Rupert Murdoch, his dastardly deeds and his wicked, wicked ways:
The first restraining order in Melbourne’s history was taken out against a young Rupert Murdoch by a neighbour who claimed she didn’t like the way the boy was looking at her dog (if you know what she means).
Rupert Murdoch suffers from automatonophobia.
Remember how we were all fine with there being nine planets in our solar system? Well, Rupert Murdoch wasn’t. Now all of a sudden, Pluto doesn’t count. You do the math.
Rupert Murdoch doesn’t know how to read.
Rupert Murdoch has never taken a one-stroke penalty when his ball is in an unplayable lie.
Murdoch started the rumour that centrifugal force is “fictitious” and today that’s what we teach our children.
Have you ever seen Rupert Murdoch and DB Cooper in the same room? Think about it.
So Rebekah does indeed have a few things on the man. However, despite her red hair, she seems to have forgotten the Golden Rule of Evil: you deal with the devil, you’re going to get burned. The truth is that Rupert Murdoch is more powerful than any of us realise. It won’t be long until Rebekah Brooks, too, gets what’s coming.
Many have asked why I’ve been silent re: the announcement of the royal engagement.
It is a touchy subject for me, you are aware. Naturally, I won’t be attending the event as Wills and I have sort of a gentleman’s agreement (read: restraining order) not to be within fifty feet of each other to avoid stirring up any of the old feelings. However, I, like all of you, certainly congratulate the happy couple and acknowledge the importance of their nuptials to not just our own country, but to the world. While next April may seem a long way off, we all—from members of the Royal household all the way down to users of Internet pornography—have much to do to prepare for the blessed day.
Accepting that clearly this wedding will be the singular most important event of the new millennium (excluding the possible end of the world in 2012) is only the first step to ensuring that we are all ready in time. Understanding some background is also important. The date, April 29, of course, holds great significance: it marks the birth of jazz legend Edward Kennedy “Duke” Ellington, whose song “It Don’t Mean A Thing (If It Ain’t Got That Swing)” is one of the Prince’s favorite karaoke picks. The wedding will be held in Westminster Abbey, which includes the famous Poets’ Corner. This also affected the date of the wedding as poet Ted Hughes’s memorial will be installed there early next year, and William sees him as a personal role model of a good husband.
I can’t imagine many of you have received your invitations; if you were the sort to get invited, you’d have more important things to be doing with your time than sitting in the chair you’re now sitting in. Do not feel dismayed as I imagine this will be a relatively small do with just a few friends and family. Generally royal weddings aren’t too fun anyway; their formality means that attendees usually spend the day feeling uncomfortable (there’s a strict no-jeans policy) and unloved (one look at the bride’s jewels puts your husband’s tokens of love into serious perspective). Also, because the event is scheduled during a time of economic strife, smiling has been banned completely as not to imply to the minions that wealth equals happiness (an awfully thoughtful gesture when you think about it).
Those considering sending a gift need to move quickly on this front: at last check, their Bed, Bath and Beyond registry only has a few items remaining. Like any couple, William and Catherine would surely appreciate a more personal, handmade gift. After all, nothing has more value to the heir to the throne than a cross-stitched throw pillow or paint-by-number portrait crafted by a member of the public.
If you are hoping to commemorate the special day with a small token to display in your home, you are in luck. There is already a wide assortment to choose from. If you are one of those sad, lonely types, feel free to order one of everything (and don’t forget to book in for your royal wedding tattoo asap), but for the more discerning collector, it’s important to consider the future market value of such a purchase (so your children know what to set as their eBay starting price when they sell the item after you’re dead). Commemorative plates are a dime a dozen, so unless you’re just practical and like eating off of William’s face (something I’ve done and can testify only leads to heartbreak), I wouldn’t suggest that route. One of those little spoons might be nice as they don’t easily chip and can be used for anything from baby feeding to illegal drug use. A large Union Jack with the couple’s faces embroidered on is probably the safest bet for Americans: once the Tea Party comes into power, the display of any flag other than the Old Glory will become illegal and the black market price of your wedding souvenir will skyrocket.
Finally, hats off to Rupert Murdoch for his coup in securing the rights to the first ever broadcast of the royal deflowering. I think we’re all looking forward to getting a fair and balanced view of that. Internet porn users will be relieved to hear that the web live streaming is also being arranged (though there will be a charge). But the word on the street is that it’ll be worth every cent of your $9.99.
Having recently parted ways with her publisher, Rupert Stanley Quim, Miss Agatha Whitt-Wellington has asked Christopher, the boy who trims her bush, to show her how to publish her thoughts on the Internet. Now no one need be denied of her musings. How lovely!
To find out more about this mysteriously seductive woman, please peruse "Agatha: The Miss Behind the Myth" above.
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