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Monday 29 November 2004

Gategate [Am]

It surprises me now, on an almost daily basis, that the repeated hammering of my forehead against this desk at the fucktardy du jour has not caused either a cranial prolapse or at least a trip down Ikea and an order for a new monitor. Today gave me more cause to wonder....
Latest in the list of interminable reasons to search through your draws for the Humanity Warrantee and seek to post it off asking for a full and immediate refund is the case of a mediumly attractive dutch girl who has had to validate her tits. Yes you heard it correctly, the dutch, a nation let it be said which is one of the only ones on the face of the planet to vaguely get with the whole might-as-well-be-fun-and-decent-since-we're-only-here-for-a-short-time (others including the Irish, the Carribean nations and goddam it yes the antipodeans) have become obsessed with the bona fides of the norks of some MAW (model / actress / whatever) from the flatflands.
Georgina Verbaan has managed to extract herself from the usual carsmash of colliding constenants that is the dutch language and has today posted online an x-ray mammogram to prove that she has not had her front bumpers augmented. Geen vals luchtkussen in ook niet tit as they say over an unfeasibly strong beer while playing backgammon smacked out their brains on finest Afghanistani bud. (No false airbag in either tit). As you can see, the suggestion that she had, ahead of a Playboy shoot, pumped up her puppies had apparently had the entire nation rapped and had become referred to as Boobgate.
Boobgate. They may be a nation of mayonnaise smugglers in every last filthy way that would make it inconceivable to trust a man with a jar of Helmans but "Boobgate"?
Smack goes the forehead. ~Wang~ goes the desk of fortitude quivering in sympathy.
Enough frigging -gates already! Hello can you hear me? No....more....friggin' -gates already! I'm not quite sure when I ran out of gatequota but it was a long wanking time ago. Don't believe me? Wikipedia has a damn good list of this most overused of taglines.
Pretzelgate? A titanic battle of hard baked snack product versus an intellectual inferior who also happens through the sort of co-indidences that gets a triple ~wang~ off the desk to be the President of the most powerful nation on earth. Camillagate? The humiliation of a nation as its future king casts Barry White into sharp relief as he tells his mistress that he wants to be her tampon. (No really for those of you reading this overseas). Nipplegate? The Janet Jackson no I really do *not* give a shit she got her puckered dinnerplate out on in the middle of the superbowl but for heavens sake is this just the sign of the stupidity of a nation that she actually thinks that she can say its a wardrobe malfunction when she's wearing some fucking happy star round it?
Gates have to finish. Here's the plan.
From now on I'm gonna saturate -gates. This is blog-gate. From now one whenever you see something unpalatable, try and drum up the filthiest -gate you can think of so eventually, finally, even the press will blanch at using it. Lewinsky-gate? Nah, should have been Cumgate. Or Sploogegate. Spatgate with a side order of Babybattergate. Cigarstuffergate. Someone in parliament has an upset tummy? Shitgate. Marmitegate. Bovrilguzzlergate. Chocolatewristgate. Royal gets a bit of acshun in the bogs of Annabels? OneoffatheWristgate. Toffgumgate. Jizzgate. Garglegate. Sloanymouthwashgate.
Anything readers. Just anything. Just getting the friggin gategates oot mah fookin headgate.


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