Phatty Adams is in spleen-venting mode today, getting stuck into pundits who don’t view the world from his socialist millionaire perspective.
His theme is as childish as it is ignorant of colloquialisms; he describes his commentating opponents as Bushwhackers! Get it, they are mesmerised by Dubya, so they are Bushwhackers. Laugh, gawd I thought I’d bust a gasket. Hang on though, don’t you generally whack things you don’t like? Ain’t that so, Tex?
Anyway the Paddington poseur has an anaemic payout at, among others, Blair, Imre, Bolta and Gerard Henderson. They are, Lard-arse says, grovelling acolytes in Australia who fill their speeches, their broadcasts or their newspaper columns with uncritical drivel and bunkum. Week after week they try to out-twaddle and out-bunkum each other, their styles recalling the obeisances of palace eunuchs or the propagandists of Kim Il Sung. And they don’t hesitate to produce snarling slanders on anyone who sees Bush for what he is. And for the danger he represents.
No examples though, you’ll just have to take Phatty’s word for it. Although “obeisance” is not a word I’d remotely connect to Tim Blair’s lean, mean prose.
Adams gets my dander up, however, when he rounds on one of Australia’s great journalists, Frank Devine, accusing him and daughter Miranda of “dumping” the Pope because His Holiness opposed the Iraq war.
I gather Devine’s Catholicism is extremely important to him. Thus Adams’ assumption is arrogant and bigoted, attitudes he constantly accuses his foes of having.
But then the dunny lane imperialist is as well known for his hypocrisy as he is for his pedestrian, regurgitated, unoriginal ramblings.
Compare Devine’s delightful celebration of ageing with Adams’ fly-blown bilge to see who holds all the trumps when it comes to putting thoughts to paper:
As a registered septuagenarian of some years’ seniority, I am, in fact, more amiable than I was when young. When I wake, I contemplate the day ahead with unreserved pleasure. I have set myself a few deadlines and duties, like going to mass, writing for publication and granting grandfather audiences, but the day belongs to me more than days used to. The 4pm session is ideal for movie-going because it finishes at that magical moment, cork-drawing time.
That, more than anything else, explains why Adams is such a blathering bore: he’s tee-total and has never known the joy of cork-drawing time.