Saturday, April 24, 2004
When I see a balloon animal being created, I reach for my revolver
In dubious proof that maybe the Muslim world is different from the West, comes this news of a British peace protester, kidnapped by rebels in Iraq, winning over her captors with some street theatre.
Were I one of the captors, I would have instinctively reached for my revolver, or more likely, machine gun the first moment a flaccid balloon was brandished.
Sorry, but not sorry, to any kids who may be reading this – Paul Watson admits he is probably the world’s grumpiest curmudgeon since WC Fields.
Generally, the arts are a good thing. So too is cleanliness. I am therefore not against theatre – or windscreen washing – except where they are performed in a public place not designed or designated for that purpose.
Perhaps there should be some such public places set up, where annoying adults – too cheap to buy or rent private space for their business (like everyone else does) – can ply their trade in a completely unfettered manner. But for now, there aren’t.
So far, I’ve been able to restrain my homicidal impulses against street performers and intersection windscreen washers by passive avoidance. Woe betide them, however, if I ever become a kidnapper – and my quarry tries to break the ice in that claustrophobic room . . .
In dubious proof that maybe the Muslim world is different from the West, comes this news of a British peace protester, kidnapped by rebels in Iraq, winning over her captors with some street theatre.
Were I one of the captors, I would have instinctively reached for my revolver, or more likely, machine gun the first moment a flaccid balloon was brandished.
Sorry, but not sorry, to any kids who may be reading this – Paul Watson admits he is probably the world’s grumpiest curmudgeon since WC Fields.
Generally, the arts are a good thing. So too is cleanliness. I am therefore not against theatre – or windscreen washing – except where they are performed in a public place not designed or designated for that purpose.
Perhaps there should be some such public places set up, where annoying adults – too cheap to buy or rent private space for their business (like everyone else does) – can ply their trade in a completely unfettered manner. But for now, there aren’t.
So far, I’ve been able to restrain my homicidal impulses against street performers and intersection windscreen washers by passive avoidance. Woe betide them, however, if I ever become a kidnapper – and my quarry tries to break the ice in that claustrophobic room . . .
