It really is not hard to see why the world is so utterly screwed up. One of the beauties of having detached yourself from the freak show is that you are far more able to be entertained by the insanity, rather than feeling helplessly swept up in it; and it really is the gift that keeps on giving. One look at the list of Time magazine’s one hundred most influential people is enough to make anyone with a rational mind think ‘this is some kind of joke, right?’ Of course, for those of us on the ‘outside’ looking in, we don’t care whether it is or it isn’t; we are just amazed at the volume of bulls**t that human beings are both willing and able to ingest before exploding.
Time magazine has selected, as its ‘cover star’………Beyonce Knowles. You know, I can accept the fact that nobody can move an inch any more without Beyonce getting right into their face. She’s in every tabloid newspaper and magazine you ever open (including ‘Carp Times’ and ‘Bollards Monthly’), on advertising posters for god-knows-what every time you go in a shop (‘Beyonce Nerve Gas’ by Dior ‘You’ve got nerves? She’ll get on them’), and her music is even piped on a loop into public lavatories (quite rightly, in my view, as a welcome aid to satisfactory bowel movement) day and night – right before that moment you use the latest brand of Beyonce toilet tissue. What actually tugs my chain is that rather than just accept that she is a moody-faced celebrity who sings songs other people have written and which are made, publicised and distributed by people who are not her, we somehow need to go that extra mile or ten and have some fawning, grandiose statement justifying exactly why St Beyonce is so ‘influential’. Cue Facebook executive Sheryl Sandberg. “[Beyonce] doesn’t just sit at the table. She builds a better one.”
As bulls**t goes, it would be hard to improve on this particular pile. I am thinking of asking Oscar Pistorius if I can borrow his bucket. First up, what does Sheryl Sandbag mean? What table is Beyonce sitting at, exactly? And what the f**k is wrong with the table, anyway? All I ask of a table is that it is reasonably level and able to support a plate of spaghetti. Maybe that is where I am going wrong. Maybe I should be so damned dissatisfied with the table I am sitting at that I think to myself ‘This table needs improvements, and I’m just the man to do it.’ Perhaps then I, too, would find myself shoehorned into the world’s top one hundred. But no. It’s not enough for Beyonce to just sit there and accept the table – she has to go to her tool bag, re-design and then rebuild the thing. Actually, tables are about the only consumer item I haven’t seen Beyonce’s miserable face being used to try to push onto an unsuspecting and gullible public. Maybe someone should tell Ms Sandbag that Beyonce is a singer, not a carpenter. Or maybe this is the point. In seeking to elevate Beyonce into some mythical goddess, she is using this analogy in an effort to subliminally implant the notion that Beyonce may have far more in common with Jesus Christ than other, mere mortal, women. If she wore a skirt worthy of the name, I would be looking to touch the hem and receive my very own ‘healing miracle’. Ah well, who needs clothes? They just get in the way of whatever sh*te you happen to be selling that week, anyway.
Again, I wouldn’t mind so much if Sheryl Sandbag had a track record of being a rational human being. But she doesn’t. It is hardly surprising she is gushing over Beyonce as though she had just discovered penicillin or invented the wheel, because it isn’t so long ago when Beyonce was lending her considerable lack of brain cells to a project of Sandbag’s that has to rank as the most stupid ever known to man: “Ban Bossy”.
Not heard of it? Count yourself fortunate. But I suppose when you are a multi-millionaire executive of a social networking site (and that raises whole other questions) you can get away with pretty much any dull, stupid idea that you want: black cheese, windows made of sponge, replacing the petrol tank of your car with a pig’s bladder. Anything, really. But as stupid projects go, ‘Ban Bossy’ plumbed new levels of insanity.
You see, in a nutshell, Ms Sandbag considered that one of the things that held women back from reaching the highest echelons of society and business was the fact that……….they had been called ‘bossy’ as children. And for that reason, her answer to this was……….to ban the use of the word ‘bossy’. Yes, that’s it. Her theory was that if you ban the damn word ‘bossy’, suddenly whole new vistas of possibility were going to open up for every female on the planet. Job sorted.
However, Ms Sandbag clearly hadn’t thought this thing out particularly well. Firstly, she made the point that she herself had been called ‘bossy’ as a child. Really? Well, it sounds like it worked for you then. Unless, of course, you got your job with Zuckerberg’s ‘WasteBook’ corporation by some other route. Anyway, I don’t know about you, but something inside me just jars when anyone mentions banning things like…….a word. Beyond that, am I the only who who finds a bunch of elite women executives, and Beyonce Knowles, telling me that I mustn’t use the word ‘bossy’ a bit, well, bossy? It’s a form of total hypocrisy, in my book. I do have sympathy for Beyonce, though. I mean, she really doesn’t appear to have the capability for rational thought, and as such cannot really be held responsible for getting sucked into this insanity. I wouldn’t actually trust Beyonce to build a paper plane, let alone any table I was about to put my lunch down on. A couple of years back, Beyonce was even having a hard time knowing who she was, let alone feeling capable of storming the Bastille and ushering in a whole new era of women’s emancipation. Half the time she would wake up, look in the mirror, and wonder whether this morning she was ‘Sasha Fierce’! That someone like Sandbag can hold down a job selling strawberries in July is beyond me.
Other ‘notables’ in this list of influential people include the likes of Benedict Cumberbatch, Colin Firth and Amy Adams, all presumably for services to inhumanity. I rest my case.