Journalists
Ian Thorpe is a great Australian. Bigger, faster, better - he is the epitome of everything great about this country. He is a super-freak, and we are living in the era of freaks. Increased steroids and antibiotics in foods has resulted in the world's population being at its most fecund, resulting in huge population increases.But for every Thorpe, Jordan, Beckham, Woods, there is an increase at the other end of the spectrum. Smaller, uglier, thicker - an army of under evolved life forms that spend their time dwelling at the bottom of the human food chain.
Strangely they have all congregated in one profession - journalism.
Well not actually journalism, but gossip writing, the journalistic equivalent of the gun-totting uniform-wearing half-witted security guards who spend their lives protecting 7-11 stores because they were too thick to get into the police force.
I must admit though, I’m actually a big fan of the fifth estate. The world is a busy place and while there is great need for thinkers, innovators and producers, we also need people who are willing to dedicate their lives to the banal, like asking people, who made your dress? Were you happy you got beaten by 200 points? Do you like peanut butter? Can you help me tie up my shoelace?
Who else is going to do it? Last I heard Ivan Milat was a bit busy and Warwick Capper was too busy pursuing his career in comedy. Journalism is about informing the public. What do gossip journalists tell us that we don’t already know?
That socialites are fatuous, that twenty-three year olds are more desirable than forty five year olds, that Eddie MacGuire did a deal with the devil whereby he gave up introspection in return for total power.
If you happen to have the misfortune to run into a society columnist tonight, let them know you think they’re all drunken, pretentious walking anachronisms that think if they find their way out of the toilet at the pub they’ve really achieved something to be proud of.
Sam Kekovich.
