SomeTimes a Pool Cue is just a Pool Cue

I begin the work week by asking the question of the age; Who the hell is “Posh” and what the hell is a “beckham”? Tom Cruise has taken a break from pissing off the Germans to fly back to Hollywood to ‘host’ a red carpet thingy for Mr. and Mrs. Richer-Than-Snot, a pair of British super stars who seem to be famous because he plays soccer and she’s had more plastic surgery then Phyllis Diller. And also I hear she is in a singing group or something. The guest list read like a “whose-owed” of Hollywood; Steven Spielberg, George Clooney, Demi Moore and Ahton Kutcher, Opra, Bruce Willis, Ron Howard, Brooke Shields…ah Hollywood’s golden era. Meanwhile, back in Germany, the chief spokesman for the German Protestant Church for Scientology, Thomas Gandow, denounced Tom as a pint sized Joesph Goebbels, Hitler’s minister of propaganda, also known as “The Evil Dwarf”. That’s quite an insult, especially coming from a German. Goebbels had a club foot and was the inventor of the theory of the Big Lie and the phrase “Iron Curtain”, later borrowed by that famous plagiarist Winston Churchill.
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Tom is in Berlin to shoot a new movie about Claus Von Stauffenberg, who is a hero to the Germans because he was the only member of the German officer Corps who actually tried to kill Hitler. He failed, and his punishment was to be shot, which was better than the fate of many of the other conspirators who were hanged with piano wire. We know this because Hitler ordered the whole thing filmed so he could watch it when he was feeling low. And to those who claim there is no written order signed by Hitler ordering the holocaust I would suggest you try to explain that film and reconcile it with a man who would not order the deaths of millions and George Bushed the third Reich to the point that the death camps might have escaped his attention.
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Ah, but back to Tom. See, it’s difficult to separate the movie star from the role, and that is precisely the German concern with their national hero being played by a Scientologist, which the Germans consider a cult. And this creates a problem for me, because I also consider it a cult, but I also believe in Freedom of Religion, meaning freedom to be a member of a cult. See, Scientologists believe we were invaded by aliens and spaceships and other wacky things, as opposed to the traditional rational belief systems like those of Joseph Smith and Martin Luther and Saul/Paul, in virgins giving birth and divine intervention in wars and walking on water and the sun standing still and etc., etc., etc.
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Anyway, Herr Gandow called Tom “the Goebbels of Scientology” and called his faith a “totalitarian organization” (not like the Catholic or the Lutheran Church, for God’s sake) and he dismissed the film, which has yet to be made, as “propaganda for Scientology”. I would guess that Herr Gandow gets his info directly from God, sort of like Mohammad did.
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As for myself, I am not as prone to these mythological belief systems as most people are. I’m worse. I have believed, in my time, in the Loch Ness Monster, Big Foot, UFO’s, poltergeists, various Kennedy Assassination Conspiracies and Jesus Christ. And as I have gotten older I have not gotten wiser, just more suspicious and clear on one point only; trust in people. They will likely screw you over but there really isn’t anybody else available. As Henry says in “The Lion In Winter”, “There’s no use criticizing the air when there is nothing else to breathe”.
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But leave it to the Aussies to illustrate the point. The Tasmanian Supreme Court, an awesome conception to American ears, has just sentenced Mathew Noel Triffett to six months in jail and 140 hours of community service with two years suspended for ramming a pool cue…But allow me to render the details in the vernacular.
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This is the dead set, mate. Matt Triffett is a beaut of a batter and a real Taswegian. So he and a couple of his cobbers decide to hit the turps in Hobart. They didn’t mean no harm. They were just lifting a pint of coldie to celebrate his mate’s birthday, right, just sinking some piss, and they got pretty stonkered and not in their full quid. They’d been making the rounds when they arrived at this boozer, the Village Green in the back and beyond east of Hobart, and Matt decides to lose his daks and do the walk about in his grundies. And his mate, he’s a real larrikin, he decides to prance around in the full nuddy, you see. And that’s when, holy dooley, Matty has himself a beaut of a blue. His mate is off his face and ass over tits when Matt grabs a pool cue and rams it up his mates freckle without so much as a “G’day mate”.
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Well, holy dooley, even blind Freddy could see things were a gob. The cue breaks in two with about 10 cenies bogged up his mate’s date. And his mate starts screaming, which is understandable. But it took Matty a flash to realize he was balls up and in the cactus. Not to mention his mate’s condition! They take his mate home hoping he’ll sleep it off, only his arse still hurts. So by his oneses he removes the stub of the cue from his clacker, (I don’t know how). But come the sparrows fart he still hurts like the duck’s guts and he’s afraid he’s going to cark it. So he goes to hospital. That must have been a beaut of a story he told, but he told the strewth, mate. Which is why the bailey gave him such a light sentence.
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Ah, what a piece of work is man. How infinite in reason.