From: hahahaheehee@imalarfinggnomeandyoucantcatchme.co.uk   
      
   BBC Breakfast this morning. An Australian female reporter did an item on the   
   play Guantanamo and an opera called Manifest Destiny, about Al Queada which,   
   the Australian female reporter opined, was '..a story of an Al Queada cell   
   and Western Arrogance.'   
    Audiences were 'flocking to the shows' and 'lapping it up'. Large   
   interviews followed with the entirely white, middle class Hampstead liberals   
   who wrote and produced them. I started to wonder why there had been no plays   
   about Saddam's genocide and totalitarian oppression. This was not a question   
   that was asked. More spiel was rolled out for the shows. 'It's a new kind of   
   political theatre' opined the Australian, female BBC 'reporter' (PR Girl is   
   a better term), looking, incidentally, as if she was in the foothills of an   
   orgasm. The author of the opera was allowed to give his opinion (as opposed   
   to being asked any questions).   
     Then, towards the end of this inordinately long,   
   'regurgitate-the-press-release' puff piece, the Australian, female, BBC   
   reporter then gabbled, in the space of ten seconds, that 'some critics think   
   that issues like Guantanamo Bay and World Terrorism are too complex to be   
   dealt with by plays and musicals'.   
    No critic or opposing voice, however, was actually seen or questioned   
   though.   
    Finally the Australian, female, BBC reporter signed off with a barely   
   concealed huzza that the shows were transferring to Broadway. Then it was   
   back to the studio where two female presenters were grinning inanely, like a   
   lesbian couple on double prozacs.   
     George Orwell warned us about all this back in the forties when he left   
   the beeb because of its lying ways and the nihilistic pseudo-intellectuals   
   that run it. He lampooned it as the Ministry of Truth.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)