Abby Martin, Another Day, Appetite for Distraction, blog, blogger, blogging, Chris Morris, diary, Fiction, Jack Whitehouse, Jamie Foxx, journal, Liz Wahl, Michael MacIntyre, nonfiction, prose, Quevenzhane Wallis, RT, Stewart Lee, writer, writing
He wakes up. Everything is dry like the desert. He looks around. He is in the desert. The sun is small and round and white and the sky is pale pale blue but almost white as well. His underwear is white but it is a dirty white. The sand is grey. His eyes hurt. He sees a small child in the distance. It is a small child or a very small adult. He gets closer. It is a frog wearing a bowtie. Then he is on the bus. Then he reads more about the Ukraine and Russia and doesn’t understand any of it and there are cheers in the western media when Abby Martin criticizes Russia and when Liz Wahl quits RT and there are broad views on this one is hooray the evil propaganda machine is being eaten from the inside then the other is that it is still business as usual for RT so why did they decide now to do this and the conclusion is self-promotion and then the other observation that no one did the same on CNN Or MSNBC or FOX or BBC or SKY or ITV or CBS or CBC or NBC or ABC when Iraq was invaded or Afghanistan was invaded or the Black hawks went down or when South American coups were plotted and that is not to say that anyone would because they are right all the time and the West is right but he would have thought that at least this might have been commented upon but of course it is not and then there is some criticism of Lupita N’yongo for being too black and for being a token and for being something that she can never be and then he watches the trailer for the new Annie starring Quevenzhane Wallis and Eric Marlon Bishop who sometimes likes to be called Jamie Foxx and it looks entertaining and moving and Cameron Diaz overacts in it too and that seems reasonable and then he eats some ice cream and a hot pocket and some cake and has a coffee and he has some cranberry juice and he stares at his swollen padded belly as it splits and spills over his belt and then he wonders and the career of Jack Whitehall and he doesn’t understand it and then he marvels at the career of Michael MacIntyre and he does understand it but it saddens him and then he embraces the miserablism of Stewart Lee and it keeps him warm and safe as the sound of Chris Morris interrogating him in a black and white smoke filled room calms him as he falls asleep in the desert.