Elton John’s Dolce & Gabbana boycott is not a simple case of good versus evil

There’s nothing quite like an Elton John hissy fit for putting people off gays bigtime. Every time the old tart gets on his high horse (and falls off the other side like a comedy cowboy) another few million people join the homophobics union.

Few subjects are as certain to kick off an internet flame war as what constitutes a proper family. You would the wisdom of Solomon and delicate tread of an Angel to deal with the topic painlessly; and were you to lucky enough to find one, that Angel would probably refuse to offer an opinion, not daring to tread on such easily offended tootsies.

Instead then, find a fool, or a bunch of fools. Let them rush in, as did the ever sillier former rock star ‘Sir’ Elton John when fashion designers Dolce and Gabbana, made some less than laudatory comments about non standard families.

One of the fashionistas made a comment about same-sex parents: “Every child should have a mother,” he said, which Sir Elton interpreted as an insult; (these days he interprets everything as an insult); consequently, the singer has demanded a boycott of the Italian’s designer clothing. Oooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Well the topic of same sex marriages will be debated for a long time and the issues if IVF and same sex parents will become more rather than less controversial.

But whether we think a child fares better with natural parents or not, I’m sure we can all agree no child deserves the stigma of being related to Elton John

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The Infantilisation Of Generation X-cess

For very many years now I have been concerned about the infantilisation of the current generation of adults.

It started with the shell suit, as often sported by the late James Saville so say no more on the reasons why grown adults would wander about in elasticated trousers.

When my kids started school the uniform was polo shirt, sweat shirt, jogging bottoms, “then theres no fiddling with nasty buttons”, as the secretary explained to me. Well if you don’t ever get to fiddle with nasty buttons when are you going to learn that buttons are actually quite a handy device for opening and closing items of clothing, pray tell.

We then had a student teacher on placement at school who arrived tie in hand every day and waited for one of the classroom assistants to tie it for him.

Women now walk about in glorified, sheepskin lined slippers, wind, rain or shine, the ubiquitous Ugg boot and lookalikes.

We even have the Onesie, a glorified romper suit for grown ups, which wouldn’t even be acceptable as nightwear in a more rational country and yet you see people doing the shopping in them.

If that wasn’t bad enough it now emerges that the sewers of London, designed by Sir Joseph Bazalgette way back in the 1800’s which have survived the population expansion, the blitz, newspaper and medicated Izal, is now under threat from baby wet ones, and I don’t mean poo.

It appears the latest fashion in anal hygiene is not a good wipe with a couple of sheets of Andrex, but the gentle, moist, probably anti-bacterial wet wipe for grown ups, which also happens, unlike the Andrex which you can practically see begin its disintegration before you’re very eyes, not to be terribly bio-degradable and consequently the sewers are getting bunged up.

It will only get worse though.

Imean it’s a bit of an inconvenience having to stop watching daytime TV or playing on your Wi or texting your friends, yes the ones who are sitting next to you on the sofa, to toddle off to the loo, get out of your onesie and have a poo. Plus you have to wash your hands after, so why not just wear a large nappy and have a clean up at the end of the day?

Nobody objects to babies doing that and just think how the sales of Sudocream will soar.

Babygate

Our congratulations go out to Dave and Sam Cam on the unexpected arrival of their little bundle of joy. Dave will obviously now be cancelling the rest of his holiday so he can take his paternity leave and then he can have his holiday after he returns to work.

But I have to confess I am a little puzzled concerning media reporting of the event.

The press said that Dave took Sam to hospital when she went into labour and that he had stated, “The baby just popped out.”

However it was also reported that Sam had a C-section.

So, excuse me if you are eating your tea, if you have a C-section they make an incision in the abdomen and hoik the baby out of the womb.

If, on the other hand, the baby ‘just pops out’, it is highly likely that the baby is delivered with reasonable ease through the birth canal.

This leads me to be the first hack to coin the term Babygate and wonder just where exactly Dave was whilst Sam was having an epidural and being opened up like a tin of baked beanz.

Was he really at her bedside, gowned and masked, holding her hand whilst he peered over the screening sheet as a surgeon fumbled around inside her, or was he in fact wetting the baby’s head down the Dog and Duck with a few close mates and loads of people he’d never seen before, handing out cigars and shouting “The drinks are on me!”

(Our own happy event is expected imminently after which Ian will be taking Grandpa-ternity leave and I will be holding the fort in my newly acquired Great Auntyness.)

*A golden opportunity there Cleo and Bro Bastion, to say that I was always a great aunty.

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Random Musings of a Frustrated Blogger

Well Ian was hoping that either Cleo or I would turn up, and look, here I am only a day late.

I too was watching the golf yesterday; and the cricket and the MotoGP and Le tour, such a busy time of year, and hoping that good natured Tommy could hold it together. Alas it was not to be, but the nearly OAP done good.
It must have been inspiring too, because when I went out today (on the golf course that is) I holed a thirty yard chip shot! Yay!

Lots of things caught my eye last week and I would have loved to blog about them but unfortunately hubby is working from home for a few weeks, plus Sezjez and BBC allegedly scouring the internet for gainful employment opportunites, and any chance I have of getting near the computer vanishes into the wee small hours, when I’m too bloody knackered anyway.

However it was nice to see that Michael wasn’t the only insane one out of the five.
Brother Tito declaimed that “you only had to look at those kids to see they are Michael’s.” Huh?

Having said that, look closely at the younger one, Blanket, and he/she/it does bear some resemblance to MJ. I presume this is because he/she/it was actually made from the offcuts from Michael’s extensive plastic surgery.

Another thing that caught my eye was the MALE midwife who declared that women were being a bit soft if they chose to have an epidural rather than suffer through the labour pains.
Now being the only member of the Boggarblog team that has actually had a baby I have to say that I never really got what all the fuss was about, a few deep breaths, bit of backache, urge to push and congratulations Fatsal, it’s a boy!
Far be it from me to suggest that this is every woman’s experience, so live and let live; Doc’s invented the epidural, somebody’s got to use it.

The bit that rankles is that this is a highly respected MALE midwife. So as much as he might share our pain mentally he has never tried to evacuate something the size of a cantaloupe melon through an aperture that has previously only allowed access to a few sperm.
It seems to me that he ought to be put under and have an American football inserted into his bowel, then be woken and made to pass it before he starts telling the women of the world how to have babies.
There again, he’s obviously pretty good at talking out of his arse.

And finally, off to buy some charcoal with BBC for a barbecue tonight.
It came in a box!!! With a carrying handle!!!
No having to hug a large sooty sack and get my kit all dirty.
How civilised is that?
Which set us to wondering, is there a gap in the market here?
Oughtn’t Prince Charles to be offering Duchy Origanl Organic Charcoal?
Made from naturally fallen trees in sustainable woods, coppices, stands, copses and forests on the Duchy of Cornwall estate, Duchy Original Organic charcoal is manufactured using only the finest incendiary ingredients.
Packaged in 100% recyclable pinewood boxes, lined with re-cycled paper, Duchy Original Organic Charcoal is a must for the environmantally friendly, yet discerning barbecuer.
Only £14.99 per Kilo.

Shock! Horror! You Mean It Wasn’t True?

Little Alfie Patten, thirteen going on seven year old, is said to be devastated that DNA tests have proved he is not the father of ‘girlfriend’ Chantelle Stedman’s daughter, Maisie.
Alfie claimed, or at least whoever was manipulating him did, that he had been going out with Chantelle for two years, that she had been a virgin and that he was the only boy she had slept with.
However there then followed a parade of teenaged boys claiming that they had slept with Chantelle, at her home, with her mother’s knowledge and implicit consent.
A bit like that scene in Spartacus really.
“I slept with Chantelle nine months ago.”
“I slept with Chantelle nine months ago.”
“I slept with Chantelle nine months ago.”
It was at this point that social sevices stepped in, right on the ball, as usual, and an injunction was obtained banning any more reporting on the story. DNA samples were taken from all the boys involved and it now turns out that a lad called Tyler Barker is the father.
Tyler would have been fourteen at the time of conception, which is really a tad young to be doing anything more than sniggering over your Dad’s secret porn pile, wouldn’t make half such a good story.
He also looks like a typical teenager, spiky hair, cheeky grin, a bit of a twinkle in his eye, not nearly as interesting as the almost infantesque Alfie.
Makes you wonder about the motivation for bringing the story of Alfie and Chantelle onto the front pages really, doesn’t it?
Was it public interest or was it the lure of The Sun’s chequebook and the chance for the infamous fifteen minutes of fame.

Suffice to say I’m sure anyone with half a brain was, like Boggartblog, extremely sceptical of the claim in the first place.

THE DAILY STIRRER
and don’t forget all the other Greenteeth Multi Media pages…
Greenteeth Multi Media
bogboggart
Greenteeth Comedy Pages
A Tale Told By An Idiot

Joe King by name and Joe King by nature…

What do you call some of the most unfortunate people in Britain? Well just in case you are stuck for an answer here are some suggestions. Justin Case (sic), Barb Dwyer and Stan Still. It sounds like a typical Boggart Blog Department of Tired Old Jokes offering, but a trawl by serious researchers through the necrobuffonomicon (the book of dead funny names) has revealed that there really are unfortunate people with those names in the UK. Joining them on the list are Terry Bull, Paige Turner, Mary Christmas and Anna Sasin. And just imagine having to introduce yourself to a crowd as Doug Hole or Hazel Nutt. The names were uncovered by a research team from parenting group TheBabyWebsite.com after parsing through online telephone records.

More humour every day from Boggart Blog

Whose the Father, Alfie or Damien?

Well aren’t the Screaming Redtops having a field-day with the story of ‘little’ Alfie Patten who has allegedly fathered a child with his 15 year old girlfriend, despite the fact that he is only four foot tall, looks about eight years old, his voice hasn’t broken ergo his balls haven’t dropped and he still wouldn’t let a girl touch his willie because she has broken hers off already.
Tabloid editors memories must be very short, it is only twelve months since Karen Matthews grabbed their attention with the plot to extort money from the media by kidnapping her own daughter.
Do you see any similarities here?
Could the rush to get Max Clifford to represent ‘little Alfie’s’ interests be a bit of a giveaway?
Not fot me to say, but here’s a thought.
Todays papers published a picture of Alfie’s dad wearing a devil mask.
Now go back and look at all those pictures of ‘little Alfie;
as a baby, a toddler, an infant and now, the 13 year old 8 year old.
I suggest we shave his head and somewhere on there will be the number ….. 666.

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When I Grow Up I Want To Be President Of The Universe

Last Thursday it was UFOs buzzing wind turbines in Lincolnshire, today The Sun headlines with the tale of a Mum to be expecting dicephalus twins, that’s siamese twins who appear to have one body but two heads.
Doctors have advised the parents to abort the foetus(es) as the chance of survival is incredibly slim.
However the parents have declined and are determined to see the pregnancy through to term.
They have even chosen names, Layla and Kelsey for girls, Zaphod and Beeblebrox for boys.