From:     J
Sent:     13 November 2002 11:05PM 
To:       S
Subject:  Relativism and the oeuvre of Michael Jackson

Is that REALLY your dentist photo? Sweet Jesus! Ma told me you’d had a whizzy tooth out but by the balls of Beelzebub what have they DONE to you?  Mind you, it’s a nice theme we’ve got going here – Brady with the two front teeth, you with the wisdom tooth, and me off to yet ANOTHER dentist appointment in an hour and a half. This is my last essential one. After that I’ve got a cosmetic one (getting some gaps filled). I’ve been spending about $100 a week on the dentist for the last three months. Bah! Well, after today all the painful stuff will be done.

But tell me the truth, did you REALLY tell Dick my “news”? C’mon, did you really? You HAVE to tell me what he said if you did! Ha ha! Ooh, I wish you’d taped it.

And by gossip, I mean any old bit of scuttlebutt. You know, the stuff Ma tells me about – like Barry’s dad being sick, you having a tooth out, all that stuff. It doesn’t have to be tales of immorality, immodesty and impotence like all my reports from the abyss. Tell me anything. What movies you’re seeing, anything. I tell you what I bloody saw last week and how much I hated it: “Murder by Numbers”. It SUCKS the PUS! It commits the double sin of 1: being a predictable boring plodder with poorly drawn characters and a lead actress who looks like she’s had five too many face lifts (tell me there’s not something a bit Michael Jackson about Sandra Bullock – check out her nose, it’s totally Jacko) and 2: HOMOPHOBIA! (Give us a minute while I slip into my Pink Crusader outfit will ya… geez these hot pants are uncomfortable… [insert suggestive squeaking noise] … there we go.)

Now; there was this dumb-arse IMPLIED homo relationship between the two murderers which REALLY got on my tits. Why was it IMPLIED? If the murderous couple were a boy and a girl it wouldn’t have been IMPLIED, they would have been humping on the dead woman’s corpse! And having the main character read bloody Le Bateau lvre (Rimbaud) and quote Nietzsche, BAH! “Icky Homo”, that’s what I say! (Oh just SLAY me!) No, that film really got up my nose, Sis. The whole “poofta as morally rudderless, bloodless intellectual” stereotype (which is a total rip-off of the complete misconception of the character of Rimbaud, by the way). And then to have one of these Poofta-Lites REDEEMED by the love of this twee cardboard girl character… oooh it makes my pink blood BOIL I tells ya! Gee, hope you weren’t planning to see this film. I’ve just totally ruined it for you, haven’t I? Well, now you don’t need to see it. I’VE seen it, and now you can join me in picketing it! Don’t you just LOVE shouting slogans? It’s such a POWERFUL agent for change, don’t you think? Here are some chants to warm up with.

 

"1, 3, 5, 7
Ban this film from Skye to Devon!
3, 5, 7, 9
It's characterisation is asinine!"

Or the good ol' faithful... 

"Whadda we want?
Non-stereotypical representations of homosexuals in modern cinema! 
When do we wannit?
Now.!”

But what’s this bizzo about saving all my emails S? That’s TERRIFYING! God only knows what I’ve said in these things! You’ll have to wait til I’m dead to publish. But then I won’t be famous… But at least it’ll be too late for everyone else to kill me for all the horrible things I’ve said about them… it’s quite the quandary, innit? I used to save my emails, but then I came to work here and I’m really paranoid about leaving them lying about, so I clean out my tray every night. Some I’ll save on to a disk now and then, but generally, I just let ’em go.

You must tell me how your meeting with your do-gooder went. Are you 12-stepping it? Do you have to go to a meeting? What would you go to? Narcotics Anonymous? Bugger that, they should have a Narcotics Famous, a reality TV show. Ooh, wot a good idea! They should get a collection of people with dependencies that they’re trying to overcome, and then put temptation in their way and see who cracks (no pun intended) first. I’m sorry, that’s not in very good taste, is it? Hell, good taste just ain’t my way. Aw shucks, now I feel like I have to give you some Hallmark encouragement. Here, these words of wisdom from one of the greatest sages of our time might be helpful.

"Just beat it, beat it.
No one wants to be defeated.
Showing' how funky and strong is your fight.
It doesn’t matter who’s wrong or right. 

Just 
Beat it beat it beat it beat it.
Beat it beat it beat it.
Beat it beat it beat it Beat it. Beat it beat it.
Beat it beat it beat it. Beat it, beat it.

No one wants to be defeated."

Ah, is stirring with the sentiments, yes? Is all about beating things, yes? “It doesn’t matter who’s wrong or right” – a powerful statement for our relativistic times, yes? Ah, relativism and the oeuvre of Michael Jackson -­ who said my emails are all hot pants and boob jobs?

Take care of yourself Sis o’ mine.

J

 

From:    S
Sent:    Thursday, November 14, 2002 9:22PM
To:      J
Subject: RE: Relativism and the oeuvre of Michael Jackson

Of course, I didn’t tell dad, you wanted gossip and it made me smile to think of you running in circles flapping your arms like a girl shouting “Nooooooooooooo” in a high-pitched squeal.

Can I tell him? I really want to tell him, it is killing me when I talk to him, between your little secret and mums cancer secret I am scared I am going to trip up each bloody conversation I have with him.

Did you know Lilith broke her ankle so he is pushing her around outback WA in a fucking wheelchair, haven’t told mum as the glee she would explode with would be too much.

Ok I mailed your spy ear yesterday, like I said it needs a new battery but I left the old one in so you can see what size it is and where it goes etc.

In return my little brother I would like a bag of Darryl Lea liquorice, please. please, please, please, please. It would make me very happy ooooh and if you are feeling generous a box of BBQ shapes or chicken Twisties (not cheese).

I have resigned and finish on the 4th of December, we fly out for Tenerife on the 13th of December for two weeks, our first holiday in two years, I cannot tell you who much we need this holiday, what a fucked-up year it’s been.

Not a lot else to say, my second-hand book sales are coming along fine am making about £50 a week out of it now – it makes me giggle I tell ya.

Love S