Dear world of media, social and serious,
I understand that the current crop of American, British and Australian politicians are spectacularly unskilled, treacherous, dangerous to children and the general health of our nations, but can we please stop calling them Muppets? Muppets are cute. Most of our pollies are neither entertaining, warm or wise, so stop labelling them as friendly puppets that have given pleasure to millions. When writing about these huge parliamentary pension seekers, using the term muppets conveys that they possess some wit. This is not the case.
The current Australian prime minister (for this week) is not life-like, clever nor an original thinker, nor able to relate to humans with humour and compassion, so for the sake of my fond childhood memories please refrain from comparing him to Fozzie Bear, Rowlf the Dog or Kermit.
I have heard the term, you lying fucking muppet used many times when relating to Brexit, can we please instead call these career con artists twats, twatwaffles or plonkers? If you don’t like these terms, consider using the phrases of the Bard. Shakespeare was brilliant at describing human stupidity. We could yell out in Question Time:
“More of your conversation would infect my brain. Your brain is as dry as the remainder biscuit after voyage.”
The only Muppets we need in politics are Statler and Waldorf to heckle and cajole incompetent public servants in parliament buildings around the world.
I hope that something better comes along…
a puppet worked by strings.“the bird bobs up and down like a marionette”
a person who is easily manipulated or controlled.“many officers dismissed him as the mayor’s marionette”
Two brilliant men were born today – Jim Henson and F. Scott Fitzgerald . The Muppets were a huge part of my childhood. I wanted to be Miss Piggy. I still do.
F. Scott Fitzgerald died young, leaving fine books for the world to enjoy. My favourite is The Great Gatsby, set in the golden days of the Jazz Age.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…. And one fine morning —
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.