A TWOP fan the other day boasted on Twitter how they had seen Perth C Lister Basil “I don’t do Greek and I don’t know how my people got that reputation, probably was a dark night and there may have been Spartans involved, you know how they were separated from their womenfolk and were brought up in that all male militaristic life, but anyway somewhere along the line a Greek Donger – not mine, was introduced to a Greek ringhole – not mine either and a reputation was started…Who knew?” Zempilas sitting alone, forlornly not signing cookbooks, but didn’t get a fucking photo! Outrage Cohen, shows how he is the real newspaperman by not missing Ray “The straight Mike Walsh, The poor man’s George Negus, The thinking man’s Ian Leslie & the blind man’s Jana Wendt” Martin. Not focussing on him mind you, but not missing him. It must have taken real skill to get two retard elbows and a leather sandal in focus, but allow Ray’s hairpiece to remain soft. Aren’t journos supposed to be multiskilled these days? I’m not made of fucking unsharp masks people! Outrage sent some text, and normally I’d be flipping through Fowler, invoking the Strunkmeister for a complete dewinceing, before ditching his copy altogether, but it’s so hot that I’m just going to paste the whole thing in. Deal with it.
This morning at Borders Ray was signing copies of his book Ray: Stories of My Life. The spruiker was inviting people to sign copies of his “biography”. The crowds weren’t ten deep, but I did see the event in its last few minutes. The spruiker reduced Ray to a tick: he said if people bought Ray’s book they’d be able to tick someone off on their Xmas gift list. I advised him SoML was an autobiography – he said he sometimes got carried away “in the moment”. To his credit in the book Ray takes some stuff on the chin, like the Paxtons episode: ‘A Current Affair’s treatment of them was over-the-top, and bad editorial judgements were made. I was in the middle of those decisions.’ But then he can’t resist this: ‘The Paxton story also brings me to my sordid little encounter with a serial pest named John Safran, which became – at least to Media Watch – a celebrated confrontation. Again, its effects would
hang around like a rancid smell for years.’ $49.95 from all good bookstores everywhere!