By Nick Moss
Here’s a fucking joke. Three blokes having a pissing contest. Bibi, Blinken, Biden.
Bibi stands legs wide, hosing, smiling self-satisfied at his gushing red-blood flow.
Blinken is all stop-and-start, drip, surge, drip again. Biden is prostatic, retentive, may as well not have turned up at all.
More than two-thirds of buildings now just rubble in Gaza. Eighty percent of its people displaced. The UN calls this “apocalyptic.” But there’s no revelation in any of this. Ask the ghosts of the Cherokee. Just infinite regression, time given over to decay, soundtracked by Radio Television Libre des Mille Collines. The Kabuga boogie playing over Galgalatz airwaves.
Dean Lewis, stand-up tutor, says that laughter is created when there is a comedic element of surprise. So is the punchline that they’re pissing on a copy of the Geneva Convention, or that there’s blood in their stinking, varied streams – but it’s not their own?
