Michael Fadda

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Venomous Lumpsucker
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Pachinko
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Armando Iannucci
“Challenge’ is one of those words executives like to say at conferences. It makes them sound like they’re at the forefront of something. Words such as ‘modernisation’, ‘development technology’ and ‘the future’ are bandied about at any professional gathering, even if it’s one attended by just milkmen. The word that bugs me most at the moment is ‘choice’. Businesses and governments now say ‘choice’ as readily as a two-year-old says ‘poo’. Somehow our movers and shakers have got it into their heads that our lives are enriched by having available a vaster spread of options, but there are certain times when the last thing you need is a choice. When you’re ill, for example. You want to go straight to hospital, without having to decide which one. Yet our administrators think it’s nice we can now choose the hospital we go to. It’s a false choice. If there are two hospitals nearby, a good one and a terrible one, there’s nothing to be gained from offering sick people the option of going to the terrible one. Better to knock it down or improve it. People who choose to go to the terrible one need their heads examining, although not at the hospital they’ve just chosen.”
Armando Iannucci, The Audacity of Hype: Bewilderment, sleaze and other tales of the 21st century

Armando Iannucci
“The junkbird attracts the attention of its prospective mate by opening wide a tail-fan of feathers spelling out, ‘You have already won a prize.”
Armando Iannucci, The Audacity of Hype: Bewilderment, sleaze and other tales of the 21st century

Julian Cope
“Now I was lying in my white stall, chained and smiling nearly hysterical. For what would my own life have become had I not been lactose intolerant? I sweated and trembled with relief at my luck. For, after starving us all for the first three days of the kidnap, some very tall and rank-smelling long-haired cunt in an apron had walked in nonchalant-like and asked us all in splendid pseudo-Sard if we ‘required spaghetti?’ As all of us were Westerners unused to three days of enforcèd fasting, we leapt at the chance and all but me accepted the lanky twat’s offer of ‘Pecorina’. A good cheese, explained Mick from his Sardu vantage point, and Brent and Dean concurred. Not me, sorry, says I. I’m lactose intolerant. How’s your tomato sauce? Only then did we discover how royally that long-haired cunt had set us up. The Sardu cheese ends in an ‘o’ – Pecorino. End it in an ‘a’ – Pecorina – and those three had all just agreed to anal sex. Thereafter, Mick, Brent and Dean got bummed every third day in the white stalls. Bummed and never fed.”
Julian Cope, One Three One: A Time-Shifting Gnostic Hooligan Road Novel

year in books
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