No. 65 A Mess of a Society with all the Outward Appeal of a Ripper Victim

I dunno. I’m away for a month or so and Jade Goody dies. That’s all I wish to say about her in particular. I’m not here to dwell on what her motives were for the gaudy auctioneering of practically every aspect of the last seven years of her life. All for the good of public consumption.

No, because what’s really unsavoury in all of this is:

A) The media circus willing to fork out obscene amounts of money for the exclusive rights to what is tantamount to watching a young woman die.
B) The manipulative scumbags lurking behind the scenes, creaming off their cut of each and every deal closed as the destructive force that is cancer tears somebody’s insides apart.
And C) The opportunist soundbite merchants jumping on the celebrity-grief bandwagon to tell us how sad they are at the death of someone they’ve probably never met, but most certainly wouldn’t give a flying fuck about were it not for the spotlight opportunity associated with such a media carnival. (Yes, that means you Mr. Brown, and all the other scummy politicians who came out to offer their insincere condolences. I didn’t see any of you giving statements for the other unnamed statistics who happened to die from cancer on the same day)

What manner of society is it that clambers across each other, chequebooks open, to buy the exclusive rights to another human being’s painful demise? Whether that person chooses to allow it or not, or even actively encourages it. Whatever happened to self-control?

What sort of society is it that buys into this sick freakshow and funds the vultures by throwing money at their sleazy publications?

What sort of society is it that cares more about somebody they’ve never met than their own families? Allowing their kids to run riot in the streets or their elderly relatives to rot, long since forgotten, whilst salivating over photographs of a wedding and christening they were never invited to.

Or allows Max Clifford, his lackeys and all the others of their type, to fund their next golfing holiday off of the naivety of a dying girl?

A shit one. That’s what. A society shattered and rent down the middle. A mess of a society with all the outward appeal of a ripper victim.

And of course, it wouldn’t be complete without the now customary public outpourings of grief from the great and the good. Eager to share their sadness and grab an inch of column space, leading the way for the rest of us to grieve en masse.

Sickening.

So what’s next for the PR and marketing men, now that this particular cash-cow has been milked dry? Where can they go from here? Who can they take advantage of? Manipulate? Use until they serve no further purpose or die?

The disabled? The mentally infirm?

What’s the next gimmick? The next big stunt?

Rape? Murder? Genocide?

Never fear. So long as they’re willing to cough up the readies, OK magazine will cover it.

I think I shall return to my darkened room for another lie down. Wake me when it’s all over.

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