Rod Hull and Emusical jokes
Its the little things that tell you you're turning into an old duffer.
Standing at the checkout in Tesco at the weekend I was listening to the conversation between the the bloke on the checkout and his lurking mate. "Ah hah, a joke," I thought, as his giggling associate initiated the common root structure behind a popular form of witticism, "I like jokes!".
The joke was thus:
How many emus does it take to change a light bulb? None, 'cos they're too busy crying in the corner.
"Hmmm. Not so funny", I thought, as I pondered the 1999 roof-fall death of the popular emu-puppet-funnyman Rod Hull. "And not too contemporary, either."
Strange too, considering that the young whippersnapper of a lad on the till must've been less than 8 when his fatal Champions-League-TV-aerial-adjustment-error took place. "Guess it must've shaken the poor kid up pretty bad to remember something like that. Still, he's putting on a brave face, gallows humour and that."
The boy's mate then started pointing repeatedly at him, taunting "Emu, emu, emu. Emo."
Ah, yes. Emo. A definition of musical genre that has largely passed me by, especially in its utter pointlessness modern form. Its like when 2 Unlimited called themselves "Techno", and an entire fabulous musical genre became tainted in the minds of the ill-informed masses by the piss-stain of their cheap commercial bandwagonism.
This ain't a scene its a goddamn arseface. C'mon, techno techno techno techno.