Friday, March 4, 2011

On The Normality Of The Perverted Arts

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It is often suggested, usually by those who dislike the idea that somewhere someone might be happily going about minding their own business, that the perverted arts are - in some vague and unspecified way - unusual or out of the ordinary. This is – of course – utter piffle.

Everyone who has ever applied three-fruit marmalade to the underside of a clerical assistant will robustly pooh-pooh such a notion as soon as the censorious busybodies utter it.

From the highest government official in the land right down to the lowest estate agent, politician or other such vermin, the perverted arts are absolutely normal, ordinary and natural. For what could be more natural than sellotaping a well-oiled librarian to a dinning room table for rude and naughty purposes?

In reality, it is only those joyless ignoramuses who get what limited pleasure they can from disapproving of what everybody else enjoys who seem to take that pleasure in regarding what we ordinary folk see as a quiet harmless perversion -like immersing a stockbroker in lukewarm custard - as somehow not quite normal.

However, it is this attitude of theirs – of course – which is closer to what could more accurately be described as a perversion, in the sense that it is a distortion of what is natural, healthy and quite good fun into something that becomes somehow tarnished by this mean and vengeful act of disapproval.

Anyway, when the glorious day comes, these will be the first up against the wall… stripped naked and then liberally coated with three-fruit marmalade and awaiting the postmistresses to be released upon them….

That’ll learn ‘em.

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