So, the girl you love has got a ginger borefriend
What the hell is going on?
You've seen it yet still refuse to believe it. What is that flawless vision of beauty doing with that swarthy reptilian? All you can think about is his ginger balls bouncing off her forehead. I know what you're thinking: she's had more balls bounce off her head than Kevin Keegan -- why should this bother me so much? You can accept that she avoided you to be with a high status male like Aerial Telly. That is the way of the universe. Aerial Telly is like a metal rod with a huge positive charge. Honies can no more resist being attracted to him than water can resist flowing to the ocean. But this is an apparently lower status male getting all the benefits of premium pie. You read the books telling you to act like a man. You listened to Aerial Telly when he helpfully broke down all your fuck ups. What the hell is going on?
"Never mind that he personally is Black Irish and is therefore about as closely related to those bog savage ginger fucks as shit is to shinola, he has heard more than enough of 'ginger' this and 'carrot top' that ."
Aerial Telly will explain but first he would like to castigate you for your anti-Celtic racism. How dare you disrespect the red? This is something Aerial Telly has never and will never do.
Never mind that he personally is Black Irish and is therefore about as closely related to those bog savage ginger fucks as shit is to shinola, he has heard more than enough of 'ginger' this and 'carrot top' that so don't be talking that mess around him. It's ign'ant.
"She sees Sundays watching him sat in an armchair, legs crossed needlessly, leafing through The Observer's hateful supplements.
But to return to the main issue. What does The Girl think of when she looks at her borefriend? She sees something a little different. She sees change. And, paradoxically, stability. She thinks he will be soulful, sensitive and oh so different from all the players she has been with, particularly that one, because there's always one, the one who hurt her. Now, in the low status, vaguely artistically inclined redhead chump she sees hope. She is fairly certain that he will never cheat on her. She sees Sundays watching him sat in an armchair, legs crossed needlessly, leafing through The Observer's hateful supplements. He will never ever read the sports pages. She sees a £10 a-month direct debit to UNICEF. She sees subtitled films at the local arts centre, blinking in mute incomprehension, quietly content in the knowledge that he has half a clue what the fuck is going on having "done that type of thing at University"
"She sees in her borefriend something timeless, something rustic and as old and unfathomable as the universe itself. "
Eventually, she sees a place in the country and weird ginger children who she will give names like Olga, Patrice and Chlamydia. She sees sandals and real ale. She sees autumn walks through the leaves as nature's stunning palette of golds, reds and russets, a palette every bit as varied as the hair around his balls, shimmers all around them. She sees petitions to grant the local pub listed status. She sees in her borefriend something timeless, something rustic and as old and unfathomable as the universe itself. He looks like he might have been in the Bohemian Like You video as an unpaid extra.
"She knows that he'll be lucky to even gain admission to a nightclub never mind pick up some piece of ass there"
There's just something about him. And what that is is a total lack of balls. For The Girl has given up and invested in a low risk option. She knows that every man is as faithful at his options and that he'll be lucky to even gain admission to a nightclub never mind pick up some piece of ass there. He offers the one thing that all her previous lovers never could -- complete and unerring dependence.
So, there you have it. That's the reason the girl is with the gimp, the reason you're a dirty racist and the reason Aerial Telly wins again. Take time out to reassess your life, how you feel about yourself and where you think you are going. Take your mind off the flame-haired spud-eating pub bomber and think about ways you can improve yourself.
And I'm not just thinking about suicide.
But don't rule it out.
Imagined: 22nd February 2008
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© James Donaghy 2003-2013
About Aerial Telly
Aerial Telly in The Guardian
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