Menstrual Mondays – The Destroyer of All Things Good

15 years ago, humanity stood on the precipice of greatness – free thought was growing, the world was taking a step forward. In 1993/1994 the Gulf War was well behind us, Rage Against the Machine had a solid foothold on the psyche of the world’s youth, and Bill Hicks was still with us. Next week on September 16th, we celebrate the 15th year of “World Ozone Day” – a day the UN chose in 1994 to commemorate the signing of the Montreal Protocol in 1987. Life wasn’t good, but it was certainly looking up.

I was growing up in Jordan in the Middle East at the time, and was there to witness the historic signing of the Israel-Jordan Treaty of Peace. I was only 9, but I remember watching the news in Aqaba seeing Israeli combat engineers clearing sections of the minefield between the two countries (a live minefield that had stood and maintained for nearly 50 years). They had huge metal detectors, and moved around with these enormous foam pads strapped to their boots which were meant to absorb the blast from a small landmine. And when we were bored of watching it on the TV, we would climb up to the roof of our block of flats and see them doing it a few kilometers away.

Humanity had a blossoming hope.

But I look back on the last 15 years, and I ask – what the fuck went wrong? Sure Bush and Howard are finally gone, but they both managed to get re-elected (in Howard’s case it was three fucking times). Bill Hicks dies, and pond-scum like Denis Leary get their own TV show. There’s an illiterate, bible-thumping moron that doesn’t believe in climate change holding the balance of power in the Australian senate; Bill O’Reilly has a TV show on a major “news” station – seriously, what kind of fucked up world do we live in?

On my journey to find the source of this evil, I’ve come across a lot of nasty shit. But I think I’ve finally found the source. The reason for humanity’s failure, it’s stagnation in the last 15 years can be put down purely to this man -

Meet the Anti-Christ. He has red hair

Why Carrot Top? What could such a mediocre comedian have to do with the psychological and cultural stagnation of the Western World over the last 15 years? Two reasons -

• In 1994, Carrot Top won the American Comedy award for “Best Male Stand-Up”
• He still sells out shows

If you’re unfamiliar with this stain on the face of humanity, I invite you to watch the video below.

And please don’t think “Oh, Gingey has picked the worst material to make his point” – this is literally the best I could find that this comedic leper has done in the past 15 years. Researching this post I came across an interview with Carrot Top (real name Scott Thompson, aka “The Reason People Don’t Respect Comedians), and two pieces of commentary from the interviewer struck me immediately – the opening paragraph;

Say what you want about Carrot Top but not many comics can fill the Avalon Ballroom at Niagara Fallsview Casino Resort two cold winter nights in a row – as he did last weekend.

And further into the interview there was this;

But traditional stand-up comedy clubs eschewed his prop-based act, causing a frustrated Thompson to bail out of the business. He took a number of odd jobs – delivering bread, cleaning office buildings, and shucking oysters – to pay the bills.

I’d just like to deal with the “traditional stand-up comedy clubs eschew(ing) his prop-based act” quote first – HE PULLS THINGS OUT OF FUCKING BOXES. It’s not comedy, it’s a garage sale. People laugh at the shit he pulls out of the boxes he has on-stage. Why, I don’t know. But for some reason people laugh at it. And the term “prop-based act” is a blatant lie – for it to be a comedy act a) there’s needs to be comedy involved at some point, and b) there needs to be a level of acting involved – like having him act as if he’s funny. He should have stuck to shucking oysters.

Congratulations America, the man you awarded “Best Male Stand-Up” in 1994 won it by doing show-&-fucking-tell. Which leads me to the opening quote: How in the name of our Lord and Protector, Gumby, is this charlatan still getting paid to do shows? How retarded to you have to be to pay $50USD to go and see some curly-haired freak pull things out of trunks on-stage – stupid people are paying good money to be made stupider by this oxygen-thief. What hope does humanity have when modern day geniuses like Bill Hicks and Rage Against The Machine are censored and cast into the rain, but garglers of Satan’s cock like Carrot Top manage world-wide recognition and get paid to pedal their bullshit nightly to audiences of thousands.

The REAL Teen Choice Awards

Why hasn’t someone run this scraggy-haired fuck down with a monster truck? Now THAT I would pay good money to see! Fuck, I’d FLY to Las Vegas to see that in action. Picture it – abducting all of the talentless, unwashed, dumbed-down and over-hyped spastics that rule comedy on television and movies to put them together in Las Vegas for one special night – to hold a range of Gladiator-style events hosted by Jon Stewart. Imagine having Pauly Shore play the barbarians in a re-enactment of the first battle of Carthage by himself and armed only with a plastic spatula. Or having Chris Tucker, Ellen Degeneres and Carlos Mencia get tied behind chariots to act as racing handicaps. And maybe have a javelin throwing contest where the aim is not to throw it furthest, but to hit Jay Leno.

And after all of this light entertainment, the main event. A silence falls over the crowd as Jon Stewart walks out into the middle of the massive Colluseum that’s been constructed specifically for the event, the spotlight following him out there. As he approaches the middle of the stadium, an announcer’s microphone drops  down from above and Stewart grabs it. He says nothing, simply looking around the stadium as the crowd’s energy levels start to climb quickly, the noise turning from a muted whisper to a deafening roar as they realise the time has come. Stewart brings the microphone to his mouth quickly and says “Ladies and Gentlemen, the event you’ve all been waiting for… ARE YOU READY TO RUMBLE!?”. The crowd goes insane, concrete crumbling as they stamp their feet, a hail of debris falling from the stands as the crowd rips up their chairs and throws them into the arena.

A golf cart quickly drives Stewart to the safety of the announcer’s box as three massive monster trucks enter the stadium, one after the other, circling around the edge of the colluseum. Flames lick from their exhausts, and the drivers activate the weapon systems on the trucks. Spinning blades drop below the trucks, turning each into a monumental ride-on lawnmower, while flamethrowers and missile systems pop out from every point. The monster trucks take up positions around the stadium and wait as the lights go dark. A single spotlight cuts through the darkness, illuminating a broken figure suspended 100ft up in the air. The big screens zoom in on the figure to show Carrot Top – battered, bruised and dressed only in a loin-cloth – swinging helplessly from a steel wire. Suddenly the wire breaks, and he falls. He hits the ground with a crack, the stadium is flooded with light, and the monster trucks roar to life.

I don’t want to give the ending away, but lets just say the curly-headed mutant can’t out-run a monster trucks with spinning blades under them when he’s got two broken legs.

That is the ONLY event I would pay $50USD to see Carrot Top headline in. And if by some miracle Allah’s black hand came down and spared Carrot Top from being crushed or chopped into little ginger pieces, I’d be demanding my money back.

FUCK SAKE! I’m going to have to write a Carrot Top joke into tomorrow night’s stand-up gig just to try and dump some of this angst. In the mean time I’m going to go listen to some Cat Stevens or something to try and chill myself into a coma.

And Carrot Top, if you’re reading this – Kill Yourself