The Thick
I don’t pride myself on being contrary, you know.
Granted, there are perhaps too many very popular, very well-loved things I completely detest. Bill Murray, for one. Milk. Leona Lewis. I would keep my mouth shut about this fear and loathing, because I understand that non-conformists make everyone else … kind of annoyed; when people like me disagree with you about things you didn’t know we could disagree on, it’s a shock, and it feels like a challenge, a slur on your good judgement. I would keep my mouth shut if I could, but I get loud when I’m defensive, never the wisest tactic, but there you go. It’s a personal failing. I’m sorry. It’s not a good thing; like I said, I’m not proud of it.
I don’t much like The Thick Of It, and I’m not much proud of that, either.
Now, I know everyone loves The Thick Of It. I know it’s critically acclaimed, I know it’s clever, I know some of it is improvised and that’s clever too, I know it’s hilarious, I know the sky is blue and the ocean is deep and Amy Winehouse has new tits. But I’ve become quite disillusioned with The Thick Of It. To me, it’s like … a maelstrom of insults, the writing getting dizzier and dizzier and the dialogue more and more high-pitched, each line reaching for an even dafter metaphor, each character’s squeal more and more desperate, onwards and upwards and endless and one big, long, heaving fucking festival of cunt fucking arsefucks – how many shits for how many giggles? How many profane similes can you chuck at a sentence?
Of course, the whole thing is a love story, swooning around the character of Malcolm Tucker…
… who does most of the bollicking in a very impressive Scottish accent. When he’s on screen we’re directed to quiver deliciously, when he’s not on screen the other characters talk about him like he’s some sort of awesome natural disaster that makes you throw caution to the wind and let strangers play with your nipples. Ooh, Malcolm. OOH, MALCOLM. Ooh, Malcolm’s coming. OOH, I’M COMING! LIKE A FUCKING JACKHAMMER ON THE NIGHT FUCKING TRAIN! MALCOLM!
Oh, fuck it, I don’t know. I don’t dislike The Thick Of It, to be honest. I’ll watch it over my laptop when it comes on t’ellah. I’m just not salivating over it like I should be. I think of it not so much as jumping the shark, but doing a steeplechase over a whole line of ‘em, except the sharks are made of elaborate jumbles of cocksucking dickmongers and the only leaps made over them are hot off the legs of writer who should know better.
And then I think … well, maybe I’m just jealous. I’m one for belching up daft, Gypsy Tourette’s bollickings at the best of times. I tend to call down all manner of genital-twisting curses on those whose mere plonkerisms stoke my wrath like a … No, no more fucking similes. It’s fucking lazy, for fuck’s sake. I’m fucking lazy. I get slightly annoyed and I wrap it up in entertaining hyperbole and embellish it with stupid gurglings of swear words and diseases and how my subject resembles something fat with some sort of embarrassing ailment … Christ, it’s ridiculous. I don’t even know who the fuck would be entertained by it. I’ve flogged this dead horse down to the maggoty marrow, and The Thick Of It keeps reminding me of that; it nags me, through all its expletives and sour linguistic buffoonery, like a possessed fishwife on an LCD screen.
I mean, if I had an LCD screen telly. And if I hadn’t sworn off similes.
I’m having a really, really horrible week at work. The terrible weather at the moment is causing our clients quite a few problems with various products and services of ours – we’re in the construction industry, and many times, you won’t actually spot the snags in your architect-designed snuggle pad until the wind has blown away everything but. This week I’ve been chewed up more than a handsome bull’s balls. I don’t know why people feel they have the right to scream at and threaten strangers on the other end of the phone (but enough about my work ethic); let’s just say I’ve been very angry this week. Very stressed. Very frustrated. And not just because of clients! Because of co-workers, because of management, because of resources squeezed useless by the economic downturn. And the more angry I got, the more tongue-tied I got. By 5pm today I’d been struck dumb by my lot, no more able to conjure up a clever put-down than Kermit the Frog can an erection.
I hadn’t given up, mind. I work well under pressure. But so pissy was I, so sparky and hard-nosed and crackling with the current of STFU BITCHES, that there was no way I could do a Malcolm and belt around the office calling everyone cunts and cracking the witty whip of well-directed and terrible ire.
Fuck fucking Malcolm. No one is that creative when surrounded by the dregs. No one is that terrifyingly witty when battling through the fucking flotsam. I identify more with Larry David than Malcolm Tucker, dumbfounded by the fools around me, by the pond-life and the righteousness of idiocy and …
Yeah. The Thick Of It. God, it makes me jealous.
Heh….no mention of football……god I love coddlepot and all the coddlepotters…..
I also love The Thick of It….the last scene on Saturday’s episode was powerful stuff, no laughs, just brutal….tremendous TV….
Did you see Curb from the states on Sunday? Probably the best episode since the survivor episode…..
“how many shits for how many giggles?”
I felt like that when watching Intermission. Someone said Feck again, hilarious!
Haven’t seen the latest Curbs at all, Manuel. They make me very cross. As far as I’m concerned, Larry David is a saint amongst gobshites. I find it difficult not to get pissy on his behalf.
But yeah, no football! I considered posting about it, and then I remembered I couldn’t care less. Sorry, readers.
I’ve never sat through Intermission, J.B. Tried to a few times, but it bored me dribbly.
Scottish accents, shouting abuse, construction industry, and threatening strangers? For the love of all things fecking holy, it’s the relief away fae all of the above that usually brings me here. It’s the Friday hen, cold pints, strang drink, and the smell of fash fae the open windies. Let’s get through the day with that in mind.
Meanwhile, I’m aft to stick pins in my home made Sweary doll, the pain in your ass today will be fae my prick.
I have never seen this as I live in the wide world but I see the problem, Irish people can’t say Thick, they say ‘tick’ therefore I ‘tink’ you have issues, less starch in yer diet.
the pain in your ass today will be fae my prick
*whimpers*
Plus, I can’t quite believe that you use coddlepot.com to get away from the pressures of modern existence, J.Ba. Oh, well. Sunshine lollipops and. RAINBOWS EVERYWHERE!
Knudsen, you’re thinking of Corkonians. The rest of us pronounce our h’s very well. A bit too well. In fact, we throw in 50% extra free h’s into every sentence.
’twasn’t yourn hoisted like fish into a Chopper up Gort way.
Anyway I hope they are OK, seen as the place seems determined to float off past the Aran and out ta sea.
On the post, I’ve never seen the thing.
T’wan’t me, Vince. I’m drownding in Cork at the moment. Luckily I live up a hill. Tragically, my place of work is a little way along the same hill, so I can’t even use flooding as an excuse for a duvet day.
But Gort and flooding? Yeah, we’re pretty used to it.
Oh for fuck sake…you can never say anything nice can you ?
A MILLION SAD FUCKING FACES YOUR WAY YOU BOLSHY LITTLE KING-KONG-EMULATING MANWHORE!
In other words, no, no I can’t.
I think you’re trying too hard. I’ve only ever seen 3 episodes and instantly thought it was so good that I wouldn’t watch any more.
Did much the same with Curbs – watched several episodes over 2 nights then decided it was perfect so haven’t been able to watch it since.
That is a rare and dangerous kind of logic there, Eolai.
“A face like Dot Cotton licking piss off a nettle”
brilliant show.
I watched an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm last night that confirmed for me its unparalleled genius (the one where he accidentally pisses on the picture of Jesus, leading some gullible Christians to think it’s weeping). Laugh out loud funny from start to finish.
Still, it didn’t long distract me from the titanic injustice of Wednesday night, when the Irish nation was wronged on a scale only known by native Americans, and possibly Aborigines.
Yeah, that’s right Sweary. I’m hijacking this article, kidnapping it, putting a hood over its head and bundling it off to soccer town. What are YOU going to do about it?
‘Radge’ originated as a Scottish insult, but nobody ought to care about that. I’ve never seen ‘The Thick Of It,’ but did go and see ‘In The Loop’ which was nowhere near as brilliant as I was led to believe.
Everything’s shite since ‘Withnail and I’.
roosta, they just highjacked the old saying there, replacing “wasp” with “Dot Cotton”, surely?
Flann, that was a pretty lame highjacking from your part, I have to say. One mention of soccer in two days?
Radge, I wouldn’t say you’re far wrong. Although, saying “I wouldn’t say” is a bit of a vague cop-out in its own right. Ah, well. It’s Monday morning.
This series has overused Malcolm, I’ll give you that, I think it’s been getting better and better each episode though… but I hope to god you’re not attacking Langham(’s comedy prowess).
She does? Amy Wine’ouse, that is. The things I learn on the hinternet.
Sorry you’re having such a bad week what with similes and metaphors and the like. Maybe next week will come up all allegorical.
Yeah but don’t you think Malcolm Tucker is dead sexy? He could give me a tongue-lashing any time.
(Faints clean away at the thought)