Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Freud, Frenchmen and Faeces

Firstly, I feel that it has become increasingly essential to respond to a number of sardonic jibes aimed at my football team in recent times. Contrary to infuriatingly popular belief, Colchester United are not spectacularly underperforming because they 'suck', or indeed because of the infinitely more thoughtful and reasoned explanation that they 'suck balls' or various other unpleasant bodily parts. They are, in sharp contradistinction, underperforming as a consequence of a fundamental, sad and highly unfortunate misunderstanding of the expression 'to keep goal'.

Following the debacle that was Blackburn Rovers versus Colchester United, Aidan Davison indubitably proved, contrary to the popular belief that goalkeepers are intended to prevent balls entering the goal, that he personally considers 'goalkeeping' to be analogous to 'zookeeping':

AIDAN DAVISON: Does your goal look forlorn and empty? Do you have concern for the welfare and health of your goal? If so, then look no further. With the new Premier Deluxe 2005 Ball, your goal can regain his health and vitality! The Premier Deluxe 2005 provides the essential nutrients that your goal cannot be without - protein, carbohydrate, leather, stitching and the bladder of a pig. Nothing could be simpler. Just ensure that your goal ingests three to seven Balls an hour or so and you and your goal will become great friends. Me and my best buddies Colchester United Clock End and Colchester United Layer Road End would recommend the Premier Deluxe diet to ANY goal.

Feeding Instructions: Although your goal will accept Balls luxuriously placed in the corner prior to swallowing, nothing says 'friends forever' like a Ball rolled gently and harmlessly down the middle. Your goal is a playful creature, and will be at its happiest if the Ball a) spectacularly enters between your legs b) hilariously bounces off your backside or c) is entertainingly dropped with suspicious convenience right in front of a feeder. Some people need assistance in feeding goals - in order to achieve this, make sure they are able to feed your goal from close range by carefully dropping any Balls that come your way right in front of them. Should you accidentally block a Ball, ensure that someone else is at hand to complete the operation. It is best not to stand in front of your goal when someone is attempting to feed it. Provide kindly assistance by running away like a headless chicken on Prozac Plus from feeders who come anywhere near you and thereby ensuring that you are absolutely bloody nowhere near the Ball when the goal is fed.

As a consequence of this foolish misinterpretation, Aidan Davison is allowed to 'feed goals' nationwide to his heart's content, spectacularly failing to appreciate that other 'goalkeepers' maliciously and inhumanely starve the goal that they happen to be responsible for the welfare of. This, my friends, is the reason why Colchester United are languishing in 18th place in League One.

However, moving with extreme hastiness away from this distressing and soul-destroying subject, the principal topic reserved for my ire this week was the incorrigible and perpetually infuriating Sigmund Freud, the man who singlehandedly provides the ultimate test for 'suspension of disbelief', and more particularly my course - which states as a fundamental requirement that I am 'not allowed to criticise Freud'. For utterly incomprehensible reasons, we are not allowed to criticise a man who thought, in a victory for jaw-droppingly warped imagination over the vaguest semblance of rationality a) that young children believe that babies are born out of the arse as what can only be described as glorified faeces with faces, b) that girls have such appalling taste in mammal genitalia that they actually envy the male penis; a primitive, glorified, hairy, unfiltered tap and c) that because we are disgusted by the idea of sexual intercourse with our mothers we must therefore desire sexual intercourse with our mothers (surely the ultimate tautology?). The shocking, horrifying, brilliantly revelatory possibility that we are disgusted because we do NOT desire sex with our mothers is dismissed by Freud as a ridiculous and extreme notion. Much better to ignore the obvious explanation and construct a ludicrous, pseudo-scientific, pseudo-allegorical, pseudo-intellectual theory, painstakingly provide it with a stunningly pretentious title: 'The Oedipus Complex' (which admittedly sounds far more impressive than 'Why I Want To Have Sex With My Mum And Why You Should Too, You Annoying Normal Person') and then effectively oppose any criticism with the argument 'that's not true cos you're repressed! Ahaha! Na na na na na'. But the biggest problem with Freud's theory is that the text interpreted by psychoanalysis is effectively a passive vessel - open to any kind of insensate and stupefyingly ridiculous theory:


FREUD: Hello!
FREUD: Ah, I deduce from that that you desire sex with your mother.
FREUD: Oh, and that clearly reveals that you're afraid of the female genitals because they resemble a mutilated penis.
FREUD: And that strongly suggests that you regard the vagina as being furnished with teeth and are therefore afraid of it biting off your penis. Interesting, interesting.
FREUD: Ah, excellent! You can't contradict me! Ahaha! Watch as I come up with increasingly ludicrous but infuriatingly unfalsifiable theories!
FREUD: You wish to travel across the Atlantic tithed to a speedboat using two large sausage dogs as amazing phallic skis.
FREUD: You wish to impregnate a coffee machine.
FREUD: You wish to play strip poker with Mr. Creosote.
FREUD: You wish to ride an amazing magical flying unicorn wielding a Star Wars light sabre whilst singing the Austrian national anthem in an amusing falsetto. And then have sex with it.
FREUD: Oh I've got a good one. This really is the craziest one yet. Get this! You... *don't*... wish to have sex with your mother! Haha! Ludicrous!
MATT DAMON: MA...oh come on! Be realistic now.

This ridiculous ban on criticism requires the acceptance of such extraordinarily fanciful notions as the Eiffel Tower not being simply an impressive feat of craftsmanship but a gigantic metal erect penis which singlehandedly compensates for the poorly endowed Frenchmen who built it. It also necessitates the application of this same theory to anything which remotely resembles the male organ. The idea of playing my clarinet has lost all its attraction after this particular revelation. Most disturbingly of all, Freud is destroying my hold on reality to the extent whereby I increasingly have the worrying sensation that any object I pass may, without any prior warning, suddenly metamorphosise into a penis. Oh, and that all people are desperate to excrete faeces in the optimistic hope that it will miraculously become a baby. The situation is becoming increasingly desperate.

Ed's Mood: Infuriated

Ed's Incessant Auto-Repeat Musical Tip: Snow Patrol - Run


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