| Thursday, February 13, 2003 |
 | I knew this would happen. It always does. I start off being utterly apalled by something, then I get angry, then I start to find it apallingly, horribly amusing. And then the calcified idiocy of the language surrounding it starts to get to me, and before I know it the whole thing becomes an exercise in grim and entirely less than side-splititng joking.
For example, this latest skirmish between warbloggers and...what is the antonym? Peacebloggers? Conchybloggers? Or does "warblogger" describe both pro- and anti- war bloggers who are just talking about it a lot? Anyway, it's a lambent example that the first casualty of war, apart of course from lovely warm hugs, is language. I just find myself caught on Brasseye phrases like maybe what you did to Poland, Czechoslavakia, Coventry (one of the great tricola of our age) or your big ugly Nazi dog. I'm tempted to ask what the German for "your big ugly Nazi dog" is, so I can use it the nest time I visit the Munich petting zoo.
However, there is a ray of light emerging like a crisp, plump tomato from this rather unappetising word salad, and that paragon is "Munich-style". I love it. I love it to pieces. Just...."Munich-style". Roll it around the tongue. Don't be afraid to fall in love with it.
Try it out. Go and make a cup of tea - Munich-style. Have a sandwich - Munich style. Later, you may wish to make love Munich-style. It rocks so fucking hard I could cry.
On a more grounded note, there's an interesting piece on the comparisons of Munich and Tikrit here, but at present I am still fascinated by the war of words. Will "Munich-style" be the "High jack this fags" of 2003?
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