Friday, January 06, 2006
The Patty Hearst Story
I’ve been reading up on the story of Miss Patricia Hearst. For those who can’t remember the 1970s, she was the daughter of a rich man who lived in California. Her happy life as a college student came to a traumatic end when she was abducted by a gang of angry humans, who locked her up in a cupboard. The leader of the gang would let her out, from time to time, to lecture her about various grievances that he blamed on rich people. Being from a wealthy family herself, this made Miss Hearst feel rather self-conscious and somewhat abashed. He would then escort her back to the cupboard in order to mate with her in an unusual upright position. She later claimed that the sex had been forced on her, but she did not complain or resist at the time, perhaps feeling that she was compensating the gang leader for past wrongs he had suffered at the hands of the privileged classes.Miss Hearst then became a committed member of the gang, participating in its bank robberies and other misdeeds. She was trusted enough to be given an assault rifle, and allowed herself to be photographed carrying it. She denounced her family as parasites who exploited the working masses and profited from their toil. She said that rich Americans were lackeys of imperialism who were feeding the furnaces of the capitalist war-machine with the bodies of innocent workers and peasants. She poured scorn on her former college sweetheart as a pampered little prince who knew even less about satisfying a woman than he did about the counter-dialectic of class struggle. She also complained about the transmission system of the car that her father had given for her 19th birthday. Stung by these criticisms, her family promptly distributed six million dollars worth of groceries to the proletarians and loafers of the San Francisco Bay area.
There is much in this story that would be familiar to wild gorillas. When a male gorilla takes over a harem, driving out the old alpha, the females quickly adapt to the new reality. A few of them may shed half-a-tear for the old male, in appreciation of prior services rendered, but there’s no point dwelling on the past. From now on it’s the new ape who’s calling the shots, so they may as well make the best of it by picking the nits from his fur and letting him sweep them off their feet when they’re in season. He may not have finesse of the old gorilla, but that doesn’t mean he won’t father sturdy infants or kick the shit out of any marauding baboons. “Ob-la-di, ob-la-da, life goes on” is the ancient motto of the female gorilla.
But there is one important difference: the new male never lectures the females about class struggle or complains about past wrongs suffered at the hands of the ruling alphas. Having gained control of their bodies, he has no particular wish to rule their minds or convert them to his own ideological viewpoint. Gorillas, in fact, are remarkably relaxed about their political differences. As long as the food supply is plentiful and the predators are kept at bay, no one really cares about your position on the French revolution or the Communist Manifesto. These sort of debates are best left to the rainy season, when there’s nothing better to do while sheltering beneath the trees.
Patty Hearst was later caught, tried and convicted, failing to impress the court with a defence of brainwashing. But her sentence was soon commuted by the peanut-farming president, giving her the chance to put her side of the story to a curious public. The gist of her argument was that being cooped up with a bunch of headcases can make you behave in strange ways and say things which turn out to be complete balderdash. “It could have happened to anyone,” she seemed to be saying. Personally I have my doubts about this – a female gorilla would never have made such an ass of herself.
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I have a friend who does that shit all the time. Always ranting on about capitalism and free trade and all that bollocks, while wearing Nike runners and a rather jaunty Kangol beret atop his head. There is no cure it seems, perhaps the wardrobe would be the iodeal place for hiim.
Ye-ah, er no, Tarzan baby, this guy is not pretty, not even in a 'gosh your kinda ugly in a sexy way' say like Ed Norton. This guy is just plain old...no, not even when drunk.
That's me out as well then. Blistering bloody barnacles!
It's not uncommon for wealthy deb types to have a bit of rough; it's like a gap year, before they marry Jasper the fund manager from Coutts.
It's not uncommon for wealthy deb types to have a bit of rough; it's like a gap year, before they marry Jasper the fund manager from Coutts.
I swear your slowly transforming into Captain Hadock from Tin Tin, Doc. I think constant exposure to that blog header of yours is taking its toll.
Blistering barnacles indeed...
Blistering barnacles indeed...
A bit of rough is not an ugly person Doc you dope. A bit of rough is a good looking piece of totty that you wouldn't ever bring anywhere near your home or friends and you are forever banging away at his messy one bedsitter while marvelling at his big rough hands and the way he sticks his fag behind his ear or his box of fags stuffed into the rolled up sleeve of his t-shirt. You say 'Hello,' he winks and says 'Story.' back at you. He will wear his jean low on his hips and reek of Joop, which his aunt bought him for Christmas. He will only be hot for another year or two, then he will turn into his father.
Anyway this friend of mine is not a bit or rough, he's from a fairly well off family, which he tries to dismiss on one hand while letting old pops put the deposit down on his pad in the city. He works for a union and goes to meetings with other like minded eegits and there they discuss the bourgeois mentality of the people while sipping bottles of Heinekin. There is no hope for such a fellow.
Anyway this friend of mine is not a bit or rough, he's from a fairly well off family, which he tries to dismiss on one hand while letting old pops put the deposit down on his pad in the city. He works for a union and goes to meetings with other like minded eegits and there they discuss the bourgeois mentality of the people while sipping bottles of Heinekin. There is no hope for such a fellow.
There are two d's in Haddock thank you. I hope you don't pronounce it Tan Tan like all the other Belgiques.
FMC, I'm surprised at you. I'm very well aware of what a bit of rough is. My First bit was for you, the second bit was for Mr G Bananas, and was Re. poor Patty who was of an age at the time, to fall for the exciting urban guerilla (no offence GB) but had no intention of taking him to the counrty club. You must think i'm a proper divot. I'd introduce YOU to Mater mind, you sound like a keeper.
FMC, I'm surprised at you. I'm very well aware of what a bit of rough is. My First bit was for you, the second bit was for Mr G Bananas, and was Re. poor Patty who was of an age at the time, to fall for the exciting urban guerilla (no offence GB) but had no intention of taking him to the counrty club. You must think i'm a proper divot. I'd introduce YOU to Mater mind, you sound like a keeper.
That is, the first bit of my previous comment. In case you still don't understand. See? i'm all fucked up now and it's your fault.
I do not think you are a divot in the slightest, I think you are charming, and no doubt a handsome witty urbane piece of totty with brooding darkly sinister smoulderingly good looks. Your legs are long and firm, your waist trim and your buns pert, you like to woken up with the tips of a woman's nipples tracing their way across your broad manly shoulders.
AH! That's you Docky, and I won't hear another word about it. And you could introduce me to Mater, I am great with parents.
AH! That's you Docky, and I won't hear another word about it. And you could introduce me to Mater, I am great with parents.
Talk is cheap, Ms FMCat and Dr Maroon.
I write a piece about Patty Hearst and produce a picture of the woman.
FMC talks about some old git she wouldn't shag: no picture.
Dr Maroon talks about the rough gang leader: no picture.
Ms FMCat talks about Dr Maroon: no picture.
Reflect and learn.
I write a piece about Patty Hearst and produce a picture of the woman.
FMC talks about some old git she wouldn't shag: no picture.
Dr Maroon talks about the rough gang leader: no picture.
Ms FMCat talks about Dr Maroon: no picture.
Reflect and learn.
Couldn't agree more, GB. Over on my site FMC has been going on at length about her waxed fanny (that's front bottom to any yanks reading) and potential pubic topiary. Is she producing any photos? Is she fuck. Despite several requests.
You are completely right GB, and I must apologise. I can't post a photo of my old git friend, as I would be sued, but try to imagine if you will, a cross between gormless Rodney from Only Fools and Horses and David Suchet-playing Poirot. There, you have him.
Beardy, I will not be posting photos of my fanny on the web!
Beardy, I will not be posting photos of my fanny on the web!
FMC - *sigh*
Fannies aside, GB, you may be interested to know that I have met your challenge on my blog.
Fannies aside, GB, you may be interested to know that I have met your challenge on my blog.
Adding to the Patty Hearst story, I just put some items on eBay that anyone interested in the myth of the SLA might find interesting. The initial ransome was 2m dollars and was to be used to feed the poor in the California area. I have six cans of the original ransome food. The interesting part is that these cans belong to a lot that was hijacked, making it food stolen by the poor from the rich to feed the poor then stolen from the poor by the poor to feed more of the poor. Anybody like 30 year old fruit cocktail?
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