Surveying today’s news, The Slog concludes that some fakes are more genuine than others

I have it on good authority that the French Sureté is convinced the man sitting in the Elysées Palace is an imposter. As he is currently the US State Department’s poster child, it is perfectly possible that Inspector Clueseau may for once be onto something here.

Observe this ‘ere clip from 2009, when François Hollande was but a mere Presidential hopeful living under the loafer-lifts fascist régime of Nicolette Narcozy here in France. He is asked about the cynical actions of the UMP in inflating Islamist terrorism as a threat. Heard in the light of the last fortnight, M. Hollande’s comments are, shall we say, rich in liberté….but tragically poverty-stricken in the verité department. Perhaps I mean tragi-comic – whoTF knows any more.

However, myself and the hordes of Slog researchers here at Roost HQ have decided beyond any reasonable doubt that it is the same Hollande we see on film six years ago as the human charisma bypass we see in more palatial surroundings now.

The core truth of this can be confirmed merely by looking at the 2009 footage. Far from being mobbed by enthusiastic supporters of the PSDF, François sits outside a Parisian café boulevard utterly unnoticed by the French. This level of innate non-existence is unique, and cannot be copied.

hollandetal

“Qui est ce con-là avec Bertrand?”

Hat-tip to Archie X for alerting me to that one.

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I was sitting in the doctor’s waiting room the other day when – on the TVscreen thoughtfully provided by my gp to wile away endlessly wasted hours – a pair of Pandas hove into view.  I exchanged glances with with the older French lady sitting next to me (there was no more than a marginally raised eyebrow) as the programme unfolded. But two or three of the others in the room devoted to the patience of patients muttered ooh and ahh in anticipation. Things didn’t turn out quite as they had anticipated.

I’ve never entirely understood why Pandas aren’t the subject of numerous conspiracy theories along the lines of them not existing really, they’re just out of work porg actors in Sooty suits. Let’s face it, they don’t look real, do they? Even their coats shine as if they might be polypropylene fakes because the Chinese conspirators couldn’t afford anything better. Surely, the story should be that Pandas are an invention of the Beijing Politburo Useless Shit Marketing Sub-Committee designed to boost Christmas sales of cuddly toys that wind up on neatly-made girlie beds along with a glut of equally shiny Chinese cushions.

But oddly enough, Pandas are the genuine article. That’s to say, thanks to the human obsession with killing everything on the planet except all those loser-species who are no good at shagging, every last Panda birth is now the subject of intense media investigation, and medical bulletins on the Buckingham Palace gates.

Anyway, the Panda programme on Télé Canal Salle d’Attente turned out to be a Chinese-made documentary with French subtitles. It’s target-audience, probably, was those with an unhealthy interest in bestial voyeurism. As one scene of unsubtle Chinese zookeeper attempts to poke the Panda couple into copulation followed another, the waiting room fell increasingly silent. Nobody quite knew where to look. We’re talking provincial France here, where everything is normal except talking about that which others (but not you) might think normal.

At last, the doctor emerged to invite the old lady next to me into his surgery.

“Thank God for that,” she muttered, giving me a grinning wink as she rose from her seat.

In that moment, I wished I had met her sixty years ago. And I laughed out loud.

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Minister for Overseas Land Redevelopment Phant Grasps resigned this afternoon over allegations that he signed the approval of Mr Mark Clarke as Conservative Prep School Bully. He made the following statement:

“Even though I suspect elements within the Guardian of having forged my signature on this appointment, I  believe very strongly that the buck should rest with me. And the Pound, the euro, the Yuan, the Yen and yes, even unto the Rouble and yea, any other bauble due to me as Minister for my bank account development.”

Mr Grasps added that he wished Mr Clarke well. And truly dead. As indeed is Elliott Johnson, 21….a young lad of whom I suspect we shall hear a lot more – should a proper enquiry ever ensue. Sorry, outbreak of tasteless optimism there: do forgive me, I may be losing my grip.

Foot-in-mouth note: Jeremy Shunt pays self-parody tribute to Grasps’ contribution to effix.

Yesterday at The Slog: Ode to a Dutch clown