Vertigo Zine
Vertigo Zine
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Vertigo

ISSUE #6

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Death To The Shitty Media And Their Brain Washing
LAZER BEAMS

It takes a fair bit to get me wound up but that week was just way too fucking much. I’ve put up with wall to wall election coverage, managed to get through a weekend of twenty four hour Elvis crap and even put up with a constant barrage of bollocks from Daytime TV. Thus I ended up on a Radio 5 phone-in programme arguing with an American and a royalist about the coverage at 2 o’clock in the morning. I could take no more.

I’m sick of the psychophantic shitty sperm being squirted at me from every angle. I’ve put up with being told what to listen to, what to look like, what products to buy by the fucking media but NO ONE, I repeat, absolutely N-O O-N-E is going to tell me what to feel. I’ve been flexible, I’ve put up with the shite that is today’s modern mass media for most of my life but I’m drawing a line in the sand at this point.

It’s not the fact that I am totally against the monarchy. It isn’t, please believe me; if the coverage had been the same about William Burroughs or Brian Glover or Jeffrey Bernard (say) I would still feel the fucking same. They weren’t even subtle about the way they went about telling us what to think and feel about the death of Di*n*. It wasn’t just the total blanket coverage, it was the black ties, the sombre approach of the newscasters, the moving out of the schedules of anything related to death, cars or royals.

This wouldn’t be quite so bad if it wasn’t coming from the very people who build up the coverage of the royal bastards and their ilk (that includes you Elton, you scum sucking bastard). They waste space that could be used to cover what’s going on the real world pandering to what’s at the heart of the very problem in this country, in the first place. They use the royals for their own ends, to fill their pages and provide glamorous pictures for TV. They use us to pay for the fuckers’ lifestyles on which they base their coverage and then expect us to mourn with them at their loss.

Well, we know. It’s not our loss, it’s their fucking loss. We know that this means fuck all to us. We don’t have to play their game. We can ignore their brainwashing beams from the TV, radio and papers. We can create our own fun. Let’s go rent out a copy of ‘Crash’ on video - if they ever let us - and look forward to the death of the Queen Mum.