They let us have the newspapers here - one week out of date and after they've cut out all the interesting bits. Have you tried reading a newspaper with big holes in it? It's full of adverts for cars, holidays and pizza deliveries. You get a photo of a duck on a car roof, the television guide (wonderful since we can't control the television) and something about a little old lady who ran around a boating lake with only her walking frame for support, all in aid of charity. The meaty stuff is hacked out with all the finesse of a tyrannosaur chowing down on Ugg the Neanderthal.
Yes, I know Rexy-boy and Mr Caveman 10,000 BC missed each other by a couple of million years or so, but you get my drift.
Some pages are barely held together by the thin strips of paper grimly hanging on to each other, not wanting to part company purely on the say so of some scissor happy orderly who is more closely related to Ugg than he really should be. Voids exist where news should be and often the only thing to actually read is your horoscope. And, trust me, Friday is not going to be my lucky day, and I will not fall in love in June. Or is it WITH June?
I forget.
The level of censorship wobbles between vindictive and spiteful. Why would we want to know that you can stay in a caravan in Great Yarmouth for only �10 a week if you collect a bunch of tokens when the only holiday we get is when we go to the toilet unsupervised? Why would we want to know that you can get two pieces of chicken, a large fries and a regular soft drink for only �1.99 when our diet consists of slop with a side dish of slop? And why would we want to know about the end of season sale at Next when our entire wardrobe consists of scraps of cloth that wish they were hospital scrubs and jackets that tie up the back?
It's not news. Not really. It's the leftovers. The vegetables and pie crusts that are forgotten about when the main meal of murders, celebrity splits and ASBO breaches have been digested.
What do they think we'll do with the information? Are we going to riot at the thought of a how the latest teen pop sensation has come out as a homosexual? Or that her off the TV - the blond one who is on that morning show - is pregnant again? How about the news that the dictator of a country thousands of miles away is being pressured into stepping down? Are we going to tear the bolted chairs from the floors and throw them at the window, television or orderlies? Or even at each other? Will the asylum be filled with the woeful cries of patients, breaking down because their favourite singer was photographed in a blue top instead of a red one?
Well, in the case of Selina, that's probably not far from the truth - she loves all things celebrity and can be extremely vocal at times on their dress sense and relationships. If any of them were ever in need of some advice (not necessarily GOOD advice, but advice nonetheless) they could always drop by for a chat with Selina. Granted, she'd probably hyper-ventilate herself into the morgue at the thought, but she'd have plenty to say whilst drawing those final gasps.
Otherwise, no-one would really care. We'd have something to talk about. We'd have something to think about.
Ah... I just answered my own question. That's why they do it. Because we would THINK.
Animals in the pen are not supposed to think. They're only meant to eat, sleep and defecate. And if they can't do any of those? Well, there's a very nice drug that'll help with that.
Well.
Apparently you can order a Dominoes pizza online and pay for it with Paypal. Cool. Oh, and the solution to last week's Missing Word competition was 'Envelope' and was won by...
Ah... Mr Rex has eaten that bit.
Oh well.
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