Posts Tagged ‘celebrity’

Wishing to avoid all internet filters and the attention of international authorities and domestic police services, we here at the Joe Chip Laboratories  make it clear from the start that we are not in any way advocating, suggesting or even disussing the consumption of opium.  In centuries gone by, Professor Chip was a Romantic Poet, and if he could only remember he would tell you what his views were then, but be reassured, like Tony Abbott(1), Joe says No – to everything (not that anyone ever asks).

No, a tall poppy is not opium, and while one of the purposes of this site is to serve as a radical, trendsetting source of  gourmet insights, neither is it something to be eaten.  It is something to be mowed down and placed in a compost pile (2), where it may serve some use at last.

In Australia, we do not have  a thing known as “Tall Poppy Syndrome”.  Or we do, but it is not what we are led to believe it is.  One of the lies we tell ourselves here is that we live in a very egalitarian society, which is supposed to be a good thing.  However, it is seen as having a “dark side”.  The dark side is that we do not like anyone to succeed.  If anyone tries to climb out of the bucket, the other crabs allegedly drag the climbing crab back down.  (There is an assumption that we live in a bucket, and that someone is about to cook us all – James Packer, perhaps, though he has lost a lot of weight lately – I don’t think he’d cook us, but I have no doubt that he would use us a fuel for one of his super yachts.  The smallness of the Australian bucket is why every Australian worth their salt – by their own estimation – had to flee to take up residence in the dankness of England – Clive James, Germaine Greer, Clive James … at least Jeffrey Smart, oh he of blessed brush, had the smarts to take up residence in Rome instead of London.)  Apparently all Australians are poppies (I always knew I was a bit of a dope), but we only like poppies that grow to the same height as the rest of us (see, we’re not racist, we’re heightist, that’s why we pick on Vietnamese immigrants, if only they would grow taller and fit it).  Any time a fatuous celebrity is caught out misbehaving or comes in for a bit of well earned criticism, they play the Tall Poppy Syndrome card, that they are somehow better than the masses and the masses are trying to cut them down to size.

No, its just that in the past, we tended not to give free passes to the famous.  We held them to the same account as we held others.  TPS only existed in the mouths of their publicists.  I see that the latest revised edition of the DSM correctly includes TPS as a delusion of the slightly famed that they are somehow better than other people and must never be criticised, but if they are, the criticism can only reflect a failure of the critic.  The only cure is as indicated above, a good cutting down to size and a period of lying in a pile of rotting vegetation, to restore one to a proper state of mind.

Never eat a Tall Poppy, they taste disgusting and you never know what you might catch.


Happy new year scientists!



(1) Mr Abbott is the leader of the Opposition in the Australian Parliament.  He is commonly referred to as Dr No, because he wears speedos and says no a lot.  If you are of a certain leaning, you are supposed to hate him, as Joe Chip Sr does.  While I dislike many of his positions, I cannot find it in myself to hate him.  I think he is a bit of a lost soul.

(2) described by Joe Chip Sr as “a rat’s smorgasbord”.



I dream of an ink vampire, draining chinese ideograms, celtic crosses, pictures of dogs, MOM, southern crosses, rebel flags, big boobed naked girls, meaningless epigrams, fanned cards, LOVE, band names, HATE, gothic script, military insignia, stupid lyrics, astrological signs, hula dancers, horned devils, feathered chiefs, bible quotes, affirmations, garish sleeves*.  How it thrives now, after years of sustaining itself only on sailors, convicts, military personnel and bikies#.  It has added hipsters and wannabes, footballers and crickets captains to its food supply.  All the skinny Zooey Deschanels^ of the world, not much blood, but lots of ink.  Spread the disease, so that the hungry may feed on the hipster inksters.  Share the plague, disseminate it throughout the world, so that the hungry hordes may rise up, then descend.  How they scream, the victims when they awake, searching their bodies for their specially chosen design, but finding only a faint outline left.  “Do you know how much that cost me?”  A small child wipes its mouth, hunger sated for the first time.  INK!  MORE!


*I’m not talking about you.  I know that your (insert description here) tattoo has deep personal significance and relevance.  It is the others.  Keep it to yourself though.

#All personnel here at the lab are required to have a tattoo of Casper the Friendly Ghost, to remind them of the forces they are messing with.

^ bad example?  I only know hipsters from TV ads, and they definitely said “hipster Zooey Deschanel” on channel 10.  There are no hipsters here in Glossolalia, and certainly none in Katingal, where I grew up.

! Have I sufficiently alienated everyone yet?  Some rebel against their upbringing, but I was sufficiently indoctrinated.  Joe Chip Sr always remarked, “Why get a tattoo?  Buy a T shirt, when you get sick of it, buy a new one.  Whaddya gonna do when you get sick of that, buy new skin?  Scribble over it?”  Maybe that’s the next product line here at the lab, new skin for the tattooedly challenged.  I picture a sportsman being interviewed after an event, his torso covered with tiny ink stamps.  The camera zooms in.  It can just make out the writing: ‘Instead of being tattooed, I donated $500 to …’.