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PHIL CHILLED
Phillip Adams claims:
One of my most chilling experiences on this programme ever was a long interview I did with Helen Demidenko, which made my blood freeze.
Helen responds:
I’ve never been interviewed by Phillip Adams. I’m not sure I’ve even met him.
Hopefully Media Watch will sort this out. We can’t have Phil being frightened by interviews he’s apparently never conducted. While they’re at it, they might finally ask Adams about his magical ability to interview newspaper columns.
I’m pretty sure she’d remember being interviewed by Philco… the door torn off the fridge and the permanent crater in the couch would be a good reminder…
Posted by richard mcenroe on 2007 09 15 at 04:43 PM • permalinkWhile they’re at it, they might finally ask Adams about his magical ability to interview newspaper columns.
Fair suck of the sav, Tim! You’re able to interview fences; why can’t Phool interview columns?
Posted by AlburyShifton on 2007 09 15 at 05:09 PM • permalinkPossibly he mixed up her name with someone else? Then again, that raises the question of if he was so frightened by whoever it was he interviewed, why can’t he remember her name? I’m pretty sure I would remember the name of someone who “made my blood freeze.”
Posted by Andrea Harris, Administrator on 2007 09 15 at 05:38 PM • permalink“I did not have an interview with that old man!”
Posted by SwinishCapitalist on 2007 09 15 at 06:16 PM • permalinkRe-visiting Adams’ Krauthammer (baptized-Jewish-machine-gun-like orrator that he is) creation and seeing this latest fabrication of his, how is it that this man hasn’t been revealed to all for the fraud that he is?
I realize he’s saying what the other team cares to hear, but even they cant afford this sort of repeated embarrassment via this buffoon.
The only thing that Mr Adams is overstuffed with right now has legal connotations…
Posted by skepticlawyer on 2007 09 15 at 06:39 PM • permalinkNotice he said ‘Helen Demidenko’, not the real Helen Darville. It happened in a channeling session that atheist Adamski doesn’t believe is possible, but it must have happened as he always reports accurately, being a self-made genius.
Actually, he meant a discussion about this fraudster, which did occur. It could only have ‘frozen the blood’ of a completely naive person.Communists are subject to all kinds of delusions. For example, check out this longish entry in the Che Diaries.
Day 29
There are times when I wonder if I wouldn’t have been better off just going back to Buenos Aires and setting up a medical practice specializing in the treatment of rich old hypochondriacs instead of becoming the world’s most charismatic revolutionary.
Take today, for example. We finally – finally! – found one of these Bolivian hayseeds who speaks recognizable Spanish. After explaining the benefits of the dictatorship of the proletariat – plus threatening to shoot his wife and children, for good measure – I was pleased to see Jesús throw off the shackles of bourgeois superstition and embrace the revolution. He told us we were only a couple of miles from a proper town, so we could replenish our rapidly dwindling food supplies (And thank Lenin for that! One more downtrodden village filled with Indians and scrawny chickens and I would have gone mad). We couldn’t very well walk into the town wearing fatigues and berets, so I asked Jesús to obtain ponchos, sandals and some of those silly bowler hats that his people fancy. He collected what we needed, and even found a couple of burros to carry our provisions, so, Marchamos!
We approached the town warily, and when we arrived, tied our burros to a tree at the end of a dusty street. Jesús pointed us in the right direction, and stayed behind to watch the burros. We walked toward the small grocery store in the middle of the block, but before we got fifty yards, some of the yokels started smiling and pointing us out to one another. Pretty soon, a fair-sized crowd had gathered. Some of them were standing by a kiosk plastered with small posters, looking from the kiosk to us and back again.
“Come, compadres. Let’s see what’s so interesting about that kiosk.” We ambled over, as nonchalantly as possible, and when we got close enough to see what was going on, Felipe grabbed my elbow, almost crushing the joint.
“Don’t do that!”
“Look at that bill, commandante! It’s a wanted poster, and the three guys in the picture look just like us!”
I perused the bill, and smiled. “Felipe, you are an idiot. That’s not a wanted poster; it’s an advertisement for a performance by The Three Brothers, a trio of singers from La Paz who will be appearing here in the plaza tonight. They must be considerably down on their luck if they have to go this far out in the sticks to get a gig.”
At that moment, the crowd started to split in order to permit the passage of a wizened little man who was obviously some local dignitary (he was wearing shoes, at any rate). What riveted my attention, however, was his escort: two policemen, one on either side, right hands resting on the holsters of their side arms. If this was going to be a confrontation, we were in bad shape; Julio had brought his pistol for purposes of intimidation, but he had left the clip back at camp because we were so short on ammunition.
Day 29 - Continued
I turned to my men and said, “Good news, compadres! It is quite possible that we are about to be accorded the greatest privilege ever granted by fate to a revolutionary: martyrdom for the cause!”
To my unutterable disgust, Felipe and Julio were clearly giving signs of aspiring to die peacefully in their beds at a ripe old age, surrounded by their weeping loved ones. Their eyes were darting this way and that, looking for a side street, an alley, or just a plain hole in the ground into which they might dive in order to save their miserable hides.
“Cowards!”, I sneered. “I will show you how a revolutionary dies.” But to my surprise, the little old man smiled broadly and gave me an abrazo. “Welcome, welcome! I am Alfredo de la Bamba, Mayor of Suciedad. It is an honor to have the Three Brothers performing in our humble town! But we weren’t expecting you until this evening.”
“Oh. Yes. Heh. Well, our car broke down some way out of town and we, er, walked in.”
He clucked sympathetically. “We’ll get your car sorted out presently. But first, won’t you join me for some refreshments?”
Fortunately, his honor lived nearby. He dismissed his escort (to the visible relief of Felipe and Julio) and ushered us into the official residence, an unprepossessing home that looked rather like a large brick pump house. He proceeded to ply us with numerous cups of particularly vile tea, an excruciatingly boring history of the town of Suciedad, and a hilariously uninformed lecture on the threat of communism in Bolivia. I smiled and nodded; if he didn’t succeed in provoking one of his constituents into shooting him out of sheer exasperation with his stupidity, he would be an early candidate for execution once I had established the Bolivian soviet.
After a stultifyingly tedious half hour, I rose and told our host that we were eager to retire to the hotel and rest before the big concert tonight. Thanking him for the tea and for his diverting conversation, my men and I left the house and walked quickly in the direction of the general store.
“All right. Let’s make sure we’ve got the plan straight. We go in, I order some supplies, pay the clerk, and then we leave without further ceremony. We pack the stuff on the burros and skedaddle back to camp. Julio, don’t pull that pistol unless you absolutely have to.”
We entered into the cool, dark little shop, and I approached the counter, behind which an enormously fat man sat on a stool, idly swatting flies.
“Good morning, sir. I would like to buy some food. We need beans, coffee, salt, tinned beef and a few other things. Perhaps . . .”
Barrie, link is busted, and I now want to see it! This whole business is so surreal I don’t want to miss a thing, despite the fact it’s nearly midnight here in Edinburgh :)
Posted by skepticlawyer on 2007 09 15 at 06:53 PM • permalinkDay 29 - Conclusion
I was interrupted by a deranged, shrieking voice, calling out patriotic slogans: “This land is free, free at last . . .die before we would live as slaves!” Julio practically jumped out of his poncho, and – imbecile that he is – pulled out his pistol, swinging it around in a circle looking for the source of the voice.
“This land is free, free at last! *Squawk* Pepito want a cracker!”.
I groaned. It was an infernal parrot, sitting in a rusty cage atop a barrel, shouting out snatches of lyrics from the Bolivian national anthem. The proprietor, seeing Julio’s gun, shouted, “Marta! Thieves!” Seconds later, a squat, but powerfully built woman came from behind a curtain separating the shop from their living quarters. She was followed by two tall, well-muscled young men. The family, no doubt.
It was a Bolivian stand-off: Julio stood there with his gun, pointing it at the proprietor and his people; the proprietor – or rather, his wife and their two sons – inched menacingly in our direction. The parrot squawked again – “Sweet hymns of peace and unity! *Whistle!*” This proved to be too much for the jumpy Julio, who instinctively pulled the trigger. The small shop was filled with the sound of a deafening *click!*. I rolled my eyes heavenward (or rather, in the direction of where superstitious religious people imagine heaven to be). I was about to offer an explanation, when Doña Marta and her sons each grabbed a broom and began beating us with petit-capitalist savagery, cheered on by their still sedentary paterfamilias. We withdrew in what I am afraid I have to admit was considerable disorder, although I saw from the corner of my eye that Felipe at least managed to grab a box of something as we ran out of the shop. We hightailed it to our burros – Jesús, of course, had abandoned his post and in all likelihood was down at the police station informing on us. Felipe and Julio ran past the burros and just kept going. “Wait!”, I cried. “What about the burros?” Julio called out: “We’re not going to be slowed down dragging any burros along behind us!” I saw the wisdom of their opinion, and was soon pouring it on, myself, the screeching of that damned parrot still ringing in my ears: “ . . . keep the lofty name of our country in glorious splendor . . .*Rawk* . . . Have a cookie, Pepito! *Whistle!* . . .”
We stumbled into our camp and fell to the ground gasping. After we had had a chance to catch our breath, I asked Felipe what was in the box he had grabbed on the way out of the store. He opened it, and swore. “Maldito sea! It’s parrot food! Well . . .” He picked up a handful and popped it in his mouth. “Polly want a revolution? Squawk!” He and Julio began laughing. Finally, I joined in the laughter myself (not that I was actually amused by their joke; on the contrary, I was mortally offended by their jest at my expense, not to mention by their feckless lack of adherence to revolutionary discipline. But they had moved themselves a few places higher on the list of candidates for the next purge – and I found that to be very funny indeed).
It wasn’t his blood that froze. It was his brain.
Posted by Mystery Meat on 2007 09 15 at 06:53 PM • permalinkAnd Paco is very funny. Expect he already knew that, though.
Off to bed now, back later.
Posted by skepticlawyer on 2007 09 15 at 07:16 PM • permalinkWell, she got interviewed by Phil, Nic. Presumably that means being in the same room with him.
Posted by SwinishCapitalist on 2007 09 15 at 08:57 PM • permalinkPhil is “close friends” with people he meets once or twice, so “meeting” people via reading their articles shouldnt be a problem for him either.
He automatically becomes a famous persons “confidant of choice” after they die, and has been known to only find out “shocking revelations” about his “friends” after they die.For a skeptic he sure seems to channel a lot from the other side…
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 09 15 at 09:26 PM • permalink#26
Presumably that means being in the same room with him.
Impossible.
Posted by flying pigs over mecca on 2007 09 15 at 09:29 PM • permalink30.
/scribbles note to mediawitch….
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 09 15 at 09:32 PM • permalinkCompletely OT but this should see a surge in recruiting for the navy
Navy confirms subsidised breast implants
Im assuming its just for the ladies, I havent heard of implants being put on someones back yet.
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 09 15 at 09:34 PM • permalink#32 Crazy. What next?
I herd ur p3nis to small. B a rl man. Join teh RAN.
Posted by flying pigs over mecca on 2007 09 15 at 09:47 PM • permalink#37 Good that all is well, and that you’re making a wonderful contribution to the GDP.
Posted by flying pigs over mecca on 2007 09 15 at 10:13 PM • permalink#39 At that rate in 100 years timblair.net will just be a repository of Ash’s family recipes. ;p
Posted by flying pigs over mecca on 2007 09 15 at 10:21 PM • permalinkI’ve just fully read Adam’s screed against the US. I was reminded of a Python quote after reading this “Oh, the body count might have been higher in Hitler’s war or Stalin’s Soviet Union or Mao’s China.” ‘Let’s not bicker about who killed who..’
Facile, self-obsessed plagiarist who’d look grande’ on his deck-chair, reclining as he sips pina coladas and admiring his reflection, whilst sailing to the tropical paradise of Cuba. Choke on a peanut, you fucking prick.
Farewell Mac users,
Bold and italics everywhere.Posted by Pedro the Ignorant on 2007 09 15 at 10:39 PM • permalinkThe interview is obviously seared in Adams’ memory.
58, 59 - Thanks you two, I needed a reason to skip lunch.
Posted by SwinishCapitalist on 2007 09 16 at 01:06 AM • permalinkO/T Celebrities, is there anything they cant do?
Governments, is there anything they wont tax?
Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 09 16 at 02:20 AM • permalink“I’ve just fully read Adam’s screed against the US.”
I read that pack of lies, distortions and arrant hypocrisy too. Any media outlet that would carry that crap is beneath contempt.
Posted by Dave Surls on 2007 09 16 at 04:16 AM • permalinkKK, Darville is not a nutsoid nazi. She was portrayed thus after she had won a prize, and then found out to be not all she seemed by the literary-arsies, who until then had been fawning all over her. To make up for their embarrassment, the poor girl (she was 20 at the time) was vilified. Robert Manne was at the vanguard of this witch hunt, so that should tell you all you need to know.
KK,
The embarrassment wasn’t her novel, it was the fact that a large proportion of the lurrrvie left got sucked in completely by the author.
It was the same type of witch hunt Windschuttle got for his book.Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 09 16 at 05:32 AM • permalink#66 demidenko/darville/dale is a fantasist & a liar. she’s an intelligent woman, no question, but she remains insanely convinced of her own rectitude despite exposure as a literary & identity fraud. her contortions in explaining she was not an anti-semite remain an ugly picture for me despite the passage of time
KK
Anti-semitism hasnt discouraged the left before. Im not defending her (know bugger all about her) but the treatment she got was due to embarrassment at being sucked in, not the anti-semitism in the book.
From memory of the controversy it was rather nasty.Posted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 09 16 at 05:57 AM • permalinkBlairs law?
The Truth about John Howards Dead fatherPosted by thefrollickingmole on 2007 09 16 at 06:10 AM • permalinkI can’t remember the last time I read through anything that Adams wrote. Indeed, I can’t remember the last time I could be bothered even skimming a first paragraph of his irritatingly ignorant, nauseatingly self-referential blather. His photo on a page long ago became the stimulus for me to turn it over or click back.
The guy was born in 1939 which makes him 68. So he’s the same age as John Howard but whereas Howard is an admirable person Adams is not. If anyone of that age should be made to go through “relevance deprivation syndrome” it’s Adams.
#63 - the linked article refers to Greer as ‘female, celibrity and activist’. It may be an activist, but it ain’t neither of the other two!
Posted by AlphaMikeFoxtrot on 2007 09 16 at 06:50 AM • permalink#70 KK, she is not. a. nazi. Not even nasty or anything in between. As for her political views, I think she is libertarian (ie like a lot of people on this blog).... Not a conservative, but more in common with conservatives than the moonbat left, any form of national socialism and ex-commies like Phat Phil.
Maybe Phil Adams is not being literal. He’s saying that “if he did do a column, she’d be scary”. Just like journalists who write articles didn’t actually witness or talk to anyone who witnessed the events.
Truthiness wrote large. To a journalist, a pretend interview is basically as good as a real one.
Posted by wronwright on 2007 09 16 at 08:23 AM • permalinkCB I cleaned up after you, despite the fact that I have a cold and should be in bed having my houseboy feed me peeled grapes.
Posted by Andrea Harris, Administrator on 2007 09 16 at 08:42 AM • permalinkLaoHuLi is right, I should have explained. Everyone at Catallaxy knows who ‘skepticlawyer’ is (all the people who write on the blog are profiled on our bio page). We are all libertarians of various stripes, as entropy says.
As to the accusation of anti-semitism, lets just say that 9/11 was my ‘cluebat’. More here.here
Posted by skepticlawyer on 2007 09 16 at 05:13 PM • permalinkThe link is to a piece I wrote for the Sydney Morning Herald on October 1, 2001. It’s no longer available on the Herald website (or they try to make you pay for it - not sure), but is at Free Republic.
Posted by skepticlawyer on 2007 09 16 at 05:16 PM • permalink“We are all libertarians”
Well, that explains why Adams’ blood would freeze. If there’s one thing that a mass-murdering communist can’t abide it’s the idea that someone is living free of socialist tyranny.
Posted by Dave Surls on 2007 09 16 at 05:56 PM • permalinkEase up, KK. What did Helen Darville do that John O’Grady (aka Nino Culotta) didn’t?
As for the Miles Franklin Award, (speaking now with the slight authority of a distant cousin of Miles Franklin!) - if the judges gave her the award because of her novel’s merits, Helen has nothing to apologise for; if they gave it to her because they thought she was Ukrainian, they are the ones who have the explaining to do.
Finally, unlike Adams, I have met her - not that she’ld be likely to remember me! - and found her anything but chilling; I quite enjoyed the meeting.
Dave—Except here in Los Angeles the Libertarians are marching with the MoveOnBots…
Posted by richard mcenroe on 2007 09 16 at 08:33 PM • permalink#84 what d/d/d did that o’grady didn’t was get all over the media lying about her background, wearing a bloody ‘ukrainian’ peasant blouse & unsuccessfully trying to show she wasn’t an anti-semite. she may share some blairite views, but once a weasel always a weasel. (speaking now with the slight authority of one who lost rellies to the racists under nazism & communism)
I have previously challenged the groupthink on this blog by pointing out, for the benefit of those who may not have an extensive grasp of recent Australian literary history, that in fact Michael Luenig for example produced some very good work in the past.
So I feel compelled to advise, in the interests of fairness, that Phillip Adams has always been a fucking prat.Posted by ooh honey honey on 2007 09 16 at 10:13 PM • permalink#87 There’s no groupthink. Many of us believe that Leunig was once talented and interesting, and some here even have old Leunig anthologies sitting on dusty bookshelves. We’ve gone over all this before- the “Leunig used to be good” camp and the “Leunig was always utter crap” camp.
He has always been hostile to modern society, however, and he’s always made a lot of mileage out of nostalgia and whimsy. Not necessarily the mark of great art.Posted by daddy dave on 2007 09 17 at 06:51 PM • permalink
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Thanks Tim, wish I knew what was going on…