It’s as if the puppet-master/mistress (equal opportunity commentary here on bankingcommish) in control of the Universe read my earlier comments regarding the one and only Charlie Pickering and decided to give me some added ammunition in my continuing quest to illustrate him as the glad-handing, backslapping, circle-jerking slut that he so clearly is. I returned from a client meeting this afternoon to find a copy of ‘Wish’ magazine, which The Australian claims to be, ‘a magazine designed to help readers realise their dreams – whether it’s sailing around the world or discovering the ultimate luxury getaway…’ strategically placed on my desk by one of my colleagues.

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Seriously, who is this fucking guy? I’ve heard that he’s a stand-up comedian but I’ve never heard him say anything funny in my life. I bet he locks himself in his bedroom, lathers himself in baby-oil and watches re-runs of The Project while trying furiously to turn a half-mongrel into something more impressive. He’s the sort of cunt that’d edit his own Wikipedia page. He’s not ‘Times Man of the Year’ so why is he posing like he just solved the riddle of the Higgs Boson particle and explained the theory of everything?

That Pickering agreed to the composition of this cover photo is unsurprising – his attempt to exude a sense of intelligence and purpose commensurate with his position of authority as a ‘newsmaker’ on Channel 10 is crystal clear. I tried to pick up the magazine but it was so comprehensively soaked in Pickering’s own self-congratulatory jizz that I feared any attempt to move it may cause it to melt in my gloved hands like a delicate snow-flake. The expertly trimmed beard, the turtleneck jumper and the ridiculous umbrella handle fashioned into a duck placed expertly in front of his smug face make me want to undertake an act of ‘hipstercide’ and throw him viciously under the 86 tram.

It’s easy to ascertain from the photo that the umbrella Pickering is pictured with is made by Burberry, a luxury British fashion house. A quick search on 2012’s sentient being (Google) yielded a similar Burberry ‘duck’ umbrella with an asking price of $1,295 US dollars. That isn’t a typo. That’s actually how much it costs. To me, this seems a little excessive for an accessory that exists purely TO KEEP YOU FROM GETTING FUCKING WET. Not only is it far too much to pay for an umbrella, when it actually rains and you have to use it the duck is turned upside down and most likely covered by your hand.  As such, the only way that anyone is going to know that you’ve got a ducks’ head for an umbrella handle is if you pose with it in front of you for a magazine cover like a fucking douchebag.

By the way, I’d love to have been a fly on the wall at the initial meeting to announce the introduction of Wish Magazine. I imagine the co-ordinator in charge of running the meeting herding all of his/her charges down into the conference room of The Australian on the Monday morning to make the announcement.

‘Thanks very much to everyone for being here. I know there has been quite a bit of talk around the office. A lot of rumour and innuendo. The purpose of this meeting is to put an end to all of the ruminating that’s been ricocheting among the staff. Yes, today we are launching a brand new concept in newspaper lift-out magazines (wild applause). We felt that there weren’t enough lift-out magazines catering exclusively to cringe worthy cunts with too much money, trophy wives tired of sinking their husbands’ funds exclusively into their loss-making pet-project retail outlet at Docklands and account managers embezzling significant amounts of money from their employers’ businesses. Our answer? Wish Magazine. We were thinking about calling it, ‘Here’s 40 pages of shit you don’t need’, but PR said it didn’t ‘pop’.’

/end communication

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