Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Posh Spice, it seems, is finally useful to someone for something and this time it’s not just starving herself, pioneering new fronts in the field of human narcissism and being a slab of heavily marinated tuna that despite whatever she pays in preservation fees is slowly becoming more and more rancid. I know I say the same things about her every time but it’s really gratifying to do so and also, the reason she warrants the same basic critique each is because she actually does nothing new ever. Well, until now.
Apparently, Tom Cruise and Will Smith find her accent endearing and they mimic her when she says things like “Bloody Hell” and “Come on, chaps” (to which Tom Cruise no doubt notes an alternate definition minus the comma) because foreign accents are just so intriguing to them.
Posh needs to be given a minor skerrick of credit here because until now she has managed to profit hugely throughout her life from the character and energy of the people to which she flukishly attaches herself. In this instance, however, she’s out there on her own delivering the goods and people love it and she’s the one at the center of it.
Ok, so maybe its really just two people who like it and find her amusing and ok, through this she is kind being made into an inane performing seal and yes, she’s actually done more or less nothing besides open her shrill, oblivious, socially inept, piercing, chav horror spouting mouth to speak. Well, obviously it’s to speak, it certainly wouldn’t be to put any food inside, not in the harsh light of day, away from the toilet or out from under the bed anyway.
So, in short – with this new twist in the public portrayal of the character of Posh, are we to see her gradually become a linguistic consultant to the stars? There are so many many opportunities for Posh if she can settle on a career path that involves mobilizing her ability to do something besides shop and not eat.
She could, for example, end up being rented out to film sets in a set up where she sits on set in a glass box with a microphone attached. Any time say the scuffed up pauper characters being played by American extras need a little help with their accents during the filming of, say, a street scene in a Merchant Ivory period drama, all they have to do is poke Posh with an electric cattle prod so she wakes up angry and starts aggressively lashing out at everyone in all her angry, pinched, insecure Chav glory. Then, she’d run out of juice and just wilt back into unconsciousness.

She could easily be a linguistic asset to ANY film. Or, simply pleasant background adornment. Especially if she’s kept in a box. [source]

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