PC and Stupidity

Hang her high!

She tweeted what she should not.

Out to dry!

She did it, yes, she did, she posted it.

Said a thing or two she’s now regretting

And some are saying, stupid girl, a dullard, what a tit.

Me, I’m wondering, what about the old days,

The things we did and said that keyboards never caught,

The silly, stupid things, the mad and mental,

The things we did, full knowing, we should not.

I’m thinking she’s a silly girl for tweeting,

Sharing status, dubious, to all,

Putting neck and job online, forgetting,

That others see

That anyone can run with

Make a private call.

I’m thinking that she shouldn’t have, but musing,

How many of us would still have been employed

If everything we’d done and said, back then, had all been

Captured on a timeline, on the internet, for the world.

I’m vexing for young woman caught, so stupid,

Twenty-four or so, so soon to be dismissed

If what she wrote is deemed to be inflammatory or offensive

And why the hell, oh lassie, did you not resist.

I’m thinking of all we others who have ever

Been just as stupid, in our pasts, or presents, never seen,

Are we any less culpable than she is,

For stupid not now showing on big screen.

I can’t stop thinking of that lassie,

Career on hold, most likely, gone for good,

Such a waste, and how two-faced some folk are,

As if they’ve never fallen, always done what they all should.

I’m thinking of the arguments, the counter,

The should-have-known, should-not-have put it there,

I’m thinking of Big Brother and her mother,

Of voyeurism. I’m thinking it’s not fair.

I’m thinking and I’m glad it’s not my daughter,

I’m hoping that good sense and fair play win the day,

I’m thinking still of how we could all be that lad or lassie

And I’m cussing on pc and on the internet today.

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Trashed

Two hours to muse

And trash, peruse.

Mags that dish the dirt.

Callous words and pictures,

Designed to cut and hurt.

 

Celebrities, I know not names,

Their efforts grant

Esteem and fame

And public humiliation.

 

Her hair’s a mess,

Look at her dress,

What a fright she looks!

Women mostly, though

Some men, warrant

Inclusion in these books.

 

I never see these mags at all

Except when hair needs gutting

Colour, style and, all the while,

Not just my hair gets cutting.

 

I know that some seek publicity,

Any type at all,

So, fair game seems to be the name

Of reporters; a free-for-all.

 

Rebuke and trash,

Cameras flash,

Perhaps they’re photoshopped.

I’m just so glad

That I’m not one whose name

Is lifted and then dropped.

 

An awful life,

Though some may think

Fame is worth the fortune,

But picked and prodded,

Talked about

Would be my cup of poison.

 

Mr Wilde was wrong.

 

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