Bastardisation of the East: Oedipus Wrecked: The tragedy of Michael Sophocles

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Oedipus Wrecked: The tragedy of Michael Sophocles

Is The Scum exploiting Michael Sophocles?

Remember Michael Sophocles from The Apprentice last year? That whiny man-shaped vessel of unfiltered git? That self-important windbag who, in the exact reverse of one of those puffer fish, would deflate from his usual cocksure self and cower sickeningly in front of would-be predators until they left him alone? That fecal-tongued, incompetent halfwit whose business acumen basically consisted of an ability to beg and grovel where other men with even a shred of dignity would take a bullet? Yeah, you do.

Most people had a field day with this sorry sample of instant karma in action, as he limped along the course of the competition, crashing into every obstacle and dragging down those with him. There’s always one contestant that manages to achieve the seemingly unachievable and give the world of business a worse name than even it deserves. Therefore even the papers that idolise Suralan Sugar were thoroughly disgusted with this Sideshow Bob character, and subjected him to the ridicule he deserved each time his misguided behaviour caused him additional setbacks.

The Scum had as much fun as anyone in adding insult to the self-inflicted injury of ‘Slimy’ Michael Sophocles, the 'horribly greasy spooner', in stories such as this one, which would have made ths skin of the residents of a morgue crawl. In the face of such insult there comes a time for redemption, there comes a time to prove the doubters wrong, there comes a time to strike out and…

…accept pay cheques from the very same paper that had such a leading role in degrading him. Hmm, it appears that Michael Sophocles really will plunge new depths for cash. He has been hired, albeit as an Apprentice critic, and each week we get his verdict on a bunch of contestants, who, while liberally peppered with useless individuals, still would have no space to waste among them on a male escort who doesn’t even know what religion he is. The semi-literate assessments are written with a clanging, virtually deafening deficit of irony that must have had copy editors sniggering behind his back. The assessments also have the charmless tendency resort to blugeoning, witless personal cruelty as a first resort (ahem). Here are some samples from a precious blink and you miss it artefact of our civilization, that guarantee that from this day forth I shall be reading The Scum for a whole minute every week.

Michael Sophocles on Yasmina Siadaten: "This lady needs to seriously look into buying some Clearasil. A small contribution to a dismal team performance saved her bacon.” (A timely lecture on personal appearance from Michael Sophocles here. Despite warning that irony would be absent here, even I remain flabbergasted at how it flees the room whenever this desperate jellyfish squelches his way in. Buy yourself a mirror, boy).

Michael Sophocles on Mona Lewis: "A great win for the project manager does not excuse her for having the most irritating voice I have heard since witnessing foxes mating.” (You watch foxes mating? Why? Do you keep a logbook of woodland creatures' reproductive habits? The Sun doesn’t even need to pay journalists to pry into this twisted man’s personal life anymore - he just admitted that he watches nocturnal animals mating).

Michael Sophocles on Philip Taylor: "An arrogant pillock who had one eye on the prize and the other on Ms Walsh. Needs to realise that he ain’t God’s gift to women.” (Given that Michael Sophocles stated quite clearly at the start of last year’s show that he was comfortable being arrogant and given that only the most throbbingly erectile of pillocks would chose the paper that derided him with such malice to next spring up, that assessment might be a thinly veiled compliment to the admittedly awful Philip Taylor).

Michael Sophocles on Lorraine Tighe: "This lady was lucky to stay alive this week. Needs to start winning friends and influencing people to survive.” (You can’t blame the boy for drawing on the ravages of personal experience for his column, although a lecture from an individual whose conspicuous lack of influence probably prevented him reaching stratospheric levels of unpopularity is of dubious value. His fellow contestants thought he was a tit as well).

Does this boy not see that he is building his own gallows while The Scum looks on with the same glee that Simon Cowell gets from transient X Factor contestants? Part of me hopes that this absolute trainwreck of a column makes it to the end of the series, and that the flimsy puppet on a stick that is Michael Sophocles doesn’t get savaged beyond repair until someone is about to get hired. Then The Scum should just cut his strings and let him fall flat on his face again. A hate-nourished, jizz-swilling sow of a rag will never quite match the nauseating qualities of those willing to crawl on all fours through the mud and prostitute their self respect to get at its milk. And in case you were wondering, pigs aren’t kosher either Sophocles, you serial milk-gargling pillock. I suppose I shouldn’t insult him too much, lest our punishment craving subject come crawling to this pit of shame for a job.

¶ posted by the leech at 5/12/2009

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