All right, we’ll admit it. None of us really wanted to watch Angela Fag-Ash Disney’s inaugural production for her new ‘INDEPENDENT TELEVISION CHANNEL’ (her words—ours would be ‘MORE YOUTUBE DRIVEL, NOW WITH EXTRA DRIVEL’).
Ultimately, the team drew straws for the job, and the lucky winner was locked in a quiet room with nothing but a laptop and a notepad and pencil for two hours. Their assignment: watch Angela’s Caches (that’s a joke, geddit? har har) from beginning to end, and record all observations.
What follows are the notes our plucky team member handed us as they staggered out of lock-up:
Opening credits: look like designed by committee. Hilariously awful knock-off of American CNN logo, strange squashed globe where sun shines only in Suriname (does this mean something?), sparkles.
Lots and lots of sparkles. Twinkly bits hurt my brain. I should be getting danger pay.
Are you sure I have to watch this? I’ll be good from now on, I promise. Hello? Is anyone out there? …
Fine. Have it your way. BUT YOU ALL OWE ME, YOU HEAR?
Opening: Angie tells long & detailed non-joke about name of show, Angela’s Caches. This is me not laughing.
Who is Angie? She introduces herself. Says that on some level, she was always going to do this. She was kind of always intended to be a talk-show host. So…not a ballerina, actress, model, reluctant super-spy then?
Those were all just preparation for her true density. Er, destiny.
Cites professional victim cred: MK Ultra survivor, sexual abuse survivor, telling world about being a survivor survivor. Admits she’ll never be fixed. Can’t argue with that.
Long blather about healing. Apparently she made a DVD back in 2008. Wow. I’ve done that too. My last one was a dance mix. Do I get my own talk show now too?
“I may ramble a little bit, but hey, we’ve got time…”: speak for yourself, Angie.
Christ. This is just the first 5 minutes. This thing is 2 hours long. If I don’t make it, tell my wife I love her.
“I can’t fix the world, I really can’t”. Well, that’s that sorted, then. Pretty sure no one thinks Angie can fix anything. So we’re all safe.
Note: 8 minutes, and she’s said nothing except that she plans to talk. And talk. And talk. More than a lot. Phew. Whoever would have guessed?
Child abuse: I almost want to believe her about her dad’s violence. Then she starts rambling on about MK Ultra trauma-based mind control and Josef Mengele and sex-kitten programming and the created hippie movement and that shit. Always over-egging the pudding, Angie.
She’s been in trouble for breaching confidentiality? Say it ain’t so! Oh, but it’s all about her allergy to secrecy because of…yeah, you guessed it. MK Ultra.
Hey, have you guys ever thought that MK Ultra would be a great name for a new brand of high-performance petrol? If I ever get out of this room, I’m going to look into that.
Wait, did Angie just say she tries not to indulge in gratuitous gossip? Oh God help me…choking…. She tries not to come from a place of revenge?….stop! stop! can’t take it….
Oh wait, here’s something: did you know suicidal ideation is just a programme? I bet that’ll comfort all those depressed people out there. Someone needs to alert them! Also: people in Angie’s family don’t lie, they just dissociate. Totally not their fault. So lay off, okay?
Says she’s a ‘radical non-religious Christian’? More like a bible-thumping scripture-spewing Pharisee. Am I being judgemental? Oh, and apparently Jesus dropped by for a visit one day while she was watching the telly. Uh-huh.
Just putting my head down for a second here…brb…zzzzzzzz….wait, what? No, no, I’m wide awake here, don’t worry!
Why is she singing that stupid ‘who wants to be a millionaire’ jingle? Suppose I should scroll back and find out, but sod it. Don’t really care that much.
Ooh, ooh, here’s a good bit! “I have trolls already. I have a bloody website almost hounding me, everywhere…paid, probably. Government trolls because I’ve worked on some high-profile cases and government trolls are paid to disable the whistleblowers”.
Hear that, lads? We’re professional guvmint trolls!
Aargh. More MK Ultra nonsense. You know what? This would be a lot more fun as a drinking game. Take a swig every time you hear ‘MK Ultra’, ‘programming’, ‘Monarch’, ‘dissociating’, ‘trigger’, ‘Illuminati’, ‘super-spy’…I’m totally bringing this up at our next meeting.
That’s it, I’m fast-forwarding this thing…..oh, hang on, here she is talking about why she’s never worked a steady job in her life: she just doesn’t want to work for anyone else. Sounds legit. I bet they don’t want her working for them, either.
Whoops, here we go again: “The persecution and the trolling, particularly connected to the Hampstead case, has been devastatingly brutal and I’ve had burglaries and all sorts of crazy stuff going on, a lot of remote cyber-interference….”
Hahaha! Right. She’s never met any of us, has she? We couldn’t cyber-interfere our way out of a wet paper bag.
Gotta be truthful here, I’ve kind of stopped listening. Now I’m watching this shadowy thing on her right cheek that keeps bouncing up and down as she talks.
Mascara smudge? Bruise? Strange trick of the light? Demonic possession? Hard to say.
Bah-hahaha! Saying she was ‘engineered’ into her marriage to Mr Disney. So that a Power and a Disney could come together. Because of course she was. Poor Mr Disney. Bet he was relieved to be shot of her.
Oh, now she’s getting into some kind of rant about bloodlines…Christ on a cracker, will this ever end?
Here’s a good bit: she’ll always apologise if she gets information wrong. Riiiiight. So…still waiting, Angie. Haven’t heard a peep from you about how wrong you were about Hoaxtead. Not that I’m bitter.
She’s blathering on now about how great it is to be a journalist…thinks people take her seriously…look, I don’t think I can do this any longer, okay? Can someone open the door? Please? Please?
At this point the notes degenerate into complete gibberish, but don’t worry. We think our mate is doing a bit better today; he’s been allowed to sit up in bed and sip clear fluids.
It’ll be a while before we stick him with another shit assignment like this, though. We just can’t take the whimpering.