To write successfully for the Mobar Gazette, one need not possess any particular talent or interest in writing. No formal qualifications are required, and any educational achievement beyond successful completion of primary school would generally be frowned upon. Much like a relatively successful backyard manufacturer of methamphetamines, Mobar Gazette articles rely upon a series of dubious chemical formulas and evasive manoeuvres to avoid detection by pesky authorities.
To get things started, you’re going to need a title. A conventional title just won’t cut the mustard. You should be aiming for something inflammatory, salacious or entirely preposterous, an exercise in capital letters that will cause a prospective reader to spit out a mouthful of their beverage in disgust and click frantically at the link in order to satisfy their curiosity.
So You Think You Can Literally Get Away With Murder? People That Rent Should Be Ripped Limb From Limb By Mortgagors. I Had Intimate iRelations With An iPhone And Contracted iSyphilis.
For the sake of our fictional article, I have chosen the following title – Organic Food: It’s The New Black, If You’re the Kind of Tool That Describes Things as “The New Black”. The beauty of this title, other than its brevity (which is apparently the soul of wit), is the fact that it garners attention from anyone who eats organic food or who happens to use the phrase “the new black”, which would be just about any old sucker these days.
You’ve got your audience in the door – now it’s time to get some bums on seats. Your introduction need not have anything to do with the title or subject of your article at this early stage. Instead, why not take this opportunity to launch a stinging, unprovoked and entirely baseless attack on a defenceless celebrity or minority group, then gloss over it with a silky smooth segue into something vaguely resembling the subject of the article?
Is it just me, or is Calista Flockhart seriously fat? I don’t mean fat in a cute little Kate Moss puppy fat kind of way, I mean fat as in she could be the before picture for a Weight Watchers commercial. If she gets any fatter, the Japanese will commission a fleet of ships armed with harpoons to carry out scientific research on her thighs. Speaking of Calista Flockhart’s thighs, organic food is nothing but a clever marketing tool designed to make people feel better about themselves whilst paying twice what they normally would.
I know what you’re thinking. That was no segue. That was nothing but a cheap shot at two celebrities and a country, capped off with an unsubstantiated claim about organic food. Be honest though, you enjoyed every word of that. Unless of course you’re Calista Flockhart or Kate Moss, in which case you’re probably used to strangers discussing your weight. Sorry about that, gals. We actually think you’re rather slim and don’t deserve that kind of shabby treatment.
It is worth noting at this point that Mobar Gazette writers never apologise for their art, unless they’ve offended someone they like or they are threatened with a lawsuit by someone whom they don’t particularly care for, such as serial pants man Jude Law.
Anyhow, let’s get into the body of your article. The guts. The kilometres of gooey intestines constructed from mere words. The best way to get this bit rolling is with some more unsubstantiated claims presented to the reader as fact.
Organic food was invented in 1994 by Independence Day star Bill Pullman, however he has repeatedly refused to confirm this as fact. The only proof of this is a solitary passage in his surprisingly rare 1998 autobiography No, I’m Not Bill Paxton, But I Will Be For $50 And An Ice Cream Sandwich.
Disillusioned by the inexplicable popularity of the litany of processed goods prevalent in the late nineties (food, boy bands, girl bands etc.), Pullman attempted to buck the trend by releasing his own line of food products cultivated without the use of pesticides or growth hormones.
It was an unmitigated failure. Supermarkets refused to stock Purely Pullman Produce. The death knell was sounded when, after resorting to hawking his wares from a crude roadside stand on Hollywood Boulevard, director Steven Spielberg passed in his limousine and struck Pullman in the face with a cheese-topped Twinkie, allegedly shouting “You’ll never work in this town again, Pullman!”
Exhilarating stuff. Celebrities. Celebrity failure. Celebrities throwing cheese-topped Twinkies at each other. Your readership will be so enthralled by this scandalous passage, they will barely have time to question whether or not any of it is actually factual. Why stop there? You haven’t even got stuck into your actual topic yet. Time to sling some more mud.
In the wake of his very public humiliation, Pullman retreated from the public eye, emerging only to buy milk and occasionally star in films that barely troubled the box office. Much like Pullman’s career, organic food had died a relatively quiet death. Unlike Pullman’s career, however, organic food was about to be revived and receive critical acclaim.
Now, you’re at a crossroads here. You could take the easy route and fire off another few cheap shots at a man whose resume reads like a catalogue for Straight To Video Productions, or you could do the professional thing and slur someone else.
Early in the 21st century, N*Sync and their waxed ilk were thankfully singing “Bye Bye Bye” for good. Nature abhors a vacuum though, and no sooner had various Backstreet Boys adopted alcoholism in the place of homoerotic dance choreography, a new menace appeared on televisions around the globe: the celebrity chef.
Gordon F**king Ramsay. Nigella “Ooh, that’s a bit saucy!” Lawson. Two “Needs more butter, darling!” Fat Ladies. But outdoing all of these apron aficionados and their respective shticks of rudey words, culinary double entendres, and snorting lines of pure lard, there was an energetic young man bish, bash, and boshing his way around a kitchen at a rate that would shame the roadrunner.
Jamie “Awright mate? Cushti!” Oliver.
Jamie Oliver? You’re going to slag a man who has championed healthy school dinners, transformed panhandlers into chefs and inspired countless people to learn how to cook for themselves? Hey, we’re artistes. And he talks funny, innit.Yes, The Naked Chef. The most successful British money making franchise since The Beatles. While most people know him for his sea sickness inducing handheld camera cookery programmes, few are aware that before he was whipping up pukka curries, Oliver was a struggling actor trying to make his fortune in Hollywood.
After moving to Los Angeles in the hope of making it big, Oliver was disheartened to discover that American audiences were more interested in Hugh Grant’s bumbling yet charming array of quintessentially British characters, and to a lesser extent his sexual misadventures in public places than Oliver’s likely lad persona.
Down on his luck and with rent well overdue, Oliver reluctantly took a job as a sous chef in an establishment specialising in all-you-can-eat cheese based cuisine. Legend has it that after clocking off from yet another double shift of triple cheeseburgers with quadruple cheese, he came across a dishevelled chap in the alley behind the cheese emporium.
Clutching a bottle of cheap liquor and slurring something that vaguely resembled the President’s final monologue from Independence Day, Oliver at first paid no heed to this broken man. As he walked away though, the drunkard’s rambling suddenly caught the young Brit’s ear.
“Food…expenshive food…no peshtishides…no hormones…all natural, they would’ve all bought it…paid whatever…organic…all natural, organic food…”
The artist soon to be known as the Naked Chef was intrigued, yet he suddenly understood this man’s simple dream. To produce a range of natural food and market it in such a way that anyone - from the most pretentious tofu-loving Hollywood phoney to the most upper middle class consultant overburdened with disposal income and precious guilt - anyone would pay top dollar for this gear.
Oliver saw the potential, and did what any out of work actor would do – viciously beat the drunkard with a rolling pin, stole his dream, dignity and shoes, then made millions from it. The idea, not the shoes. He just wore those.
Whilst the preceding paragraph may suggest otherwise, Jamie Oliver is reportedly a fairly non-violent chap, and Bill Pullman is allegedly still alive and more or less well. You can never be 100% sure with celebrities though, so the safe option here would be to delve into such connerie exagérée that even the most tin foil clad of conspiracy theorists would raise a bushy eyebrow at your blasé approach to the truth. Also, using French both impresses and distracts your readers.
So just exactly how did The Naked Chef make his fortune out of organic food? With the help of the government, of course. Britons are suspicious folk, and treat government at all levels with absolute disdain and cynicism. They are one of the few remaining western superpowers to resist a fluoridated water supply, and in doing so guard against the government controlling their thoughts and dental hygiene.
Therefore, it is of little surprise to learn that the British government is constantly searching for new ways to seize control of the grey matter of all their citizens. After hearing of the popularity of Oliver and his organic food, various shady figures heading various shady secret government departments hatched a shady plot to buy Oliver’s allegiance and his recipe for Moroccan chickpea soup.
A staunch nationalist, Oliver was more than happy to become an agent for his country, in return for a hefty fee and publishing deal. Fluoride, among other mind altering substances, is now secretly added to all organic food, and Oliver happily sells its benefits on his various shows.
The titles and themes of these shows have become increasingly brazen – his school dinner series allowed the government to wrest control of impressionable children across Britain. Ministry of Food made no attempt to hide its state sponsored links, and followed Jamie as he targeted those least likely to fall prey to the cult of organic food.
Still not convinced? There are six letters in Oliver. If one removes the letters J, A, and E from his first name, only M and I remain. Put them together and you get…MI6. It is hardly worth noting that Oliver rates cooking for the Prime Minister as one of his proudest achievements.
There, you’ve done it. Reduced the article to such a farcical level that any judge presiding over a libel case would throw the case out of court quicker than you can say black lacy knickers hidden by a judicial robe. All that remains is a conclusion. A vast range of topics have been covered, however there’s no need to pay them anything more than a casual lip service whilst whipping up a healthy dose of fear.
So just who exactly is responsible for the fiendish plot to control the thoughts of one and all with the cunning conception and subsequent propagation of the sham known as organic food? Bill Pullman? Jamie Oliver? The British Secret Service? No.
It is you.
It is you, your friends, your family, and even that prat next door that mows the lawn at eight in the morning on a Saturday. Every time you go to the supermarket and decide to pay twice the price of other available products just because of a word on a packet that does nothing more than make you feel pleased with your social conscience and outrageous cleverness, it is you.
It is you that allows the government to control your thoughts and rule you like dogs. It is you that destroys the livelihoods of honest, hard working pesticide and growth hormone manufacturers. You and no one else invite evil government agents posing as celebrity chefs into your home and allow them to sauté your beliefs, whip up a roux of your free will, and construct a confit de liberté.
Congratulations. You are now a Mobar Gazette writer.
