The Suicide Journalist.
Three Months ago , The Observer began a new column, Second Class Male, by Richard Geefe. After an aborted suicide attempt, Geefe resumed his column - at the Editor's insistence - and it was renamed Time to Go, his account of his last few months on earth before killing himself in November. The columns, which provoked fierce controversy and a vast postbag, were written by Chris Morris, one of Britain's most innovative broadcasters, and the man behind such ground-breaking...

Yorkie

I should reiterate with each of these posts - they are satirical pieces written by Chris Morris for a UK newspaper a few years ago.I doubt many people outside the UK have ever seen them and they deserve a wider readership so I thought this would be a good place to put them.
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`I've started following sad foreign women. I'm not a stalker - I just love their exquisite erotolachrymalia'
Sunday...

Yorkie

`She is my best friend, my only friend and I have screwed her every which way. I am sewage'
Sunday May 9, 1999
I'm sitting with Bridget and I can't believe what I've done. That's not an idle phrase. I literally cannot believe what I've done… what I'm doing… you see I'm not actually sitting with Bridget, I'm sitting near her. She's unconscious and I'm half drunk.
It started when Bridget announced she was in love. This doesn't happen often. Her affection is fierce and beautiful...

Yorkie

`Love of truth = death of love…'
Sunday May 2, 1999
I'm living a lie. We all are. You too. Yes. We lie to get by, smooth things over, keep things straight. Oh yes. The difference is that last week I did something about it. And I am about to fess up. First, here's a pound of truth for nothing.
Whenever I write in this column about `my girlfriend' I'm not writing about my current girlfriend at all. I use incidents that involved previous girlfriends who are in no way related to...

Yorkie

Second class male pt 3.

`We agree that we would one day end up sharing breakfasts of hate'

Sunday April 25, 1999
I've split up with my girlfriend. I'm in a bar talking fast to a woman I've never met before. She's listening intently though I've no idea why. The attention is attractive. I'm betting myself I'll soon be telling her why my girlfriend and I broke up. I win the bet.
It started like this. My weekend mail had included a letter addressed to her at

...

Yorkie