The Sunday Song Poem #4 Ralph Lowe ‘The Crime Shows’

ralphThere are eight million stories in the naked city…” Pfft, baloney, eight million my eye, what gives – you got smog in the noggin? There are two, just two.

Despite continued attempts by those Godless, whore-mongering, smut pedlars at HBO, to debase the genre with real actors and creators with integrity who refuse to hand over their baby to some committee of bastard hacks to cack-handedly lop off the head of the Golden Goose of a good idea, and smash its egg into a potentially endless series of seasons of 20-odd advertisement peppered pieces, there are but two stories in any Crime drama, and you’re going to shut your yap, sit there and listen while Ralph Lowe spoon-feeds you the skinny, capisce?

First thing you need to know is that crime is regularly ranked as the number one pastime in the majority of American conurbations. Sure, there’s some personal gain to be derived from a good crime: financial gain, acquiescence to the Biblically frowned-upon urges – Simple catharsis, you know, just blowing-off a head of steam or head off of someone. But all that’s incidental, secondary to the recreational value and leisure is something to which we’re all entitled under the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

Secondly, there are only two outcomes to a television drama whose central focus is the aforementioned national pastime, Number one: the criminals bribe corrupt Police Departments into turning a blind eye to their leisure pursuits, and in doing so give themselves more time to plan future recreational endeavours. Number Two: Law Enforcement Agencies defend the ideals they pledged to serve and protect to the full extent of their powers and resources, unswayed by temptation of personal gain, a standpoint which can be ascertained from watching the first 15 minutes of the show, rendering the remainder of the runtime a confection of futility.

So, to recap: Crime = Good, Justice = Boring.

Chester Whelks

Chester Whelks

Chester Whelks is a peripheral figure on the fringes of existence. Predominantly bothering the local music scene of his native Manchester, England, he has a very finely attuned Justice-button, and knows how to call a spade a ‘Multi-Purpose Murder/Concealment Device’.

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