Highbrow Review

JUGS IN SHAKESPEARE:

A SIMON BARKER PRESENTATION

Review by Thomas Tallis

I must say I was looking forward to Professor Barker's lecture and took my seat with eager anticipation. The warm up music consisted of the sound of cattle being slaughtered intertwined with the sobbing of grieving war widows. An interesting choice, I thought. As the curtains lifted, the stage was revealed; its backdrop consisted of a videotape loop depicting a naked Barker running in slow motion, his flaccid cock swinging mightily like a wet sock filled with tripe. How this visual aid connected to the works of the Bard is anyone's guess, but the audience were mesmerised with the pendulous dangle of the Barker penis. The image remains embedded in my mind, no doubt for the rest of my life, or until I find a psychoanalyst capable of helping me recover from such a traumatic event.

Meanwhile, the fleshand blood Barker appeared. In a vainglorious attempt at a grand entrance, he launched himself on stage via a medieval catapult (or trebuchet). Unfortunately, he misjudged his trajectory and crashed into the auditorium's ceiling. Luckily, his plummet back to earth was cushioned by several members of the audience, one of whom was a heavily pregnant woman. Meanwhile a visibly shaken Barker made his way to the stage, no doubt hoping to get the evening back on track. 

What followed was the collapse of Barker's personality before our very eyes. After his opening jokes (delivered with all the skill and timing of an autistic savant with Parkinson's disease) failed to hit their target, Barker began singing sentimental Irish folk songs in the style of Tupac Shakur. This he did for approximately 30 minutes. Then, changing tack, he begana Powerpoint presentation that was to be the crux of his lecture. This was a genuine insight into the mind of a madman. Barker had taken portraits of 16th and 17th century ladyfolk and, using various computer software, had grotesquely distorted their appearance. It was as if Francis Bacon had learned how to use Photoshop. Matronly old crones now resembled turgid erections thrusting from the groin of Satan. Elizabeth I looked as if she'd been to 10 Bukkake parties in one night.  Nell Gwyn took the shape of a giant horse's vagina, stretched into the infinite beyond, like, in Barker's words, 'a scarlet elastic twat flannel.'  In a frankly terrifying take on Rembrandt's Nightwatch, Barker had replaced all the subjects heads with that of Billy Joel. As Barker flicked through the slides, (about 200 in total) he seemed at his most relaxed. He laughed quietly to himself as he perused his creation (he had obviously put a lot of work into it, I'd give him that). Sometimes he paused at a favourite image so that he could drink in every detail. Strange guttural moans could be heard through his microphone, followed by unnatural sighs, as if at that precise moment some perverted fantasy had bore fruit in his diseased imagination. I half expected him to start masturbating. We were spared that delight, however.

Nevertheless, Barker seemed annoyed that his slideshow was not gaining approval from the audience, and clearly it was time to bring the evening to a close. This involved him screaming unintelligibly into the microphone for 20 minutes, after which he surprisingly calmed right down to give details of his new book, Steak and Kidney Porn: A Beginners Guide (Rubric Publications). Barker then collapsed to the floor. Later we learned that his rectum had snapped in half.  

I pray for Simon Barker