Since I started this pointless, tedious piece of shit blog, I’ve been looking around at other blogs. Not just for inspiration, but to work out what’s what and who’s who.
I’m not a long-time blog reader. I am an old hand at web-forums, pretty much all of which have descended from enclaves of enlightened banter and remarkable lucidity, to a troll infested, text-speak haven for the thick and tragically under-medicated.
So, I have established, during these years of forum-based discourse, that everyone else is indeed an utter moron with the deductive powers of a stillborn pure-bred crufts experiment, that it’s better to hold forth than to engage in a battle of wits with the unarmed. So I’m a born-again-blogosummitorother.
And I’m not exactly on my own here, am I? I’ve wondered at several points, as I’ve trawled blogs and beheld the insight, intellect, rich and varied writing styles, vitriol and back-biting, what I could possibly add to the world by spewing out whatever moaning shite was on my mind, when the blogs below seem to do a fabulous job of articulating a pretty close approximation of my own opinion.
But I’m tormented by the utterly knuckeheaded ways that our lives are being fucked up and poked into by state-sponsored drones who view their pay cheques, and their cherished flouescent tabbards, as just reward for years of being subservient, unimaginative, compliant, socialised shop-dummies, believers in political correctness, the goodness and righteousness of big-government, and endless welfare for those who won’t work.
The sort of men who buy insurance for every eventuality, drive a ‘safe’ car ‘safely’, cherish their lawns, idolise their precious (but stupid) offspring and relish every update on their safe-as-houses, publicly funded, gilt-edged pensions, while the rest of us calculate the infinitescimal chance of the National Insurance Ponzi Scheme even still existing by the time we want to retire, let alone providing a diet of more than catfood in our dotage.
The sort of women who it would be polite to call ‘prim’. Grey faced and terrified by the armies of paedos, dangerous dogs, hoodies, hippies, skinheads that must be roaming her very street, at this very moment. If this woman drives, she drives a small, practical car slowly and badly. Her children are the future and the world must know it. Won’t everyone please think of the children. Just not in that way. But give this woman a clipboard and a local-council badge and she’s Queen of whatever insignificant domain granted her. Off with the heads of the neigh-sayers, the doubters, the subversive influences who dare to doubt the wisdom and the power of the clipboard. Supplication will be achieved. Compliance will be assured.
No, just Old Holborn’s blog header puts my sentiments more succinctly:
Free Speech and I don’t care who I offend. If you are easily offended then you are a cunt. If you read the Grauniad just fuck off and die. I am not here to make friends, I am here to rant and vent my spleen. Oh, a quick note for any politicians who may wander in. Die.
Attention Gubbernment: Leave me the hell alone.
I like government to do stuff that only a government can do. National defense and justice being key examples. I don’t like government, local national or European, doing stuff that they are patently shite at, with my money and without my consent. I’m more than a little suspicious that upwards of 90% of the tax I pay is being spunked on the latter category.
Burning our Money gives enough examples, anecdotes and evidence to make me spit lava every time I open a payslip and see how much of my money is getting stuffed into the pockets of bureaucrats, quangos, consultants and publicity, all in the actual name of getting in my face and giving money to the feckless, stupid, inept and fecund.
In spite, or indeed because, of my utter contempt and loathing for the people running the UK, I do quite like to keep an eye on what the devious sods are up to. Guido Fawkes seems to do a pretty good job of shining a light on the rats’ nest of Westminster.
The ideal thing, would be for the hectoring and controlling classes to just fuck off and die. I’ll settle for them leaving me alone though. I think that makes me a libertarian. The Devil’s Kitchen quite nicely articulates some of the tenets and philosophy of the British libertarian.
There are more that I’ll mention in future posts, but just now I’m boring the crap out of myself so I’m going to open a bottle of wine and ponder the dichotomies of The West Wing, principally why it’s such good telly, even though they made it look like a good idea that America should be run by a Communist economics professor and a bunch of smug wanker lawyers who think that social justice is a thing to be achieved by state intervention.
The sort of smug wankers who sowed the seeds for the current sub-prime crisis by legislating in America to make sure that people who couldn’t pay a mortgage could still get a mortgage (Communities Reinvestment Act). That these people were principally black, should be of no concern, but this whole thing sounds to me like affirmative action mortgages, forcing the bank to sell on risky debt packages as best they could, to satisfy the perverse demands of political correctness.
Enough of this rambling bollocks. Mmmmmmm Chateau Margaux.