When did the US Republican Party become a bunch of first-rate stand-up comedians? They are such sublime performers that they are able to appear as luckless, accident prone losers, likely as not to have recently been let out for a long weekend by a well meaning mental health facility. But we know these faultless performances have been honed to perfection over months and years of dedicated practice. But don’t worry, here in the good old UK, the land of golden medals, the land of ‘if they can do it so can everybody else’, you know who I mean: the so-called Conservative Party, because they know where to look for what to do next. It’s called getting rid of bureaucracy by changing labels and . . . well we like these brand new bureaucracies, their names redolent of profit and efficiency, the wages lower than the minimum it’s possible to live on.
What do you mean revolution? We know how to deal with that.
Did you see what sentences those looters received for stealing a bottle of water?
Intellectual growth? Is that some sort of brain tumour?
Would you like to see the psychiatrist?
Actually I accepted the offer of an anaesthetic. Even though
it bumped the price up to astronomical levels. What the hell, I thought, as my spine collapsed, my breathing laboured:
After all, what is my life worth?
My calculation based on my admittedly inadequate medical and surgical knowledge (no, I didn’t want any intellectual growth, thank you very much; what interested me was money* and after that, more money) . . . anyway, where was I? Oh yes my calculation, well, call it a guess, perhaps even a wild guess, was that I would not survive open-heart surgery without anaesthetic. And that as you can no doubt work out for yourselves means no more money for me.
Answer me this simple question, Gove Osborne Cameron, is there anything else in this brief stretch of time, this thin line of past and future, but money? More and more of the stuff; endless, endless profit?
Yes, it might be a shit sort of philosophy but long ago I decided that intellectual growth was not worth the toilet paper it was printed on. If it’s good enough for Pres Bush it’s got to be good enough for me.
It worked for Blair (ouch, who was that!) and, have I got the right bloke, wasn’t he in the Labour Party?
It’s raining again, it’s the last thing I notice before the cocktail of heroin and cocaine takes me away very pleasantly.
* If you’re interested, Dave Graeber’s book on Debt should see you right.