It’s the age old solution for anything you don’t much want to do in life. Send in the clowns. No, that’s not quite right, I do apologise. When there’s something strange in the neighbourhood who on earth are you going to call? Again, I’m pretty sure that’s almost certainly wrong. I’ll go back and start again.
The army can solve any issue. Provided it’s the sort of situation that responds favourably to being bopped on the head with a large stick. I may not be all that well versed in their current methods of problem solving. But I’m relatively sure that the most commonly utilised tool in their kitbag is something along the lines of brute force.
Anyway, once they’ve finished up setting things to right in the kerfuffle at Calais (it’s really a misunderstanding that’s escalated to disturbing proportions. Once everyone realises that these are people too in search of a better life running away from horrors at home compassion will come to the surface and everything will be fine), the army will get cracking on the state of the media.
Well, it’s hardly as if anyone else is coming up with a way out of the thorny thicket of disillusionment. The army can put everything to rights, certain moguls in their respective places and impose an easy to follow system of rules and regulations that all participants are sure to obey. That’s totally how this sort of operation works, right?
They definitely don’t replace one corrupt and out of control figure at the top of the pyramid with another, slightly more theoretically malleable, one. Yes? I’m definitely not speculating on matters I couldn’t possibly hope to understand and might even get in some sort of dangerous trouble for doing so. The army will meet with Murdoch and they will be many a witness to what goes down. For the betterment of mankind. Or something.
The devious plan has at last been exposed. The government was merely lulling the aged into a false sense of security. Then they could fleece them to within an inch of their lives. In the name of equal opportunities and all that.
After all, it would be grossly unfair to shaft the younger generations by making it financially imprudent to aspire to higher education and fostering conditions in which home ownership is a lofty pipe dream and not foist similar injustices on everyone else. But what do you do to the people who have everything? Those who didn’t in fact have to suffer through the war because that really was quite a long time ago now. Who went to university for free. And could indulge in one hundred percent mortgages if they wished without ill consequences.
So you’ve handed out free telly licenses to the people most likely to fork out for them in the first place. And given them more money for winter fuel out of the goodness of your own heart. What next? It would be highly two faced to withdraw these lovely presents. Once you’ve been so very generous indeed, how can you compensate?
Pensions. That’s it. All they have left to support themselves and buy thoughtful gifts for the grandchildren (who won’t appreciate them as they’ll be far too busy being glued to various screens). It would be far too miserly simply to cut the rates they’ve worked so hard all their lives for. However, there must be a form of scam worth pulling in order to claw some money back (to pay for ludicrously short car rides and the bonuses of hedge fund managers. You understand, it’s a necessity. Along with cutting benefits and all that in the name of austerity).
Old people don’t understand internet banking. Make them all set up accounts. And charge them for the privilege. Make their pension payments in Bitcoin and tweak the exchange rate in your favour. Screw them with one hand while putting your most caring face on the other. It will all work out for the best.
Doctors simply don’t know how good they have it. They can work a fraction of the hours of the common hardworking public and rake in the money for the time they deign to give us. Rather than expending any effort over the weekend they swan off to play golf and laugh openly at the misery of your garden variety sickie.
This is the NHS according to Jeremy Hunt anyway (at least it might be, I’m not sure I was paying a goodly level of attention to his spoutings). However, it’s relatively safe to say that it’s not one hundred per cent accurate. GPs have to work a very long day and in fact the level of common complaints like allergies and such have escalated in recent years.
So they’re tired, bless them. The last thing that a dangerously exhausted doctor wants to see at the end of a long day is a horde of peaky looking migrants turning up on his doorstep. They went through hell and back to get there and picked up various infections and cuts and scrapes along the way. All they need is a little light bandaging and maybe the odd antibiotic if they’re lucky.
However, this was not to be. I don’t think that anyone actually present was to blame per se. The migrants weren’t officially registered under the auspices of the NHS and none had the cash to pay for services. Also, the fatigued clinician was on the cusp of hallucinations and wasn’t entirely sure that the mob outside wasn’t peopled by space monsters and fairies.
Anyway, the crazed migrants in need of doctorly attention kind of sort of broke down the door and played amongst the delicious pills as the doctor finally gave in to the overwhelming desire to nap. They gorged themselves on sterile gauze. Then they were really ill.
The sad situation is that a necessary component of this society is arseholes. I’m not talking about the kind we all have, obviously those are necessarily for the expulsion of waste substances (and apparently unsavoury activities I won’t waste any time on here). No, I mean the more metaphorical kind.
After all, if they didn’t exist then who on earth could we possibly feel superior to? Who else would give us insanely pimped out abodes so that we can aspire to wealth and comfort we’d never have previously dreamed of? If there’s no one out there appropriating more slices of the communal cake than they’re allowed then there wouldn’t be anyone to blame for our own misfortune.
The housing situation is bleak and desolate. Unfortunately, these circumstances are hardly going to change for the better any time soon. Rather than lashing out at the generations above us who refuse to downsize or die and thus allow the millennials (also known as generation rent, the lazy ones, the people who don’t know how good they have it in spite of the crippling debt they’re saddled with) to take over their houses.
Thanks to the corrupt minority who collect property like some sick real life version of Monopoly we have people to hate. They’re a real menace, an unholy scourge of morality who spend the year dotting back and forth to their numerous plots of ample square footage. Rather than blaming the government for stripping benefits to the bone and amping up the cost of education we can direct our disapproval to this faceless collective.
At the end of the day, every story needs a bad guy. Without anyone to strive against in the hope of one day defeating them we’re merely ambling through life down in the dumps that our measly savings will never allow us to purchase a cardboard box to live in. Let alone having enough left over to heat it or pay for water or food.
Once people have reached a certain level of seniority they become far too important to lose. Yes of course this puts them in an overwhelming position of power that even the most strong willed of us would find difficult to resist. Obviously they begin to act out and push the boundaries by indulging in hookers and crack (if we’re lucky. The real worry is that they turn to investment banking and attempt to flush the entire country down the toilet).
The most important thing is to weigh the relative benefits. Is whatever it is they bring to the table of more value than the ill repute they insist on contributing as well? Perhaps they thought they were safe in their secrecy or merely above the law altogether? The key factor for them is that they know they’re thoroughly irreplaceable.
After all, if you were to fire them think what further havoc they can wreak. They’re the only one who knows where all the bodies are buried and precisely how to make the machine go ping. Without their calming influence the whole organisation would crumble, withering away into dust ready to be scattered to the four corners of the earth by the gentlest of breezes.
On the other hand, there are people out there baying for blood. They’ve decided that behaviour has gone far beyond the pale and that a glorious example of retribution must be made. What on earth can you do to stem the tide of outrage without ruining everything?
There has got to be some sort of sop to dignity you can make without throwing the baby out with the bathwater. Surely? It’s time to crack out that sacrificial scapegoat you’ve been hoarding. The audience must have blood. Or let an old man face up to his appalling conduct and move on with your lives.
Picking a new leader is tricky. Especially when you don’t really have all that much material to work with in the first place. I mean Corbyn’s probably sort of possibly the best bet if you want the party to return to its founding principles but these selfsame morals sadly make them an unelectable rabble of dreamers.
Don’t worry, the general political situation has been explained to me and this is the outcome I’m most down with. Perhaps the optimal route is for Labour to be effective opposition once more and point out everything illogical and wrong with what whoever’s in power is attempting to orchestrate. But all this hope for the future is very much besides the point. I’m afraid I’m going to have to apologise and try my very best indeed to get back onto the point in hand.
Yes, electing a head amongst yourself is highly stressful. It’s somewhat likelier than pretty much anything else to lead to infighting. After all, it’s so very much easier to point out someone else’s failings than it is to convince people to believe in you for your merits alone. So understandably such an effort ends in petty insults and character assassinations. Therefore an executive decision had to be made before the group ripped itself apart.
It was realised that if everyone was to have the slightest hope of getting alone they’d have to get away from it all. A holiday, one of those all inclusive types where you could really pig out and not worry about the financial consequences. They could stretch out languorously on the beach and get about as tanned as pasty English folk are like to get. Someone even had the genius idea of organising a light hearted race as something of a satire of the turmoil the leadership battle was causing. Then the migrants ruined it and everyone’s fun was crushed. Rubbish migrants.
Now I’m really quite sure that every last one of you understand the impulse. The world is a horrifying and scary place. It’s full of monsters, greedy people who’ll happily steal all your money and incredibly terrible weather. Surely it’s only natural to want to protect your little ones from all the inhumane insanity? What could possibly go wrong with such a worthy and reasonable desire?
You find a room of some description. Perhaps I need to be ever so slightly concerned that I’ll get in trouble for giving people tips on how to do this. Or that my future children might discover these ramblings and realise what my eventual plans for them are. Maybe I should keep things intentionally vague (it’s definitely not because I don’t know what I’m talking about and I’m afraid of it leading to dark, dangerous and twisty places. Because that absolutely never happens).
So the room. It’s perfectly comfortable with pretty colours and tasteful furnishings. There’s entertainment in the form of many books and possibly DVDs (you can’t allow them to have access to the internet obviously but there are plenty of other outlets for their boredom). A bed of course and some sort of massive wheel for the sake of exercise. Most importantly, there’s a lockable entrance that you have the key to and you haven’t provided the child with any hairpins. No way they’re getting out without your permission.
But at least the government are finally cracking down on these misguided parents. They think they’re doing the very best thing for their progeny but sealing them away in a hermetic existence isn’t exactly doing wonders for their social skills. Sticking the jailers in prison is really just a way of giving them some time to think. It’s simply a big ass naughty step. That you can’t get out of. Possibly it’s more than just a slap on the wrist.