Who really cares about the thoughts and feelings of millennials anyway? They’re crippled with debt, don’t have well-paying jobs because of unbridled competition and rarely bother to vote. Why on earth would anyone in charge waste their valuable time paying any form of attention to them?
Thanks to the latest plethora of budget cuts and ever more stringent regulations, the police have made a bold decision. One that’s ill-informed and likely to lead to the rise of anarchy and one of those futuristic dystopias I’ve been reading so much about lately but a decision nonetheless that they’ll very definitely be sticking with thank you very much.
Similar to the initiative of not investigating burglaries in evenly numbered houses that worked so effectively, the police will be ignoring those born between the years of 1980 and 2000. From now on, the law won’t be able to touch them, not down to any amazing new powers of avoiding detection but from pure apathy. Younger children will of course be obliged to continue to toe the line as their elders have recognised the need for currently tiny people to one day take over their places in society.
Thrust out into the cold and unfeeling world of lawlessness, how precisely will people manage? It’s certainly going to make bringing up children interesting as society will increasingly feel the need for law abiding citizens. And no doubt they’ll be something of an exponential increase in vigilante justice. And rogue police officers who no longer have to follow the rules but will rigidly enforce them.
If the grand experiment works they may well institute it for future generations and couples will keep an even closer eye on the calendar for when they’re thinking of conceiving. If you want the very best for your child you’ll be sure to bang so as to squirt out your young before the clock strikes twelve on December 31st 2020.
Working a full day can be tiring. Maybe you adore your job and can’t wait to get into the office all day every day. If that’s the case then I’d love to know what it is you do (for entirely benevolent reasons that definitely don’t involve snaffling your current role). For the rest of us though it can be a little tricky hauling ourselves out of bed and stumbling to the workplace.
Then when you find yourself going beyond the call of duty and staying late for whatever reason you can become a little miffed. A red mist may descend or otherwise a sleepy fug may compel your eyelids to remain resolutely shut. This can cause further problems to occur. More and more cases of out of hours blindness are being reported.
This is a totally legitimate condition that requires your full attention and sympathy right now. If people are being blinded by their sheer dedication to the job then steps have to be taken. Make offices fully functional for the blind, install compulsory braille reading courses and provide everyone with a white stick. You can’t afford to lose the people doing their overtime so you might as well make sure that they don’t have any excuses whatsoever for a sudden drop in productivity.
Out of hours blindness is a brand spanking new sign the body exhibits when it wants you to slow down. Now that the old signs of heart attacks and the like are being ignored or, worse yet, treated with science and medicine, nature has to become ever so slightly more inventive in order to grab our attention. Heaven forfend that you actually leave your desk behind for the evening and spend some quality time with the special someone you haven’t had the chance to meet thanks to being a raging workaholic.
We all knew this was coming. Perhaps if we weren’t entirely completely sure there must have been at least some small scrap of inkling. There had to have been a niggling suspicion somewhere at the very back of your mind that this sort of thing was on the horizon down the line. Or maybe you’re an altogether far too trusting simpleton who never especially looks to the future.
Anyway, the working class isn’t quite what it used to be. The proportion of blue collar jobs is dwindling or whatever and people are feeling themselves to be distinctly under threat. Rather than galvanising the nation and bringing about another glorious industrial revolution they’ve decided to turn to the dark side.
No more nice subservient proletariat. They’re turning to outright rebellion in order to bring down the middle classes who’ve lorded it over them with their extravagant ways for simply far too long. Now I’m not entirely sure the precise details of their plot because it’s been subjected to seven degrees of classification (and as a hated outsider they’re hardly going to share clandestine details).
However, I have managed to skilfully winkle one or two choice titbits of gossip from the maw of the social hierarchical war machine. For example, they plan to kidnap government officials and make them look completely ridiculous by subjecting them to outdated rituals involving mysterious liquids and whatnot (you know the sort of thing I mean, they’ve been rather widely publicised of late but someone or other I can’t quite recall).
Then the real action will begin with tightly orchestrated social media campaigns to spread the message and even a very special hashtag or two. We’ll never know what hit us and before long we’ll be begging to enter the ranks of the newly vitalised glorious alternative classes. You really don’t want to know what the alternatives will be.
Technology is straight up ruining the planet. What with Google brain implants and sentient cars, we’re becoming rapidly obsolete. When the robots rise to power do you really think they’ll be satisfied with the current status quo? But enough about the nightmarish future we’re absolutely heading for that there’s really absolutely nothing whatsoever we can do about. If we just don’t think about it then there’s a distinct chance it will all go away.
Men get threatened by weird things. You tell a man that he’s no longer required when it comes to stereotypically male activities such as sports or making a baby then he’s going to throw something of an almighty hissy fit. The whole works: tearing at their hair, beating the floor, pouring forth buckets of tears and shrieks until they realise the unmanliness of their current actions. That’s when the ever so slightly more aggressive behaviour begins to occur.
So it really shouldn’t have come to many as that much of a surprise that riots started to go down when the news got out about virgin births. A select group of women decided that they wanted babies without the messy part which is why they wanted to cut out the man soaked portion. Sperm can be easily obtained from your local sperm bank or indeed certain public toilets but the quality may not be entirely guaranteed from those less reputable sources.
However, the men found out that women had started making babies without them. They’d never even tried them out and already they were opting for solutions that excluded them. Hurt and disillusioned by the opposite gender they turned to shopping as some form of solace. Then they realise that shopping sprees tend to be reserved for lady problems and whatnot. So smashing began and rioting was a quick hop, step and a jump away from there. And it’s all the fault of virgins.
Well, you’ve got to feed the trolls some variety of ammunition. With my stunning good looks, unquestionably awesome personality and abundant cash lying around the house there really isn’t all that much for them to get me on. And you know what happens to sexist online bullies when they can’t think of anything nasty to say now don’t you? They wither up and die right away.
What with the migrant scandal, the Volkswagen fiasco and the whole Cameronian porcine debacle we absolutely can’t be having anything else go south in this age of woe. So the assembled gods of fair play decided that they had to do a little something or other about my particular situation.
Luckily, they weren’t in the mood to mess about with my home life or work situation. Instead they decided to impart a particular piece of information unto those who consider themselves my enemies. Apparently they have regular get togethers where a lot of wine is imbibed and my shortcomings are discussed in excruciating detail (I don’t actually have any obviously but they have truly excellent imaginations).
So now they know precisely when I’m going to snuff it. That’s all though. They can waggle the proverbial sword of Damocles above my head for as long as they like. It also means they can be as inventive as possible when it comes to taunting me with my mode of death. They’ll start suggesting anything they fancy from shark attack to a disgruntled former colleague plagued with jealousy at my stunning success.
And then the estimated time of death will take on something of a prophecy like status. We’ll get closer and closer to the scheduled moment and I’ll be surprisingly hale and hearty to the point where they’ll contemplate doing me in just so the fates are appeased. At least it’ll give them something to do beyond posting rape threats to strangers for no discernible reason.
The struggle has escalated to the point that even the automotive industry seeks to fight geography. Look at lovely little isolated Britain off there on their magnificent island. They’re no more a part of Europe than a dinghy floating in the middle of the North Sea. Or something. Do forget absolutely and entirely about that resolutely pesky of the EU some several leagues north of us in the form of Iceland. It’s really only where the wildlings are nowadays.
But the cars have spoken. Like the bewitched Ford Anglia in Harry Potter they’ve developed personalities. It turns out that cars don’t care one little bit about where they happen to be manufactured. You can’t exactly blame someone for an accident of birth now can you? What kind of monster would judge anyone and everyone for where they happened to enter the world?
Once cars have developed a feel for the roads they’re on they get monumentally territorial. Especially on this green and verdant isle. I think it almost definitely has a little something or other to do with the whole driving on the left thing. As far as the vehicles are concerned, we set ourselves apart on lanes and motorways so should do the same politically.
I’m not entirely sure about you but I’m somewhat loathe to take my policy decisions from a car. When faced with an important decision the very first thing you may well do is to go to the most important machine in your life and consult with it minutely. If that’s the case then we probably have very slightly different lifestyles. I go to people or the internet first.
The cars may fight. Horns may blare and alarms could wail their little mechanic hearts out. But to little or no avail because they do not as of yet happen to have the vote. Circumstances may change but we’re safe from their isolationist leanings for the time being.
There are issues in this modern day and age that one simply does not talk about. Taboo topics are wide ranging and far reaching. It’s definitely not just about the war anymore. One of these little discussed subjects is that of migration. People are, and have always been, supposed to remain within a ten mile radius of the site of their birth. No matter how many genocidal atrocities are going down or how many attractive people are beckoning to you from the greener side of the boundary fence.
Lobbyists have taken it upon themselves to make sure we’re talking about the correct matters. They’re being paid to make sure that unsavoury portions of conversation never see the light of day. Depending on who it is currently lining their pockets they could well be promoting various titans of industry (I’ve seen Veep therefore I know everything about how this sort of thing works).
So, in spite of the fact that people are getting really rather het up over the fact that strangers are coming over here and drinking our water and daring to breathe our air or whatever, it’s definitely not being talked about to the extent that one might expect. By rights it should be splashed all over the papers and brought into arguments during many a pub visit.
However, it’s only brought up in frightened whispers because the huddled masses are terrified of the wrath of the lobbyists. Quite why they’ve got their knickers in a twist over this particular circumstance we’ll never manage to be entirely sure. What’s rather more certain is that they’ll move onto some other aspect of modern life and do their worst to ensure that no one messes with it. Frankly, I’d love to see what they can do with grammar and the redundant apostrophe’s that people feel compelled to insert rather than disagree with their spell checker.