, , Comment closed

8 Flares Twitter 0 Facebook 8 8 Flares ×
Print pagePDF pageEmail page

Don’t Mention the Chocolate War. I was Mention It Once, But I Think I am Get Away with It.

Unless you have been living in a yurt (which is a tent containing pro-biotics), you will have by now have heard of the assortment of people, made homeless by predatory borrowing, who are making themselves at home on the various streets of the Western world, in imitation of the homeless Arabs in the Israel/Illuminati-inspired Arab Spring Surprise, which, coincidentally, was take place last spring. These actions are being called occupations, which is ironic because all these people involved do not have occupations, being generally unkempt, hairy, unable to get out of bed on time, having a bad attitude, talking back to their boss, probably Humanities graduates types of people. Of course, these are always the first types to get hit when a recession takes place; it is a myth that the poor take the big brunt of economic crisises, and the reason is because they are always poor, and therefore they have inbuilt stalwart coping mechanisms already in place to deal with their powerlessness and poverty, such as alcohol, bingo, cigarettes, and church. They do not have any espectations whether the economy is shit hot, or just shit, of any improvement in their lot, whereas during a boom time even Philosophy graduates can find work of some description, even if it is just in the fashion industry, where their feeble bodies are regarded as ideal and their feeble minds regarded as genius.

Now, as you are well know, I am by no means a fan of modernism, modernisty or modernart, but one of the top best things that modernisty ever produced was something called the public square, an idea nicked from the ancient Greeks and ancient Romans, who also invented modernisty. The public square is a place, or a Place, usually in the middle of the city, where can be concentrated all the ne’er-do-wells, the moaning Minis, the carpers, the pikeys, the breamers, and every, Tom, Dick, Harry, Sam n’ Ella, thereby keeping them out of the way of hard-working decent ordinary apolitical and non-political people, the so-called backbone or cervix of society, who can therefore get on with their lives of quiet desperation undisturbed by rabble-carousing hordes. In Germany, always ahead of the herd, they went one better: Rather than a Public Square, they have instead the Public Sphere, invented by the Frankfurt School of Design and named after the famous and brilliant Nazi architect Sir Albert Sphere. This not only concentrates the city’s malcontents, it is also sound-proof, so nobody can hear them scream. In Morocco, on the other hand, rather than a sphere, they have the ram’s bladder cup, which contains all the piss and vinegar but is open to the sky, where their Gods live.

These present-day malingering occupants, however, either have not realize that they are meant to use the public square, or else they cannot read a map. Or also, a further possibility is that they are like the zombies in the Evil Deadmovies returning to the shopping mall, but instead of the shopping mall they are returning to the places where they use to work or where their money use to be, namely, banks, offshore covens, golf courses, the pockets of short-armed bondtraders and cetera. They are milling about aimlessly, not knowing at all where they are going or what they are moaning about, also like zombies. This, incidentally, is what happens when you have a leaderless movement. In the old days, when there was things like useful trades unions, well-disciplined communist parties, reliable propaganda mechanisms, the idiot proletariat could be relied upon to march properly, all in a line behind their smarter but still idiot leaders, through the weekend streets when the offices are all shut, and all the way to the public square, where they was then entertained by tedious speeches from the platform, vacuous polemical haranguing, and Bono. Then they would go home and try to spot themselves on the news. When the cold war was ending, however, and capitalism no longer had any use of the useful idiots leading the useless idiots up a back alley to nowhere, then the unions and communist parties was all put into cold war storage, like the delivery boy inFuturama, only perhaps to be brought out again in a time of crisis when it looks like the peoples are starting to get ideas above their station. Or even next to their station.

Thus, no doubt soon you will probly hear soon some business leaders or pretend potential self-appointed communist leaders lamenting the lack of organization of the #Occupy movements, describing them as “in choate” (which is a kind of wide penis with no head), or “udderless,” or “lacking discernible goals” (like Sporting Gijon). What they are really mean is that there is a ferment of new ideas that therefore could be dangerous and must be curtailed, or at least curtopped. After all, nobody has any idea where a march that goes nowhere might end up. If these peoples weren’t too feckless to emigrate we could at least lure them onto a ferry with the promise of jobs in Australia and transport them there. We would never hear of them ever again! But while they are there, in the midst of ordinary, heads-down, knees-back God-fearing punters, fermenting theories without limitations and trying out new processes, such as democracy-never a positive development-they constitute a threat to our docile, passive, obedient way of life. They must be stomped on by square-headed baton-wielding riot police, preferably from up the country, before any new ideas seep out into the public body at large, like a ball of ideological pus.

The one advantage of having these malodorous obnoxities stay in one place for the time being is that the virus which they represent cannot spread. What is more, it will be actually possible to sow a virus amongst them themselves. Not an ideological one. A proper one. I am not wanting to imagine for one moment what the sanitary conditions must be like on Wall Street, for instance, but it will only be a matter of time before the first spores of anthrax ripple through the throng; there must still be some of them left over from the biological research programs carried out by those involved in Farm Warfare (the CIA training facility, not the band from Liverpool). I have already been told that there is a cockroach cluster assembling in Battery Park which has been trained to sneak into protestors’ sleeping bags and deposit there a cough and cholera strain (possibly I misheard and it is a “cuff and collar” strain, equally deadly to these workshy recalcitrants. Or perhaps I am confusing it with the Tie Flu.

You would naturally espect that countries like Italy and Spain, with their soft-centred atheist anarchist cosmopolitan populations, would soon fall for this sort of protesting. So far, Paris, home to the crunchy Frog, has not surrendered, but it is only a matter of time. Saddest of all is the news that even in Holy Pissing Ireland they have a couple of #Occupy sites. This is the sort of thing you can see and hear if you go to the one in Dublin. Is a big disgrace! I am mortified. I think.

In fact, you know what? I think you should go down there right NOW if you are in Ireland and tell them what you think. And tell them Manuel sent you!

The following two tabs change content below.

Latest posts by Manuel Estimulo (see all)