I’ll Think Of A Witty Title For This LATER, You Ingrates
(Don’t Push Your Luck, Or It’ll Be [UNPRINTABLE])
Those of you who’ve been here for a while will have gradually become aware of a tongue-in-cheek attitude I hold towards certain places (everywhere) outside central London (so long as the bit of Central London in question is located in the civilised part south of The River … and north of Peckham ¹).
Yeah, that’s it … ‘tongue-in-cheek’ … I don’t mean it or anything. I don’t really think you’re a drooling imbecile living in a backwater (shit)hole-in-the-ground populated exclusively by inbred abominations eking out ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ … their, I mean their … wretched existence as best they can until, mercifully, you are put out of your (and everyone else’s) misery in some way or other (ideally with a nuke, just to be sure).
Honest.
As Aura once observed, there’s more to me than simply being ‘a DJ obsessed with zones’ ⁵ — I just do my best to obscure that fact by keeping it light-hearted ⁶, playing the fool, making myself the butt of the joke.
From environmental issues …by way of homelessness … the cost of living …work and commuting … relationships … communication … demographic issues … communal living …to special needs provision and every subject under the Sun ⁷ … along with the absurdism, you’ll find a number of topics smuggled in with varying degrees of subtle-as-a-brick-in-the-face surreptitiousness.
It allows me to thread a number of different themes together … building, over time, a fleshed out, coherent persona ⁸ … and examine a number of different aspects of (modern) life along the way. If she but knew it, I’ve been writing SouthpawPoet’s much coveted agony-uncle/self-help advice column all along; I mean …
Those of you in Zone 3 could improve your lives by following their example … obtaining all the unwanted newspapers you can from commuters
… and relocating to the streets of the First World.
How much more blatant do I need to make it?
I know, I know and I’m sorry to spoil the illusion after all this time but, even though I do it in such a way as to not scare the horses unnecessarily, I do nevertheless try to elevate things and encourage you to step beyond your (admittedly severe) limitations without intimidating you — it’s not my fault if you’re all such drooling Morlocks that you never pick the ball up and even look at, never mind run with, it and … time and time again … it’s left to me to try and point you in the right direction once more and show you how to kick it.
Another facet of what I do here are the neo-shockjock antics. On Medium, I tone it down vastly compared to past incarnations of my OLP, but I still <ahem> touch on the same topics … such as child abuse, for instance (it’s pedagogically important to anchor things for you by making them relevant to your own lives).
A recent example thereof …
… allowed me to start the process of weaving that strand in as well, but it was really a background discussion with Forrest the Great (discussions with whom have led to a number of previous posts, you just didn’t know it) that resulted in further discussion with Jacky Smith, who provided the material necessary to start cementing the connection more <ahem> concretely — albeit, circuitous, there is now a very definite strand linking bears to children and other wildlife and, hence, to Zone 3.
So, the process of encouraging you all to think about things, maybe learn something along the way and, if at all possible, laugh (humour is a great tool for encouraging long-term learning ⁹) … is slowly, but surely, reaching the next level — you read it here first!.
However, whilst investigating things as I formulated my reply to Jacky, I found myself travelling down the route of exploring the UK’s … specifically England’s … regions.
Now, I realise that the trials and tribulations of living in Zone 3 leave you little time for pursuits more intellectual than grubbing through warzone-like devastation, in search of things that, if not themselves edible, might be exchanged for something resembling, if not actual nutrition then at least sustenance ¹⁰ with other denizens of the wasteland you call home (I’ve played the Fallout games, I know what it’s like) … so, you may not be entirely up to speed but, here in the First World, there’s been a bit of an upset to our daily rhythm that we term Brexit.
It won’t make any difference to your life. Your life … insofar as it might be termed such rather than simply ‘existence’ … will continue to be a wretchedly mind-numbing, spirit-sapping, soul-destroying drudge from cradle (or cardboard box, in your case, if your circumstances are better than average, a ditch if not) to grave (likewise, most probably a hole in the ground, if your remains aren’t eaten by feral cats/rats first) …
But, for those of us accustomed to living in the heart of the civilised Universe (Zones 1 and 2), it’s not un-momentous — a bit like when a Buddhist monk discovers that the termites s/he has been assiduously live-and-let-living all these years have destroyed her/his home from within and s/he is now exposed to the elements for no good reason other than s/he didn’t exterminate them, like the filthy vermin they are, when s/he should have all those years ago ¹¹.
One of the pitiful excuses for a decision made … by the developmentally arrested with neither an education nor any desire for one, xenophobes, outright racists and perpetual-victim snowflakes with an opportunity to put the chip on their shoulder to use for once … for their nation-devastating treachery ¹² was that … unlike Scotland, Wales or Northern Ireland … the English have no representation in government — no parliament of their own.
Remember how I mentioned that they have neither education nor, more significantly, any desire for one …
That’s why the drooling retards can’t figure out that the seat of government in the nation being based in Westminster, in the heart of the capital of England (London), with 533 seats representing English constituencies … compared with 18 for the unduly empowered Northern Ireland, 40 for the overly powerful Wales and 59 for the grossly over-represented Scotland … with supreme governmental fiat over matters such as currency, the military, whether a nation might leave the union or the entire union leave another (such as, say, the EU) … means that the English not only have their own parliament but they are, furthermore, over four times more represented than all the others combined — they really are all but the most retarded nation in the World by a long chalk (only the US is home to more per capita knuckledragging, windowlicking mouthbreathers than England — not even Australia’s as bad!).
Seriously … look at this …
Look at the population figures.
London has an only marginally … not even remotely statistically significantly … smaller population than the entirety of the South East — and that’s the standing population … not including commuters or tourists.
The Midlands (East and West) has a slightly larger population … but look how big it is, how much land it covers — if you gave that much land to London, the population would exceed that of India and China combined!
Not even 2.7 million in the North East — there are more than that in the under-fives reception class in the school at the end of my road!
And of the 533 English MPs in Parliament, those outside London account for 460 — that’s 86% of the English seats … 70% overall of the representation of the four member states of the Union.
And the whining f*cktards think they’re unrepresented!?
And then they wonder why we in London don’t take their whinging seriously.
How much of the nation’s wealth do they generate, by the way?
And what percentage of the nation’s most impoverished live outside places like Tower Hamlets again?
I couldn’t say hand-on-heart that I don’t hate them nor even loathe them but actively despise them. I’ve known, and know, any number of decent people from all over the nation and I’m not about to dismiss people I don’t know simply on the grounds that they’re not Londoners.
But you’d forgive me if I did and were to, wouldn’t you?
You can appreciate that there are times when I look at the entitled arseholes and think “You know what … fuck you, you drooling morons; of what value to the human race are you exactly, you useless eaters? God I hate everyone and everywhere outside London!” — that, some days, my tongue isn’t quite as firmly wedged in my cheek and that my love/hate relationship with you all is teetering dangerously close to the tipping point.
Fear not, you pitiful wretches, today is not such a day — not much of one anyway.
But the moral of the story is that really, you Philistines (especially E. Scott Alighieri ¹³) should be more grateful for what you’ve got — because … basically … I’m fantastic.
—
¹ [Pirate radio has been outlawed, the crew in danger of going to jail if they continue broadcasting]
Quentin: The day has come. Tonight pirate radio dies. From midnight, we are a ghost ship floating without hope on cold and dark waters. You have done almighty work here. Thank you. But your work is done.
The Count: Not mine, sir. I’m an American citizen and I don’t give a hootenanny God damn about your nitpicking limey laws. I intend to broadcast from this ship 24 hours a day until the day I die. And then for a couple days after that.
Gavin Cavanagh: Not wanting to sound rude or anything, but don’t you think that might be an ever so slightly monotonous experience for the listener? What do you say to 12 hours each, noble sir?
Angus: The way I look at it, the world couldn’t survive without my comedy, and who’s going to have the moral backbone to play the Seekers when the mood is right?
Dave: They’ve split up.
Angus: I intend to celebrate the back catalogue.
Dave: I intend to stop you doing so.
Mark: [silently stands up and lights a cigarette]
Simon: As some of you know, my wife left me after 17 hours of marriage, but I survived that because I live for music. And now, with nothing else to live for, I’m willing to die for it as well.
John: I’ve always lived for news and weather. Happy to die for them, too. Especially the weather.
Bob Silver: I’ve got nowhere else to go.
Harold: I have somewhere else to go, but it’s Peckham. So I think I’ll stick around.
— The Boat That Rocked ²
² Watch it. Not only is it possibly the only film ever to mention Peckham but it does so for all the right reasons. Ignore criticisms concerning coherence, length, etc. — the only people who struggled to follow it were those with IQs in single digits …or Americans (and you can’t expect Americans to follow anything with a running time longer than three seconds or that doesn’t consist of “cowboys, doughnuts, homophobia, y’all”) ³.
³ Seriously … for the US market, it had to be retitled Pirate Radio … lest the American public had trouble following a print/trailer synopsis of a movie about a pirate radio station on a boat, broadcasting Rock music, entitled The Boat That Rocked, after learning, from said synopsis/trailer, that it was about a pirate radio station on a boat, broadcasting Rock music — and then, if they went to see it, still did so thinking it was about something else! ⁴
⁴ And people wonder why I think you’re all drooling, halfwit Morlocks!
⁵ [Note to self] She’s on to me — put her name at the top of the list.
⁶ No, really. You’ll know when I’m engaging in dark/black humour instead, trust me — you can’t really mistake it.
⁷ Not the Sun … obviously — Eeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwww…!!!
⁸ You appreciate that … except for when I am … I’m not really here, right … that this is is all in character and, except for when I do, I don’t mean a word of it, yes?
⁹ Compare the laughter that frequently accompanies the Aha! Moment with that accompanying the apprehension/perception of the juxtaposition between elements in (the punchline of) a joke.
¹⁰ I’ve read, for instance, that a dash of MSG can go a long way to making an otherwise bland pebble and twig (one of each in a cauldron of boiling water) soup more palatable — you might want to be adventurous and give it a try.
¹¹ https://house.fandom.com/wiki/Detox
¹² They’re traitorous jingoists, not patriots — subhuman lifeforms just below tapeworm on the evolutionary scale.
¹³ Yes, him.
P.S.
I know that … rather ironically, given that you’re here … reading isn’t really your thing, but try reading the links anyway — they’re there for a reason *sigh*
