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To the Permanent Secretary, the Ministry of Silly Gawks
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To the Permanent Secretary, the Ministry of Silly Gawks
The Maniae personify madness and insanity. They work closely with social media and with Lyssa, the spirit of frenzy, who allegedly emerged from the blood of Uranus after he was castrated – which is no more improbable than a divine birth. From a distant perspective, it seems wackiness is on the increase, as if brains have already been robotised.
One of the few current problems that can’t be blamed on the Donald is the move in Duckland to encourage toddlers to express their sexual preferences or even transgender if they feel like it – or perhaps if one of the parents has hidden longings to change their own social roles. Strange when youngsters aren’t allowed to work until they’re 16. Not perhaps that it matters. Now that people are banned from touching or smiling at each other without written permission, it’ll be increasingly difficult for romance to flourish except in a virtual world.
There is confusion over the role of women as equality seems to have transmogrified into a belief that men and women are like identical twins. Zeus forbid that men can ever bear children, thanks to some kind of genetical engineering – or that women can fertilise men. There’s even a moral obligation for all women to work, however young their children, in order to man the workforce needed to grow the economy and reduce personal and national debt. Of course, less wealthy women have often needed to work but that was in fields or fine houses nearby, not in Port Louis. At a time when children have a heightened awareness of their rights to do whatever they like, the result is rudderless brats or budding delinquents.
Rights seem to have become sacred texts – immutable. Populism rules so that a leading MP can suggest that proposed measures to save the sugar industry are in favour of the bosses rather than a lifeboat – little less crazy than the Union leader demanding wage increases in a loss-making industry. In France, thousands of jobs would be created if the hefty social charges, imposed on even the smallest business and doubling the costs of employing anyone, were slashed. Mind you, in the civilized world, where such thinking may be illegal by now, a lot of people don’t want to work anyway, immersed in a dependency culture.
In fact, political correctness has gone to such extremes that an idiot, flaunting his incorrectness, has got himself elected by mistake, just as Britons have been fooled into committing mass suicide. Not that they’ve ever liked Brussels, presumably because the climate is even worse than Manchester’s. Safe zones have been installed in academia so that sensibilities are protected and discussion banned. There is intolerance of any views outside the new order, a trend started by LSE and Paris students in the 1960s. Vive la pensée unique! The effective way to counter a speaker is to listen to himher in stony silence, thereafter giving three slow handclaps and stopping.
I’d be delighted if you wore a chiton, but you’d probably be arrested by some Harpies in a Californian backstreet for cultural appropriation. It’s surprising that speaking a foreign language hasn’t yet been banned, although for Brits it’s irrelevant. The tradition has always been that if they shout loud enough in English, foreigners will understand. Anyway, despite all the noise and nonsense polluting the ether, I try to stay calm and hope that my wee whisperings may encourage a little more perspective. Occasionally, however, my hopes are so sorely dashed that my spleen erupts. Once it’s mended, we might take a look at politicos and others whose absurdity makes me think the Maniae, financed by Vladimir, have won.
Yours sincerely,
Epi PHRON
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