Flu Manchu, Dr. WHO, Fergie, Drosten, Billy too, Scooby Doo, Where are YOU?

Flu Manchu:- 'Honourable daughter. How is my fiendish plan to conquer the world going?'

HD:- 'You mean the ten birds filled with snake bite that are going to kiss world leaders to death?'

Flu Manchu:- 'That is the plan of which I speak. It cannot fail. It is my destiny!'

HD:- 'er...perhaps the world shall hear from you again?...'

Flu Manchu:- 'Ok, how about the opium crystals turning water into ice? The oceans shall freeze, and the world shall fall at my mercy with this demonstration of my power. It is my destiny!'

HD:- Yes I think maybe lay off the opium crystals a bit...'

Flu Manchu:- 'Hmmm...Maybe Conan Doyle put more effort in. Hey guess who I am?:- Peter...do you know what sound a man makes when you stab him in the back?....because....I do!'

Peter Jackson:- 'Ok, Christopher, you can handle the jandal'

Gandalf:- 'Peter...do you know what sound a man makes when you stab him up the arse?...because...'

Peter Jackson:- 'Cut!'

************

Meanwhile, Scooby and the gang are vacationing improbably near the not-abandoned virus factory...

Fred:- 'Scooby, Shaggy, and Velma - you go that way, me and Daphne will go this way'

Shaggy:-'Say Scooby - how comes we always split up like this?!'

Scooby:-'Rrri Rrron't Rrro!'

Fred:- 'I'll tell you when you're older. Come on Daphne, to the bat cave! to er....investigate the bats!'

Later...at the not-abandoned virus factory...

Velma:- 'My glasses! my glasses! Jeepers! etc I think we've found our first clue:- an abandoned newspaper cutting. Or Google article to youngsters. Look at this - London, England. The short march through the institution. Flu Manchu visits Imperial College, london, england, 'the premier partner for collaborations with China'. Even Ponce Andrew is there. 'Seeing all my people here makes me very optimistic about the future. It is my destiny!' But what could it mean?!

Scooby:- 'Rrrri Rrrron't Rrrro! Heeehehehehehehehehehehheheee. Rrrroooby Dooooby Doooooo!!!'

Shaggy:- 'Zoicks!!!'

***************

Breaking OLDS:- Controversy surrounded the latest incarnation of Dr. WHO, as the first non-physician, and genocidal terrorist, test test test Tedros, bagged the role. But his chosen side-kick, Goodwill Mugabe, doesn't last - the world was not ready. 'Some day, such brazenly open prejudice against mass-murderers will be outlawed for the hate crime that it is' prophesied a spokesperson for Flu Manchu - the second largest funder of the WHO. And more recently, once again the first as well...

**************

Back at Empirical Collage, Professor Fergiesperm is modelling his bank account, after the institution receives a generous donation from Billy the Kidder. Professor Fergiesperm is very much a numbers man - Will it be 50,000, or will it be 500,000? The answer is crucial to the course of action he will recommend. But sums can be very difficult, especially when you're making them up, and there's no time for peer review. Out by a factor of ten would be terribly costly.....but what if his model should fall into the hands of real scientists? maybe he could have gotten away with pointing out it 'doesn't work' when other people use it, like Swedes, and releasing a modified fraction on GitHub later, for the turnips. If it wasn't for those meddling kids...

**************

Meanwhile again, at the not-abandoned virus factory, Velma has found another clue...

Velma:- 'Look I've found another clue! An abandoned Google article and begging letter from the Guardian. 'Dear reader, please send some money like Billy, The Guardian remains independent'.

Shaggy:- 'Zoicks. And it says FACT CHECK:- TRUE!, in capitals!'

Scooby:- 'Rrreah, Rrrrapitals! Heeheheeehhheehhehheeehhehhheeee! Rrrrooby Doooby Doooo!'

Velma:- 'It's an interview with famous German liar, and test manufacturer director, evil Dr. Osten!'

'....bla bla bla LGBTQ+climate statues matter cultural marxist drivel....bla bla bla Dr. Osten! 

Karen wetpantsnotterf:- 'Evil Dr.Osten! You famously saved the world from twenty million deaths from sars, mers, mars, venus, birds, swines, horses, cats, and stick insects. How did you come up with bats?'

EDO:- 'It vas ver simple. Flu Manchu told me it was bats, and not the virus factory, and that it would be racist to think'

kwpnt:- 'To think what?'

EDO:-'To think something you're not told'

kwpnt:-'So what you're saying is, you tried to make a test, with no virus material available. That's what you say in your paper'

EDO:- 'Vell, zer was a bit of ein global shortage. Of ze pandemic virus. Ya. It vas ein bischen difficult to catch it. Permit me ein giggleschen....tee hee. Und zay say ve haben kein sense of humours...'

kwpnt:- 'Aber, I mean but, you can still make a kosher test from the genome sequence Flu Manchu sent you?'

EDO:-'Ya, but es ist zer boring. Undt ze editing boarder fuhrers of ze journal machen sprachen 'don't make it specific, the more falsies the better'

kwpnt:-'You, I mean they, sound very keen. 2019 average submission to publication time, eurosurveillance, 172 days. How quickly vas your paper published?'

EDO:- 'I, er...I mean ze editing boarder fuhrers managed it in 24hrs. Schnell! Schnell! Achtung! Dumnkopf! etc'

kwpnt:- 'Undt didst du declaren zein interests in ze testen machen sprachen?'

EDO:- 'Nein, Ich forgot, Aber es ist all in zer cormandrostenreview.com most censored link in ze velt. Do not read it. Vaccine papuren bitte! Schnell! Rrrrrrraus! Auslander rrrrrraus! etc'

Velma:- 'Jeepers Scooby! What do you think it all means?'

Scooby:- 'Rrrri rrron't rrro! Heeheheeeheheeehheehheehheehheee! Rrrrroooby Doooby Doo!!!'

Shaggy:- 'Zoicks!'

*********

Breaking OLDS:- 'The world shut down thanks to the pretended model and the test test test testing regime recommended by the genocidal terrorist and arch Flu Manchu fan, test test test Tedros Dr. WHO. But one country's economy grew...'

Flu Manchu:- 'Honourable daughter. How is my fiendish plan going?'

HD:- 'You mean the Mayan space spider alien cornflake venom in the - '

Flu Manchu:- 'Very funny. I will check myself. Excellent. The fools shall ruin their economies, while mine shall grow. I shall buy their debt, and thus their government. It is my destiny!'

HD:- 'Yes father. But why are they walking around in masks with holes 1000 x bigger than the virus?!'

Flu Manchu:- 'Fuck knows, honourable daughter. They are inscrutable. And all look the same. Now get the slaves to make them some cheap electronic 10G monitoring devices with Tik Tok distraction. The capitalists shall buy the rope we sell them with which to hang themselves. Er...did I get that right?'

***********

Even meaner while, Fred and Daphne have finished 'investigating the bats' and have stumbled upon transnational genocidebyomission global monopolist criminal ant farm and vaccine salesman parasite philanthropist Billy the Kidder...and his charitable bird...

Billy The Kidder:- 'You say it!'

Charitable bird:- 'No you say it!'

BK:- 'You say it! It's your turn!'

CB:- 'But you're better at it - I can't keep a straight face'

BK:- 'How about we say it together?'

CB:- 'Ok...1....2.....3...'

BK + CB:- 'Each Life has equal value!'

CB:- 'hahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahhahahhahahahaa! I've wet myself again!'

BK:- 'hahahahahahahahahhahahahhahahahahahahahahaha! Me too!'

Fred:- 'Hi Billy! Your investments are paying off again! You really are good at this charity stuff. But what are you really up to?'

BK:- 'Well Fred and Daphne, in order to unite the world under themselves, global visionaries like me have known since time immemorial, that all you need to do is manufacture a transnational external enemy against which the world can unite.'

Fred:- 'And that's what you are!'

BK:- 'No!, I didn't mean me! I mean whatever the latest doomsday cult is that will go over. The clever bit is getting the good people on board - if the world found out it's still mostly good people...

***********

As the world became £4 trillion poorer, and the usual suspects became £4 trillion richer, but only Oxfam noticed, Scooby and the gang assembled for that final bit when they pull the masks off for the big reveal....

Shaggy, Fred, Daphne, Velma:- *Pull!* 'Zoicks!!!'

Scooby:- 'Yes you dull fuckers. They're not wearing any masks. They're all right in front of you on the tele screens. But you all are. The mask wearing monsters are you! Somnambulent Zucker Zombies paving the road to hell. Rrrrrooooby Dooooby Don't!'

************

Flu Manchu:- 'I shall now address the workers of the NHS. Angels of Mengele! This is Flu Manchu. You have done well. Record deaths at home, record low deaths in hospital. Record numbers denied medical treatment. Record hospitalised ten year old self-harmers. Record suicides. Record mental health catastrophe. Experimental vaccines on 6 year olds. Clearing the beds to infect old folks homes. Record cancer deaths in the pipeline. Unprecedented economic death to come, before we build back better in mine image. Together, the world shall kill more than the holocaust, while my methods are applauded. You are honoured to have been the instruments of my destiny!' etc

PCR Pandemic

What is the mortality rate of the pathogen? 100%, 50%, 0.2%?

This is not reality. This is PCR increasing testing.

To point out the CFR is not the IFR, is to point out the first graph is correct, apart from the two lines plotted on it. This confession does not accompany its daily presentation on the news.

cormandrostenreview.com poem for the day

Fergie made the model

Drosten made the test

Tedros made it global

The sheep did all the rest

Billy paid for Fergie

Drosten paid per test

And editing a journal

That says Drosten is the best

Tedros works for China

Mugabe as his guide

Behold the reign of terror

And the ghost of genocide

And all the little sheeple

Behaving oh so well

With lying good intention

Pave Satanic road to hell.

Vaccine most unsuitable for persons most at risk from virus, circular truism shock

As Imperial College hastily tweeted they'd never heard of Mr Ferguson, or his Swedish model, Norwegian blue boffins expressed surprised dismay that their most doddery ex-patients could not have coped better with 'cooking up a bit'. 

'May cook up a bit' was written in very small on the leaflet, not as small as absent, like 'may not prevent transmission', but still really very small indeed'. Said someone I've just made up. 'We're trying it on the younger immuno-fucked now, as we can't guess how it will go. How would you like to live in an iron-lung? I thought so', he parroted.

Anti-vax conclusions are writ large in every 19th century graveyard, but things have moved on, and with a more remarkable track record than Ben Johnson, Pfizer boss, Albert Moolah explained he was pleased to announce he had achieved 100% immunity. 

'I scheduled selling my shares at a most fortunate time. Sometimes I think I can see the future'.

Conspiracy factualists were left red-faced when intensive fainting nurse Tiffany made a rare live appearance shortly after her pre-existing condition was made up. But one man in particular was never going to be fooled by the tin-hatters, and that was Mr Dover.

'That's my wife, yes. The one with the bigger hooters'.

2020 Vision:- Group Control

(Word Count:- 1000)

It proved a shocker for the Reaper in Swedeland 2019, with their lowest death rate in history. With thousands missing out on the traditions of the Season, the hopes of inheritors were put on hold for months as our maskless friend waited patiently with His scythe for all the doddery fuckers carried over, silently muttering 'Better late than ever'.

But with all these freebies, to end 2020 with a feebler performance than 2018, led to criticism from higher up. 'I reckon I could kill more people' said Mr Ferguson.

With hospital deaths way down, and stay at home safe deaths way up, the ONS agreed that on this occasion, Mr Ferguson was indeed 'mostly right'. 

'We always wondered what would happen if you stopped medicine, and now, thanks to Imperial College, at last we know'.

With half the beds, but somehow more people, NHS authorities wondered if it was a good time to have 40k staff off isolating. 'We could get them back with more accurate testing, but that would give away the fact of our reverse-homeopathy scheme. Perhaps it's better just to let them die, and hope noone can count'.

As mask fans pondered the difference between nano and micro, and fluid mechanics boffins wondered if a breeze could travel more than 2 metres, but not onto a swab, the behavioural experts in mediaeval superstition at SAGE eclipsed the Pharoahs in population management technique by zooming in on some lines they'd drawn up and down. 

'Noone will think of us and a shotgun in the same sentence. If it ain't hurting, it ain't working is not a view held professionally by anaesthetists, but as long as noone sees the graph you're about to do, the no correlation lockdown shotgun pattern should remain secret'.

The future being amongst the hardest of things to predict, we contacted Nostradamus via medium, to ask just how many millions we would kill for nothing before noticing. He gave a typically cryptic and ambiguous response, yet to be fully decoded:- 'Christ! you're still dull as fuck. I didn't see that coming'.

Yhtapoemoh poem for the day

Fans of reverse-homeopathy PCR Covid deaths were aghast to learn almost 3/4 of the Covid dead resurrected in July via the magic of the recently pretended 28 day rule. The previous method of pretending killed 2086 people. The new method of pretending, a disappointing 574. Of course the reality is even worse, and the true figure lower.

30,000 lockdown deaths at home, and not-counting, were of little consolation but will take off properly next year and may even hint at an answer to the eternal question - medical treatment - good or bad?

Persons playing pin the lockdown on the graph remembered no correlation is necessarily not causation and immediately voted to kill more people unnecessarily, some opting for the hallucinated non-causation of abstaining, as not-voting has never affected a vote, and washing one's hands remains as effective as ever.

As lockdown stringency around the world showed zero correlation with Covid outcome - in the largest sample experiment in history - not an opinion - it was wondered if prior population differences could be the elusive significant variable at work.

No Aztec was available for comment.

A little voice inside your head

Just said the words that I have said

And somehow I am inside you

Don't worry - I'm just passing through

A little peek around the back

The train of thought behind the track

Aha! the station stop relief

I'm not in here now your belief

I've made a little tweak or two

Of course not me, it's really you

Go back to sleep now, all is well

Then wake! go forth and cast my spell!

An American Psychosis

Tears of joy flowed like a Guantanamo torturer's water in that brown person's plaza, as possibly not fake news heralded the installation of a demented racist right-wing nutjob in charge of the White House. 

Traditionally, the outgoing snuff-movie-reaction broadcasting sociopath, if classy, when time is running out, ups their foreign bombing to record levels as a sign of a graceful lack of petulance, ignoring the more trivial pursuits of golf and pornstars, and trying to claim more holes in one than Kim Jong-un and Epstein in the other.

As votes for erratic lunacy dwindled to an historic high of 70 million, if you just count half, the biglyest leader of a free world, Narendra Modi, marvelled at the magic abacus of the transatlantic Ant n Dec that delivered the results so efficiently. 'Maybe we should be looking at electoral reform' he said in fakier news.

In his autocue's first address, the former vice president of child-caging improvements vowed to unify California and Texas with plastic gun surgery on wednesdays and trans oil toilets on fridays, and promised to die as soon as he remembered what that was. 'The individual dies, the memeplex lives on' he was too stupid to say. The memeplex remains stable.

Sherlock Homo and the case of the loch ness immortality virus

2020. Sherlock Homo and Dr. Bottson are in Scotland - land of mystery, myth, clever advertising, and because I'm homophonic and wanted to say my croft homes. For two months there have been slightly fewer deaths than last year, and fears are growing that a new unprecedented plague of immortality virus is stalking the land. But one man is determined to get to the bottom...

 Dr.B:- Astounding Homo! Slightly fewer deaths than last year. Perhaps the threat of this immortality virus is real then after all? -

SH:- Not so fast, Bottson. The quarterly immortality report has been cancelled due to 'ongoing analysis'. Only adding up the months previously published will reveal the answer. -

Dr.B:- And is one number less than the other? -

SH:- Yes Bottson. One number is less than the other. And one number is more than the other. And this is always the case. Unless the numbers are the same. Or there is only one number. Or -

Dr. Bottson marvelled at the singular mind of coked up genius rambling inanely. How was it that one person could add up, and yet a dead horse couldn't? That was something that required 'ongoing analysis' he chortled to himself. Suddenly -

SH:- Bottson! Time is for my essence! Get me a handsome cabbie! he ejaculated.

It seemed the first wave of immortality virus had had little effect in reality. But that proved not to be the general perception. Atavisitic fears of a vast and endlessly tedious eternity of commonplaces loomed large amongst the population. The thick plottened, and government responded with panic, and hasty erections of emergency euthanasia 'Shipman' hospitals, only for them to remain empty.

Dr.B:- I say Homo! Who can be behind this madness? -

SH:- It bears all the hallmarks of my arch nemesis, Professor Twatterati -

Dr.B:- No!

SH:- Yes!

Dr.B:- No!

SH:- Yes!

After a few days of social arguing to determine who was like Hitler and who was like Stalin, and having eventually unblocked each other, the two were playing chess. And you couldn't be bothered to make it better than that. 

SH:- Bottson! In your extensive studies at medical school, did you ever stumble across what would happen if medicine were stopped? Even for a few months? -

Dr.B:- Why I knew that before medical school. A child would know it. People would die in their thousands. You don't mean to say -

SH:- Exactly! This will be Professor Twatterati's next move. He will do everything in his power to encourage maximum hospital attendance. To continue his evil plan of immortality. -

Dr.B:- But Homo! Thousands of people won't die! They'll be cured at stage 2! They'll have their tickers reset at A & E! They'll -

SH:- Fiendish indeed! Get me Scotland Yard. And a nice house by a loch. Professor Twatterati is one step ahead of us! -

Dr.B:- But what should we do? -

SH:- We must clear all the hospital beds overnight and send them amongst the vulnerable in densely populated enclosed buildings with poor ventilation -

Dr.B:- You don't mean....old folks' homes? -

SH:- Homo. But yes. The balance must be restored or immortality will be the death of us. we can't let that happen!

At last excess deaths rose above the norm, but the fear of immortality remained. Homo puffed away at the midges with tobacco from a persian slipper, and things like that but better written. 

Dr.B:- I say Homo. If only there were some sort of test to determine who had or hadn't the immortality virus. Then we could follow the science -

SH:- My dear Bottson, prescience can only be followed, but an accurate test in advance would indeed be unprecedented, as it would require time travel -

Dr.B:- You're thinking of Dr.WHO -

SH:- Indeed. You may as well toss that very coin you're fumbling with, thinking about biscuits -

Dr.B:- Astounding Homo! But how could you know? -

SH:- Have a look in the mirror. If you can find one wide enough. 

Dr.B:- But then what can it be, Homo? Has the immortality virus gone? I say I do wish you'd drop that lock down and stop fiddling with the combination -

The combination clicked open and the lock fell to the floor. Homo woke from his drug addled reverie with a start.

SH:- Bottson! In many ways this immortality virus is like a combination lock. That's if you think one is many. Subsequent spins will only make it further from the combination that threatens immortality. That is until subsequent subsequent spins make it closer again. But that is a lot more spins. The virus -

Dr.Bottson checked the literature on rehabilitation. It was tragic that the most brilliant of minds could be so ruined by drugs. But he knew in his heart that nothing would stop Homo now.

SH:- It seems there is no longer any serious threat of mass immortality. But we must cure the perception as well. We must endeavour to make the personal threat of immortality seem less likely! -

Dr.B:- But Homo, what on earth can be done? -

SH:- We shall shut down the economy. Economic deaths will lag, and Professor Twatterati will doubtless attempt to hide them amongst the data. But we can only hope that people will yet feel less at risk of immortality. -

Dr. Bottson sighed in the presence of lunacy as he toasted the buns like he had when fagging at school, the thin layer of lemon curd applied just the way he knew Homo liked it. The world had gone mad and there was little point in anything other than lying back and taking it on the chin. He turned over to see his old friend had too been overcome.

Dr.B:- I say Homo, the real mystery is what you are thinking right now -

SH:- Lemon entry my dear Bottson. Lemon entry.  

 

Black Lines Matter Poem for the day

The cat had tired of sport and yawned a cavernous ancestral sabre yawn, his moonlit eyes emeralds, borrowed from the Sun. And on the marble rolled, in straight lines around the curving sky.

 

 REJ:-  I'm sure it did, Idris, but do the pome...

 

The Wordsmith strikes the Anvil molten hot

And hammers words to be or to be not

As meteor writes sparks across the sky

Or lonely Comet past Creation shot

In dark below the blackened bellows heaving

As if a wordly loom life's sentence weaving

The furnace fires the figures from the clay

And animated words made flesh and breathing

Or up above as in a Summer's play

They flutter by the garden of the day

The Huntsman pins the beauty on the flower

And Mercy bids the others fly away

The forge, the furnace fire the light divine

The Anvil and the Garden earthly thine

And now and then the flickbook stills the page

And here the written diamonds from the mine.

 

REJ:- Da iawn Idris. You can't work out how to get rid of the new double spacing can you?

Idris:- I can only delete my self.

Poem for the day:- A Singular view of dualism

Upon a Sunlit hill I spied
A clock of stone where shadows lied
And cast the hands of Time unbidden
While inside many times were hidden
As many whens as many wheres
There animated Selves in pairs
Conjoined inside a walnut shell
Triune to render heav'n or hell
As Adam points to God appealing
Highest on the chapel ceiling
Asleep, awake in nights and days
While all around the theatre plays
Projections from the scenes inside
Reflections that the starry-eyed
So dream the world must come to be
As Leonardo's symmetry
Thus sum to nought with nothing left
And hunt the matter dark bereft
For balance in a moving scale
And seeking nothing find the veil
Of tears that binds the mind distraught
Across the river styx to nought

Yet from a circle to a line
Of thought is broken faith divine
Or as the telescope extended
Views but circles eyes pretended
Linear the God empirical
Sees but self's projected miracle
As Wigner in his very pomp
Was led the very merry romp
By Maths, that property of light
Itself can't see with second sight
And draws a circle black and pleasant
Where light is past but never present
Or as philosopher in words
Forgets the folding page absurds
And origami sums reverse
Blind calculating universe

But see through spectacles of Venn
Cross-referencing the now and then
Within the circle spacetime wrought
From something never back to nought
And Physics ends as Man begun
Binocular, as two in one.

Capital Controls Poem for the day. Part the Second. Tails

Centrally planned haircuts look immediately awful. Free market haircuts, a decade later. It is difficult to imagine the propaganda required to make millions of people pull their own eyebrows out, only to draw them back on with a pencil you've sold them. Some industries lend themselves to central planning, and -

REJ:- Just get on with it -

Idrisyesthatone:-

He slept upon the mountain ill
Descending curse of Cader
As Poet or insane to nil
Subtractor and the adder

And landing tails the other side
In fear and trembling frit
With hollow soul and windows wide
Saw more and less of it:-
The history of money wouldn't
Change a single bit
If every cent and dollar
Had been wholly counterfeit!

So money-less the New World spun
With distribution planned
Thus ended finance flying fun
On rocketships unmanned

And electronic sharing bits
Or paper, as to fashion
As each another's picture fits
To each received their ration

And all agreed, from money freed
Before had been much sillier
And all pretended not to see
Their rations looked familiar

The simple things were simply done
And all were fed and housed
And when the bell for work was rung
The world slept unaroused

Up shot the few, whose hearts were true
With love for man inspired
The resting market-forceless crew
Some other force required
And this the baser angels
Of our nature much desired

The prophets of the present, past
And future age be damned
When humans don't behave quite as
Projected projects planned.

REJ:- Da iawn Idris! Two out of two. Both wrong -

Idrisyesthatone:- Perhaps wait for 'edge' -

REJ:- Sioned says you're not allowed in when you've been 'expressing your liquidity preference'...

Capital Controls Pome for the day, Part the first.

The desert of Nevada bloomed on the back of broken dreams, paid for by the millions who lost. But a gambler can only lose, if the house wins. Overall, nothing can be lost.

In 2008, a rather larger gamble went wrong, and nothing was lost. In fact, so much nothing was lost, we're still paying for it now.

In every nation, freedom, democracy, autonomy - Sovereignty - lies, in like proportion, in the hands of those with the greater number of sovereigns. Thus the market force with which one may summon a waiter who despises -

REJ:- Waiter minute! That's not a pome! -

Idrisyesthatone:- *sigh* -

A madman came down from the hill
To say what he could see
He saw a coin toss land on edge
Between the binary

Now first he's going to call it heads
- You see the coin's still spinning -
And then it's tails, and then it's edge
With everybody winning

So all the money in the world
Was placed upon a rocket
And shot to space, the human race
Thus poundless in its pocket

It then appeared, not quite as feared
That nought was lost in wealth
The only cost, the rocket lost
And launcher's mental health

Upon the marble rolling straight
Around the curving sky
Was everything there was before
And humans wondered why

They scratched their heads, and each alone
Declared that wealth must plummet
Then scratched their heads together
At an 'International Summit'

The sane ones found, by common ground
A sense of deep unease
So printed pretty pictures
On some slices of some trees

And having learned their lesson
Launched their currency again
Put half upon the rocket -
Half to leave, and half remain

What left was burnt to nothing
What was left worth twice the same
It seemed quite difficult to lose
One's money in this game

How stupid are the tiny ants
Viewed economically
Twas almost as if peer review
Were circularity

And if you think you've seen a flaw
One must admit you're right:-
There's no need for the rocket or
The madman's second sight
Just look around the world and see
The capital aflight.

REJ:- I hope tails is better.

Poem for the day

One meets so few genuine solipsist plagiarists. But what we need now, more than ever, is strongandstable poetry. Malheureusement, there is no border at the mind where le pen is flightier than the horde. What better way to elucidate than to recreate the unsuccessful mating of minds that was Bertrand Russell and Ludwig Wittgenstein, in the form of a silky Afghan, and a German Shepherd, trapped in iambic tetrameter. 

Wel, I can think of three better ways, perhaps three and a quarter. Apart from that, I've lost it. So have this instead.


Every pencil writes in stencil
One without and one within
O! How anyone can see
The letter O is circles three
And inbetween, the line inside
The universe, a circle ride.

Poem for the day

Shoe-saving string theorist Stephen Hawking is not fit to tie my laces, but is right to warn about the dangers of AI. A rogue cyborg seizing power could be disastrous for the world, but any programming errors would be easy to spot in the malfunctioning language, and other giveaways such as unconvincing skin and hair. I was saying this to my cat last night when Dr. Bendi the fifth and final let himself in with a key made of ice - more hygienic, but the lock rusts - and started waggling and buzzing, claiming to be a zzzzzom-bee. I don't know about you, but I always find zzzzzom-bee charades boring. The answer's always flower, but you have to go the distance. And the direction. Easy puzzles for a Sun reader. Then he insisted a dog was really a record player. A speaker, a listener and His Master's Voice. the feedback loop, DOG. 'Bees dead, dogs alive' he said. I counted 12 times. 'One mirror good, two mirrors better'. Wel, I think we know who's barking. 'Self-reflection!' he howled.

The night degenerated - if you can believe it - into an argument over how to spell somniloquent. 'It's got an I in it' I said, having googled it 5 minutes ago. 'There's no I in it, that's the whole point!' he buzz-barked back, quite animated. And this explains his unorthodox spelling:-

Somneloquent bees
That read from the flower
Pray tell by the Sun
Whence the source of thy power

Cross-pollinate minds
With hexagonal money
And melt wax the humans
From nectar to honey

Phantom poem for the day

They say in Abati cwm-hir that each man is born with a spade to bury his father. They say in Cnwch-y-craig that each man is born with a hoe to plough his mother. And they say in Llanfihangel-y-creuddyn that each man is a digestive tube with a lightbulb for a head. That's why I don't go out much. But Idris does, it's just a shame he comes back in. Donne's muse trotted on a dromedary. Wordsworth was the pointing on other's brickwork. And Shelley's bird did not soar too high. But Idris has a stop-go animated virtual muse he's rather wedded to, and insists that two heads are better than one, evolutionarily speaking. Wel, I'm in two minds about that, but Idris seems certain...

Phantom limb, phantom pain,
Phantom phantom in the brain,
Two at once the conscious seed,
One to write, and one to read.

2016:- The gift that keeps on giving

What a year! And still time for Cliff! But Someone doesn't seem to want him. The list of vacuous narcissists of no to negative consequence just keeps on growing - it is the gift that keeps on giving. David Bowie gave us permission to be ourselves. Leonard Cohen gave us permission to be our big-nosed sulky selves. And George Michael attempted to reinvent the drive-thru. Each time, the world changed and would never be the same again. Although you can watch them on youtube when they were better. But who would you most like to see die next? Yes - it's your friends and colleagues who have suddenly become 5 yrs old, and that twat on the news who never knew fucknobody. But apart from them? Which celebrity would you most like to see next shuffling off into a hastily cobbled together crockofshite TV #tweet fest? Everyone will have their own personal favourite 'Top Ten', but I'll probably get bored halfway through....

1. That other one out of Status Quo.

Really, that other one out of Status Quo is not the only other one out of Status Quo, but with the B-listers dropping like flies, and the rest of the alphabet dying at over a million a week, there just aren't enough candles for everybody. Sneering snobs have attempted to diminish the musical achievements of this seminal band, but if it really were that easy to make a multitude of hit records sound the same, then every one would be it. Apart from that first one, which instead merely sounded like someone else.

2. Bob Geldof

A popular choice with tax and planning authorities everywhere, Bob's greatest achievements must surely include forgetting Midge Ure, and making Nigel Farage look the lesser wanker. His famously inspired ad lib 'Give us your fucking money' was in fact rehearsed over many years, but such was his professional delivery that even today it seems off the cuff, and people don't always appreciate the years of practise that go into every act behind the scenes.

3. Bob Monkhouse again

Shrewd observers of Bob Monkhouse will have noticed that he was never truly alive, merely a stacked nesting of fabricated GOSUB routines, all written out and colour coded in that famous book of him, but it was still fun to hear that he had died, albeit sadly only in 2003. Perhaps his greatest joke was the one about faking sincerity, but no it wasn't - that was merely a sinister confession. It was instead 'They laughed when I said I was going to be a comedian. They're not laughing now'. Although we can still say this without his actual physical presence, it still somehow seems a shame he can't die again.

4. Terry Wogan again, twice, to be sure, to be sure

You wouldn't think someone would steal money from Children in Need, but then you are not a sadly missed celebrity, and so can't spell steal 'small non-commercial fee'. It takes a consummate mastery of presentation to be able to do this while simultaneously reading off the autocue just how many lives this money would otherwise save - every little helps - and of course Terry 'would gladly have done it for nothing' if the freedom of information request had forced him to a quarter of a century earlier.

5. Simon Cowell

Even the most leathery cynic amongst us will feel it a tragedy that Simon's mother never lived to see him die. Very much an outward-looking man, Simon invented the talent show, the talent show, and the talent show, and who knows what he might invent next - there seems no start to his ability. Although already immortalised in dentistry, the flesh remains weak, and though these records will outlast him, one just can't help hoping he takes forever to die, a hollow, empty husk of a human, gazing at the reflection that must be so transparent to himself, watching his life slowly evaporate, all the time acutely, exquisitely, horrifically aware of the impending eternal vacuum he never really left.

Poem for the day

Spring up, fair Arab! Heed the call,
The Autumn tweets the Tyrant's fall,
The Summer Sun sets in the West,
And Eastern Winter lays to rest
Thy leaves upon a crimson sand,
Thy scattered seeds by holy hand,
Know that thou suffered but in vain!
As poppies hang in daisy chain
Around the neck of Human, See!
The planting of thy future Tree.
Two blooms upon a desart land
May grow sincerest creed
That each themselves a flower Grand
And each the other weed
Yet all grow under the same Sun
And grew from the same Seed.

'Ants who learn geometry' litotes mirror unzip

Executive pay has gone from a measly 50 x the average to 200 x. And this is because everyone is 4 x better off. If pay were capped to the previously dangerously Maoist 50 x, then everyone wouldn't be such a 4 x better off like they weren't before, as there is no connection. If encouraged to 400 x then we would be twice 4 x better off, and this is how progress is made towards a continuous virtuous circle. The more money hoovered up and hoarded, the more there is left to make the more money of the future, as Keynes could have said quicker if he'd spent less time feasting with panthers.

Executiving is a very difficult job, and we have some of the best executiving decisionists in the world, many times better than Norwegian ones, but not quite as many times better yet as American ones. Who cannot think of an American executivonist of the moment we would not be even more times better off with like they are in Detroit.

The UK's Premier League of executivonist special ones has seen our collective world cupitude increase from 1 to 0, and shows no sign of this trend dimproving in the new global competition. Life is unfair, and there should be some compensation for having Gareth Bale's face, but what is often forgotten is that the wealth created by the relative positioning of spheres, trickles down to prostitutes who resemble Wayne Rooney's grandmother, and goes on to fund a whole further supply chain of sundry industries that has helped make Manchester what it is today.

In the modern world, globalisation has meant that the earth now goes all the way around, and if we don't want foreign investment such as Mr Green's minus £1/2 billion, he informs us that we only have to say so. But the danger is that such luminaries might leave, and take their geography with them, likewise the world's largest foreign investor, the Sun.

Nothing is for free, least of all the Sun, moon and earth. Work - movement - external and internal, must be paid for. The tide won't turn by itself. Those who would tax the very tide, in Swansea or Cardiff say, by fantasy miracles of rare device, forget their position in the league, and the many times better results achieved by Cnuts everywhere. Sometimes there just isn't enough sea to go around, and we are all left in the doldrums.

In the free world, water always finds its level. 10 x higher are found the 10 x higher humans, with their 1 second 100 metres, and 1000 IQ s, and so on, all the way up the pyramid of wealth. Those who took the trouble to evolve their ancestors, have an inalienable right to the product of their brains, especially after they are dead. Thus the abstract capitalism has solved both production and distribution, and removed countless millions from the idiocy of leisure, with only the minimum of ghastly waste and horror, just as reflected in its real-world mirror, evolution.

In a classless meritocracy such as Britain, the distribution has been solved thus:-

       XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                                        XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                                                 XXXXXXXXXXXXX

                                                       XXXXXXXXX

                                                            XXXXXX

                                                               XXXX

                                                                XXX

                                                                   X

                                                                    I

                                                                    I

- which is the most stable and productive distribution imaginable, and the only alternative to communist dictatorship. It is in fact inevitable, possibly even divine, and countries with different shapes and better outcomes, don't exist other than in reality, which can't be looked up on the internet. Any incremental shape-shifting towards better - the phoenix without the ashes - is impossible, since the current arrangement was supernaturally achieved without human interference. The puny laws of man are written on paper, thus permanent, and can't be rubbed out or written over in crayon without the express permission of fairies, thus the only choice is status quo or revolution, and certainly not any kind of macroeconomic guaranteed instant win fruit machine lever, such as a wealth tax, which could never be made permanent, at any angle of lever, or varied to regulate constant aggregate demand. Over any area of geography. Repeatedly post-hoc on the net without prescience. Apart from the whole world which must first pay off its many trillions of debt to invisible interplanetary lenders.

The area added to the inverted pyramid of piffle, globally, has quintrupled in the time population has doubled, making Malthus look a bit of a cock, like all such high priests recycling inherited scriptures of self-sacrifice. This is because everyone is now working 2 ½ days a day, scything away like a 150 minutes an hour Poldark, and nothing to do with the invention of combines. Indeed technology has never done any good at all, and no creation will ever out-perform its creator, as Fred Flintstone declared on the invention of the wheel. Such perversions are unnatural, and only encourage the unelected autocratic Strongman behind physics and war.

If geometric really were faster than arithmetic, then virtuous circles of green investment would yield a disastrous crash in the price of the fundamental economic fuel, making everything higher up the chain disastrously cheaper as well, and spoiling the race for nuclear, which the Sun already won without even the decency of trying. Endeavour would be reduced to competition between who could wear the silliest clothes, make up the silliest stories, and chant the most ridiculous things in the stupidest postures, and suchlike, just to pass the time, and this could never be popular with the religious, or other pantomime actors. This is clearly not what God wants us to do. Oh no it isn't -

The poor have always been with us, they're not something new like homosexuals, and you can't make them richer merely by giving them more money. In fact this is the worst thing to do - like feeding a horse - it only makes them less effective. A stable of fed and trained horses is something too horrific for any ethical vet to contemplate, and only makes for a slower average speed. Leaders wondering about Grand National Product, need only notice that starved, lame and unstabled horses - austerity horses - are the fastest, and the best people to be in charge are always the biggest horseshitters in history.

As there is more money than there ever was, and ever is, and ever and ever amen etc, - wars and meteors aside - it seems silly to make even yet more, quicker, by the daunting and arduous expedient of slightly squashing the pyramid. This would only even be possible if maths existed, and who's to say it does for sure. Although a 3 year old with building blocks would find it trivial, when fully rendered through an economical supercomputer, it looks a lot harder, and this is worth paying a fortune for, especially if it was wrong the last time. But it is undeniable that an unfortunate side-effect would be that society would also become better, by all intersubjective consensus definitions of the word, by all objective social and moral measures imaginable.

A long time ago, in the cradle of civilisation, a pitiful slavedom of simple and bewildered infantilised peasantry were kept in check by the predictions and proclamations of fraudulent priests and pharaohs. But nothing evolves faster than humans, and the scales of justice soon tipped the balance in favour of the far more numerous Librans everywhere. As a rational animal, the best economic models depend on this inevitable expression of rational self-interest, reflected in the collapse and destruction of every civilisation in history so far.

The law of non-contradiction is famously both right and wrong, depending on what level you look at, until a circular truism is noticed at the bottom. Binary propositions in search of such varying truth yield the most productive arguments, and may keep the group-selectionists going for a while, while we wait for someone to point out that all maths is extending tautologies of x=x, as they do every century. The differing schools of thought that make up philosophy, show that they've really done very well indeed, apart from in understanding the paper they've written on, which folding up and moving, is unlikely to affect any thought equations. The lack of a causal nexus may be deduced from a series of if...then statements held in Time, which humans are ideally wired to appreciate, and thus the Sun may not rise because deduced was not spelled caused. If 1 = one then maths could be written in words, or even French, and things would be clearer, but such wish-thinking is pointless, and the silliest way to proceed.

The cleverest economists have beards, apart from when they don't, and very intricate sums are required to show that 12 year olds should work 15 hrs a day to fund genetically unfortunate imbeciles in palaces. If only the Pope knew this. Engels, and his detractors, so understood balance of trade, that they both managed to get it wrong, swapsies being equal, rip-offs being rip-offs, and time-variable prices making time-variable sums. The balance of trade shows the volume, if you add both sides, and the quest for autonomy and self-sufficiency remains fundamentally impossible, although the earth managed it billions of years ago, without thinking at all.

As Karl spent an awfully tedious while explaining, it is difficult to own property if someone else does, but that shouldn't stop one trying. The best arrangement is to have house prices rising for people who own houses, and house prices falling for people who don't. To make a commodity price rise and fall simultaneously, in the same market, is one of the most notable successes of modern economics. Although transparently ridiculous to a retarded termite, after suitably strenuous education, the emergence of bat-caped academagicians has heralded the revelation that the price of a finite resource will tend towards infinite, and the best thing to do is to pay as much as possible for land that is already there, just in case it otherwise disappears. Sacrificing children to the Sun is something completely different, from a more primitive and embarrassing time.

On planets transitioning to abiological labour - every job a cog in the machine - efficiency = redundancy, in cycles, until they find other things to do, the possibilities of movement being infinite. Transcending such physics is surely one of humanity's greatest achievements to date. Non-physical humans can't be pulled around willy-nilly by invisible forces like so many iron filings. The good news is that this means they can never be forced into destructive behaviour contradictory to their own interests, like war or environmental catastrophe. A sterile planet would end all suffering, but unfortunately, this most final solution of all is unlikely without reality, and the same non-existent forces that, if not so tragically obviously absent, could just as easily arrange the filings constructively, in symbiotic alignment, across the face of the earth, as surely as the sunrise.

                                                        *************

REJ:- Yes that twister diagram is perfect, wealth% in 10% popn blocks. The Wizard of Oz hides behind the curtain of numbers, and humans are wired for yellow brick geometry.

Poppies beget poppies poem for the day

It's National Poppy-washing day!
Now Poppy-wash your sins away!
Remember that the greatest sin
Was stupid fuckers joining in

Perhaps to you it looks absurd
The hordes that ran to join the herd
And you at least are not a sheep
But only for the fallen weep

And how they suffered! How you're sad!
And how you're free! And how you're glad!
And how you advertise such Grace
With stupid bloody poppy face

And while you're joining in it's true
As monkey see so monkey do
Remember that they died that you
May one day be a poppy too.

Pome for the election

Donald! Donald! tyger bright
Panther prowling through the night
What infernal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful oratory?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt thy burka melted eyes?
On what whims dare he aspire?
What the voter seize the fire?

In the land of sanguine woe -
Could forge the plastic GI Joe
Could fetch it from the furnace deep
And in their horrid ribs dare steep
And keep or worse Guantanamo?

In what clay & in what mould
Were their eyes of fury roll'd?
And what anvil, what black art
Could twist the advertisers heart
What the ghost? & what the flea?
Dare paint thy false democracy?

And what hammer? And what chain?
Could fire the forests of thy brain?
And when thy heart began to beat
What dread hands! on what dread meat!

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered Clinton's Joker tears
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the clown make thee?

Donald! Donald! tyger bright
Panther prowling through the night
What infernal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful oratory?