The Aftermath

After yesterday's massacre in Paris, events are unfolding apace.  There are reports, as I type, of fresh shootings in Paris, and the suspects in yesterday's killings have held up a petrol station in northern France.

After work yesterday evening, I rode to Trafalgar Square in central London to join in a silent memorial gathering in front of the National Gallery.  My initial reaction to the slaughter was one of anger of course, which I suppose is inevitable.  But today my feelings have modulated; I've decided to devote the rest of my life absolutely to satire - its propagation,  dissemination and promotion.  I will use my energies and talents to ensure that measured and merited sarcasm and piss-taking flows from me like shite from a new-born.  I've always been a sarcastic bastard anyway, so it's a bit of a busman's holiday for me.

The bearded, joyless twats who want life to be grey and doctrinaire are beginning to get on my tits.  And when you're a satirist, what do you do with people who annoy you?  That's right, you rip the piss out of them.  I'm not going to waste any more of my time and energy on looking doleful, or getting depressed.  I'm going to to point and laugh.  

You mean to tell me you know god's will, do you?  You, who couldn't right his name in the dirt with a stick?  I find that rather difficult to accept, frankly.  God would surely have chosen a more elegant vessel for his message, I fancy.  Me for example.  So if I'm not getting mentally spammed by the big fella, then I'm damn sure you're not either.

Let's face it, the best place for people like this is restocking the paint aisle in Homebase.  That's where your abilities rightly place you in modern polite society, my friends.  I'm sorry if that doesn't sit well with your misplaced romantic notions of your worth, but life's unfair.  Your psychological and intellectual shortcomings mean you were never going to be leaders of men, only followers.  Self-knowledge is a bitter pill at times, but if there is a purpose to human life (there isn't, by-the-way), a goal to aim for, then perhaps it's that.  Know thyself.