The idea of a thousand assorted virus, climate change and weather “modellers” at the bottom of the ocean is indeed cheering. The cheering would be audible from Washington via Brussels to Beijing, such that the next day – almost certainly – a thousand journalists specialising in social commentary would declare it The Global Spring….such that, by nightfall, they too would be 500 fathoms beneath the waves. And deservedly so.
“In your dreams,” we are wont to say, but it’s the sort of dream I, as it were, dream about: there is also a special place on the ocean bed for lawyers, those upstandingly learned gentlefolk who argue that trees cause accidents (rather than the inebriated cyclists who collide with them) and consumers must be warned that their jam doesn’t contain nuts, but might do. And the corporate accountants who, each and every year, invent new column-titles in the Annual Report – Sundry miscellaneous costs, Unfunded emoluments, Additional reversionary assets and Not worth reading, honest – the better to disguise rising debts and falling margins.
The bureaucrats who insist that, although an agreement has been signed, it has yet to be ratified – for then and only then then can it be consigned to history and ignored by the populace. The senior politicians who create a disagreement/an impasse/a social problem/an unjustified fear, and then spend their declining years working hard for vast fees to advise on how to reverse conflicts, obstacles, binge drinking and coviphobia. Angela Merkel, Tony Blair, David Cameron and Matt Hancock, you know who you are. So do we, and therefore, the ocean bed beckons.
Basically, what we’re looking at here is a watery grave for everyone incautious enough to refer to their chosen metier as a profession. Doctors who insist in 1983 that magnesium causes dementia, but then decide in 1997 that it holds the key to a healthy cortex. Police who stand proudly by a poster that announces It is an offence to give offence, and then bend the knee to cavorting transsexuals at the Notting Hill Carnival. Direct marketing sociopaths who talk a good game on ethics, but then hardsell half-baked vaccines by terrifying the gullible. Educationalists who lecture us on personal freedom, and then deny access to a University student who is wise enough to reject the promises of Messrs Pfizer and Fauci. Their loveliness goes on and on….but we shall all benefit from their descent into the icy depths.
Needless to say, investment bankers and ‘market-makers’ deserve an ocean all to themselves, so great is their obsessive desire to have more and more and then even more still. There is no known correlation between bank failure and Armageddon, but we can rely on Lloyd Bankfine, Jamie Dimebum et al to insist that such will be the fate of Earth unless the Fed gives them more liquidity by teatime. Given they demand permanent bailing out, I see no reason why, from here on, they shouldn’t learn the futility of baling out, once concrete filler has been added to their wellies. Then – as they descend at top speed towards Davey Jones’ Locker – they can experience for themselves the joy of trickle-down wealth.
Dental practitioners….now there’s an increasingly ethics-free zone. The arrival of dental implants has presented the sort of moral hazard that keeps Beelzebub working every hour that….I was going to write ‘God sends’, but it’s not an entirely appropriate blasphemy. Rising to the challenge, tooth-pulling door slammers are now adept at explaining gently that at least half of your mouth has gum disease and catastrophic enamel depletion. Only extraction on an industrial scale and £23,000 of post-tax money (they insist) can solve the problem. Not mentioned in the doom-laden prediction, however, is the observation that several types of structural bone weakness in the facial gob will guarantee failure. That, and months of perpetual pain acompanied by bowls of thin soup.
Even before implants, I had my doubts about these jumped-up barbers. Take Xrays, for instance: dentists take lots of Xrays (it adds to the illusion of expertise) but have you ever noticed how – once they’ve assured you of the safety of the procedure – they retreat to a secluded spot five miles away from the surgery before pressing the button? I don’t find it inspires confidence on the whole – any more than their loudly expressed horror on the first visit as they ask, “Who in God’s name did that filling, dear oh dear oh dear”: It’s not what you’d call professional, on the whole. I feel certain they’d have more fun (and do far less harm) extracting the molars of caelocanths.
Over the last twenty months, the more enlightened among us have come to realise that “science” is not quite as settled as self-styled experts would have a person believe. The perversion and definition of “science” presents a moving target these days, and the first casualty is certainty. Techie science is the beast made flesh in that context of serial dissembling, and the Internet Service Providers (ISPs) are its ever-enthusiastic hobgoblins.
‘Free’ online means ‘Until you want the download to do something useful’. ‘Chinese Walls’ means ‘We partner with the IRS, GCHQ and Davos’. The translation of ‘encrypted’ is, roughly, ‘Depending on who asks’, and don’t go there with ‘Fake News Fact Check’, which is merely an alternative way of saying, ‘We accept fat cheques for faking news and censoring Truth’. Social media are anti-social media, Artificial Intelligence is in reality prosthetic intelligence, and ‘Do no evil’ as a strapline omits the words ‘until nobody’s looking’.
Just this morning, Microsoft has told me a mere seven times that Wunnerful Windows 11 is now ready for use. Only three years ago, the Gatesenstein Monster told us that Windows10 was the final objective…or straw, depending on whether or not you use it as your OS. Remember that? Well, they lied.
Now, one of the problems with this analysis is that, by the time a cynical empiricist like me has finished dumping the Double Standards brigade into various Atlantic, Pacific and Sargasso waters, we’re going to get Sky, Carrie Johnson, Greenpeace and all the other Little Eco-Peeps calling me out as the world’s most infamous oceanic polluter.
That said, we can’t trust them either. Sky is not a philanthropic broadcaster, merely a Murdoch abortion working to change its entirely deserved pariah status. Carrie on Plotting is not so much an ecologist, more a scheming wife, and Greenpeace is about as peaceful as a quadrophonic pneumatic drill convention. Fact is, the reprobates I deconstruct will rapidly biodegrade – having already provided much needed food for, if not thought, then at least the odd desperate deep-sea carnivore.
There again, can you even trust The Slog? Last week, I predicted that the English soccer team would be trounced by the Germans; yesterday evening, we proceeded to eliminate them while barely raising a sweat.
But before I don my millstone and join the cast of millions providing food for undiscovered species, I nevertheless feel it my duty to (at long last) get to the Serious Bit.
Bottom line: we can no longer trust the professions.
It’s impossible to overestimate just how great a social disaster that reality represents. There are few television or movie genres more popular among the goggling masses than drama series involving cops, hospitals, courtrooms, spies and scifi/techno futures. To discover that – spin by spin – these former heroes are incorrigibly corrupt, sociopathic and close to moral antimatter is a horse-pill too huge to swallow.
Most people therefore choose not to ingest the painful medication.
The problem becomes a cultural crisis when mentally ill depravity is in play at a geopolitical level. For untrustworthy role-models breed mass denial alongside successful deception.
The drug Midazolam – see yesterday’s Slogpost – is a case in point. Our departed Health Secretary has left a very disturbing timeline behind him. The dumping of NHS patients into care homes probably matches a first-wave “Covid19 blip” of 30,000 additional deaths; in turn, the purchase of vast quantities of Midazolam from April can be correlated with 40,000 hospital entry deaths…and now in 2021 the police investigation of 50,000 UK deaths from Midazolam misuse in general.
We are once more in the surreal land of Thinking sleuths in pursuit of the Unthinkable.