At the End of the Day

An optimist laughs to forget; a pessimist forgets to laugh.

As the world continues spiralling down into a sewer of depopulative psychopathy, The Times this morning got straight to the heart of the problem in this quite remarkable investigative triumph:

The story comes from Italy, and will almost certainly be turned into a tragicomic operetta to rival Die Fledermaus before too long. It concerns a couple who lucked into new residents next door – some brothers of a nocturnally boozy nature – and their decision to install an extra loo, the more easily to relieve bladder pressure after a few Birra Peronis.

They put the WC right next to the couple’s bedroom wall, thus condemning their neighbours to a life of very noisy flushing. The case began at local level in 2003, and finally arrived at the Supreme Court nineteen years later. The judges found in favour the older couple’s ‘Human Rights’, and so justice was seen at last to be done.

I am already working on the score of Rumori di toilette e pareti sottili, a modern rap opera for mouth organ, cymbals, steel drums, light metal and West Indian misogynists. The post-overture opening number is a cracker:

If these lyrics (Stage Left) don’t forge a perfect marriage between opera and rap, then I don’t know what will. The question of course remains whether anyone would benefit from such a morganatic splicing…or indeed if anyone anywhere would go to see such a fusion apart from Guardian reviewers in perpetual need of pretentious drivel to inform their dwindling readership.

The Times piece is a reasonably good indicator of what we’re going to get from the MSM now that (a) the deadly global killer narrative has been abandoned (b) there is a serious need for distraction from vaccine deaths and (c) everything not explaining econo-fiscal collapse in terms of ‘the Covid effect’ will be deemed off-message.

Hacks across the World will be forced to find ‘filler’ pieces explaining Global Warming through the medium of plunging temperatures. Or perhaps even noisy WC’s being a symptom of water expanding in volume during the intense heat every time some nutjob pyromaniac sets fire to a rain forest.

We must all keep a sharp eye out for this claptrap; but in the meantime, we shouldn’t lose sight of the huge opportunity here for surreal humour from the 1in8.

I’m hereby declaring myself to be a fully paid-up member of the rural guerrillas writing nonsense prose after the style of the MSM sample-of-one chatterati.

For example, I have this week secured a multiple book deal with Messrs Jarnre & Philmrytes for a series of illustrated educational guides for children aged 7-13. The first in this series has the working title Cyclops the Trouser Snake goes bike-saddle sniffing – a celebration of the perfectly normal odyssey of sexual oddity, with a foreword from Harriet Harman.

My next project will involve taking a leaf out of the Daily Mail’s book and heading all future posts at The Slog with more words than there are in the body copy, as in ‘Boris speaks from under the duvet to DENY lying about Partygate after bald bombshell Cummings claims he WARNED about lockdown rule breach – but dodges saying if he will commit suicide as Rishi Sunak WALKS BACKWARDS OUT of interview when asked if he ‘unequivocally’ backs the PM and collides with pram containing BABY CROCODILE with irritable vowel syndrome on its way to elocution lessons provided FREE by madcap Brent Animal Rights Councillors in depraved interspecies sex horror’.

Distraction in this context is always a winner. As the first seven major banks lose every kind of shirt in the coming bourse collapse, be prepared for front pages like this one:

Everyone in media communications will find their creativity stretched to the limit. So the use of fact-checkers will become more important than ever:

Of course she did. Turning into a baby gorilla is nothing more or less than a very common reaction to stress during a deadly global pandemic – but now this lady has finally gained the certainty of immunity, she’ll soon be back winning beauty contests and telling the compère she wants to join the Peace Corps and then take a year off to fix our democracy. And as for those soccer players who keep falling over, well per-leeeze, they’re just babies rolling around on the floor trying to win a penalty. I mean, what else do you expect?

‘When right-brain anger subsides, the left-brain replaces it with pity. Then the right brain replies with jokes’