You might say they are all unrelated stories. Not a bit of it. They are products of the same narrative and corrosive lunacy virus. Go anywhere—peer inside any institution—and you will discover the soft left has visited before you, has ensured where once there were standards, discipline, and rigor there is now only a fetid heap of inertia, vested interest, right-on jargon, and corporatist bullshit.
Do not be mistaken and think the police are there to fight crime. The average Metropolitan police officer in London spends only 14% of his time actually walking the beat; a mere 11% of British police officers are available at any moment to respond to an emergency. The rest of their time appears to be spent filling out forms, sitting on their backsides drinking coffee, claiming overtime, taking remedial reading classes, and attending diversity seminars. Small wonder they encountered difficulties in controlling the streets during the riots.
Or try the education sector, where decades of liberal-left attitudes have rendered pupils unable to read or write and stripped the academic system of any meaning. The brightest sink to the bottom without a trace while the feral and the stupid are taught to finger-paint and procreate. Many state schools have become little more than holding pens for delinquents until semester ends and they can go out to make a living wage through knife crime and dealing crack. We call it the three Rs over here—rape, racketeering, and robbery. Teachers—like the police—have mutated into a branch of the social services, attempting to contain or clear up the human droppings excreted by the welfare system. It is hard to teach when your classroom is a war zone and you are trying to avoid being stabbed by a minor (or its parent). A school inspector recently told me how he had entered a classroom and found a girl straddling a boy’s lap. The two engaged in heavy petting while their teacher sat mute and intimidated in the corner. Maybe the only surprise is the adult wasn’t masturbating. The joys of progressive education.
And while we pump hundreds of thousands of undisciplined and unemployable young out onto the streets, their parents are being cosseted and kept alive by the crumbling National Health Service. A hundred billion pounds a year is spent, the institution is the world’s seventh largest employer, and still you are as likely to die from a secondary infection as you were in those Victorian-era medical hellholes. Squalor, waste, mismanagement, and propping up those who will not take responsibility for themselves—it could almost be a metaphor for socialism.
Come to Britain, be useless, and fail to master the English tongue. If you could be bothered, find yourself a forgettable job in some far-flung state outpost (maybe in equality or diversity or parking or counting paper clips). You can then be assured that me and other taxpayers will be obliged to support your fat and lazy ass and pay your full government pension when you decide on early retirement. Small wonder my entire philosophy is now summarized in a simple rhyme:
Fuck ’em all/
both short and tall.
There was an old lady who lived in a shoe/
and she can go fuck herself, too.
Given that we have been bankrupted by liberal-left profligacy and gimme rights, by welfare statism and big government, by corrupt and inane projects such as the European Union and its devil child the euro, perhaps the left-wing experiment will eventually flounder and die like Rudi Dutschke. He drowned in his bath from a seizure caused by the bullet lodged in his head (courtesy of a previous assassination attempt). Then again, one can rarely keep a shit idea from resurfacing.
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