Reasons To Be Cheerful Part 3

Ian Dury, bless ‘is yellow socks, would have been way more cogent than this scribe when it came to blasting the powers that be and celebrating people’s magnificence but hey I have been brought low with the shenanigans of all the power brokers, psychopaths and self centred criminal elite who give not one nano f*** for the people.

As Eric Idle famously penned – Always look on the bright side of life.

Great advice yet looking around at what is thrown at us in the bread and circus crowd it can be hard identifying. Yet look closer and you can just about spy that thin ray of hope shining through. In the form of the bloody ridiculous you might catch the rantings of Mike Pompeo blowing up his hubris into balls rounded enough to be played at the Super Bowl, itself a disgraceful display of lies and max distraction. These clowns Bolton and Pompeo are archetypical idiots from the Alphabet shop whose utterances broadcast onto a world stage almost daily bring their ridiculous vacuum into view and earshot.

I am of the persuasion in believing much of the earthquake and destabilising weather is a direct result of these buffoons making the sane world laugh uproariously at their utterances and sheer folly. For those who still believe their words as gospel truth and justice, it is merely a short while before these sad delusionals fall into the bottomless holes of their own making.

Across the increasingly expanding ‘pond’ dividing these states from their masters in the City of London we are delivered a wretched scenario of so many shooting each other in the head, feet and orifices, otherwise named Brexit. The spectacle of watching so called humanoid beings spouting off the utterly unbelievable in the vain hope others will believe, set against virulently despairing on the opposite benches planting fear and despair into the lukewarm cuppas of the general hoi polloi is surely a sight for sore eyes.

As teeth are pulled, arms wrenched from sockets and facial smirks scratched into unrecognisable disfigurement, the laborious slow progress of a groundhog machine lumbers into the dark recesses of ancient times pre-Common Market. As time has moved on from these wretched years, we the British do the celebratory nostalgic recall bemoaning better days and less impoverished times. What we always gloss over on these faulty trips down memory loss lane is how bloody awful it was in reality then.

Yet the bright side was, we never had handhelds of any present day comparative size. We had no social media to throw slag around and across the globe in nano seconds. We either had the fist of the insulted in our face as it seared over the remnants of our pint or we were presented a miserable wet blanket admitting they were cowardly, weak and prepared to buy us the next round if we refrained from beating them shitless. In higher orders of the class system gloves may have been thrown down but more likely disdain would have been lacerated across the port and cheese as suitable put down.

Liam Neeson admits 40 years on he had wandered round looking for someone to clout. That that someone happened to fit the description of the perpetrator is  manically not contextualised decades down the line. That would never hold up against the lunatic politically correct culture spreading its fascist face through every orifice of contrived offence. Any excusable gut reaction for an unregulated young male avenger of wrongs committed is wiped clean from any argument or kangaroo judgement. Time in its reinterpretation is used today to conflate years into seconds and allow guilt to be retrospectively assigned ad infinitum.

The imprecation to ‘forgive and forget’ has been turned on its head. We are now asked to collate any piece of experiential growth process making it legal and absolute witness evidence pinned on anyone’s coat in place of the yellow ribbon, Star of David or black spot. In an age when pre-crime arrest becomes the new legal, all history becomes the evidence base of anyone foolish to live in the present day. The sins of the multi generational family tree are enough to criminalise each and everyone, so adjudged by the PC police. The judges and jurors are those desperate enough to wish bringing down anyone honest enough to reveal their former weaker, misaligned selves alongside knee jerk responses drawn from the cobwebs.

This comedy of erroneous thinking (aka dumbassing) does have its relief quotient. That is – it will decay, die and disappear sooner than the frost does against the morning sun’s growing heat, in spite of a dark night feeling like decades.

If life seems jolly rotten,
There’s something you’ve forgotten,
And that’s to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you’re feeling in the dumps,
Don’t be silly chumps.
Just purse your lips and whistle.
That’s the thing.

So laughter is enough to destroy the ‘preciousness’ these tyrannical few enjoy wielding. Smiling dissolves the ‘offended’ strategies and dancing and singing confirms to these myopic lunatics that there are those who are truly madder than any tack they pronounce.

If we can teach and hand down anything useful it has to be the repetitive incantation of these lines:

For life is quite absurd
And death’s the final word.
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin.
Give the audience a grin.
Enjoy it. It’s your last chance, anyhow………

Life’s a piece of shit,
When you look at it.
Life’s a laugh and death’s a joke it’s true.
You’ll see it’s all a show.
Keep ’em laughing as you go.
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

Yes yes
Dear dear
Perhaps next year
Or maybe even never
In which case
Reasons to be cheerful part 3

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