(pictured above: no more of this kind of heartbreak) ‘Synaptic tomfoolery and bio-chemical high jinks causing a chronic lack of serotonin that places your whole cognitive processor out of whack’, that should be the medical definition of love. But I dealt with that terrible business in the last post and won’t repeat myself here. Today I am going to introduce a new emotion, one that has all the benefits of love but none of the crappy poetry etc. I have invented this new emotion and have its formula itemised and ready for mass production/consumption.
Once ingested as a pill, my formula will cause limbic systems to blend peptides into a new chemical cocktail that will course through nervous systems everywhere and result in everyone experiencing my new emotion. Yes, that’s right, a whole new emotion that will banish love to the dustbin of neurophysiological history. Expect a brand new feeling, brand new motivations, and even a brand new facial expression, not a frown or a smile but something new and better (So far I’ve only seen it on the face of lab rats and the best way to describe it would be that it looks as if you’re having an enjoyable stroke).
My new emotion will bring with it confidence and optimism. It is a positive emotion like love pretends to be but, unlike love, it will not carry the risk of jealousy, possessiveness, favouritism, bizarre behaviour and all the faults of love I mentioned in the previous post.
In fact, once my new emotion (which I have called ‘farp’, a solid four letter word like the words ‘love’ or ‘hate’) is established love will be considered an unwelcome anachronism. In fact, love will come to be considered an illness. People will no longer say ‘I am in love’ and instead tell their GP that they ‘have a terrible dose of love’. Then they will get a prescription for farp tablets and go on their happy way. I am also working on a more permanent love removal option called a ‘lovectomy’ that can be carried out for a reasonable price. Just think, you’ll be able to get the love taken out of you like a useless old appendix. Liberated of love you’ll regain control of your life and be able to get on with the farping.
‘But Mr. Fugger, what does it feel like to farp?’ I hear you ask. Well, I’m not sure I could describe it to you any more than I could describe a brand new taste or colour. All I can say is that farp feels good and doesn’t carry a heavy price like love does. Farp is not as overbearing an emotion as love. It is more subtle and understated. It’s more considered and, dare I say it, dignified. Instead of risking being made a fool of by the unruly passion of loving you will merely farp. Farping is quite modern in its similarity to liking, as in ‘liking’ things on Facebook. In fact, unbeknownst to you, I think many of you have made this emotional transition already. At least partially.
Please note, I don’t want to give the impression that farp is a watered down version of love. No. Farp is just a more circumspect evolution of its messy predecessor. Farp does have its measure of passion. It is a modest measure of passion but a measure all the same. Once you have farped you will not regret it. At the end of your life you will look back on all the days you spent lost in farp. ‘They were farply days’, you will say to yourself with a farply (enjoyable stroke) expression on your face.
You know, I think if The Beatles were here today they would invite us all to join them in a rousing chorus of ‘All You Need Is Farp’. They knew the benefits of chemical alterations to the cranial interior and no mistake. Had my reasonably priced farp pills been around in the sixties, I bet John, Paul, George and Ringo would’ve wolfed them down. Farp pills should be available soon so don’t forget to place an advanced order now!!!
(Farp is brought to you in association with Pfizer and The Carnegie Endowment Behavioural Paradigms Research Project. Side effects may include headaches, indigestion, upper respiratory tract infection, sinus inflammation, oily discharge, malignant pancreatic tumours and mild lycanthropy.)
All the best,
until next time,
I farp you all,
Do you remember that Star Trek episode where the beautiful alien woman asked Captain Kirk, ‘What . . .is . . .love?’ Instead of answering, Kirk demonstrated with a passionate kiss. Today Fugger (the blog of truth, the people’s blog) is going to try and answer that alien lady’s question properly.
‘What Is Love?’ I’ll tell you what love is...
Love is a virus that downloads onto your cranial hard drive via Trojan malware. The Trojan malware in question is the object of your devotion, be it another human being or some notion of a God or a sense of nationality or whatever. Love is an emotion that endows you with positive feelings but these positive feelings have negative outcomes.
Love might probably inspire you to write poems but these poems will probably be awful. Love might inspire you to observe abstract and pointless rituals or to march about the place firing guns like a dangerous idiot. You’ll feel elated at the time but remember, a similar elation was felt by Chris de Burgh when he composed The Lady in Red. Yes, de Burgh may have been feeling over the moon but his inspiration caused abject misery for discerning listeners all over the globe. Ultimately, love causes suffering.
All love (especially the sexual kind) is doomed. Be it eventual betrayal or bereavement or a gradual lowering of rose tinted glasses, love will always end in tears. The joy of love is akin to the joy of a child digging in to a fifth bowl of jelly and ice cream. Now it’s yummy but later it’s ‘Mummy, my tummy feels funny’.
Some might argue that, beyond its temporary sensual, spiritual, and aesthetic pleasures, love serves pragmatic functions, the practical benefits of love being the propagation of the species and societal order. Well, let’s deal with the propagation of the species first shall we? The propagation of the species is initially down to lust. Lust is not love. It’s just related to it, like a sleazy uncle that always wants you to sit on his lap. Sure, once born, the survival of offspring is due to the protective love of mothers but mothers only love their children because they are an extension of their genetic information. That’s a kind of racism when you think about it. Racism is something that could cause the destruction of the species, not its propagation. I mean, it might seem all lovey dovey and oochie coochie coo but when you see a mother snuggling with her child it’s nothing more than a two person Nazi rally. I’m sorry if that sounds bleak or cynical but it is true. Familial love is clan love and the Ku Klux Klan is a clan. I rest my case.
Now to deal with the supposed societal cohesion brought about by love. Social Anarchists and some religious types might say that love is an innate currency that makes the world go around. ‘Give love and you will receive it’ they say but we all know that is rubbish. Give love and it will certainly be taken but there is no contract that guarantees its return. When love is not returned it turns into resentment and this becomes hate and hate leads to war. Yep, love is the cause of war. We build bombs out of love and fire guns for it. How oochie coochie coo is that?
Some of you will say that hate and war are caused by intolerance and greed but intolerance is motivated by a dislike of those different to you because you love those that are like you (see the ‘love is racism’ argument above). When it comes to greed, well, what is greed but an inevitable result of love? You love something so much you want more of it, even if it means taking it from someone else by force.
So that’s it, the truth about love in a single blog post. I’m sorry to shatter any illusions. Love might feel all nicey nice and elevating but that’s just mad chemicals going off in the brain. In truth, love is the insidious instigator of all human tragedy or, at the very least, a major and necessary ingredient of those tragedies. That’s why I’ve invented a new emotion. An emotion to replace love. Yes readers, the means of our liberation bubbling in a beaker at my laboratory right now. But this post has gone on long enough so you will have to come back to find out about my new emotion next time. Seriously, do come back, you’re going to love it.
That F.o.I. request I put in has finally come through. Click on the letter to see the image and then click the tiny weeny link on the bottom left to enlarge the image.
Well, all seems to be above board and my suspicions unfounded. I can rest easy now.
From little Jimmy to old man Crabtree, everyone loves maths. Here is Crap Man's take on the subject. To read the story click the link under the image, just like the great hero commands. LINK: CRAP MAN ISSUED 22
In these difficult times, when people are finding difficulties difficult, AUNTY FUGGER likes to lend an ear and give some advice to the troubled readers of this blog. Let’s face it, if you’re a regular visitor to this blog you probably are very troubled indeed.
Here are a couple of examples of what I’m talking about:
Dear Aunty Fugger,
I fear everything. I fear floors, ceilings, furniture, windows and doors. I fear being inside and I fear being outside. I fear all animals, vegetation, minerals and synthetics, not to mention the sky, the earth and water. I risk starving to death as I fear food but the thought of dying scares me so much I often eat (an activity that terrifies me) and get something into my stomach (an internal organ which I also fear). My stomach isn’t the only part of myself that bothers me. I also fear each of my limbs, my hands and feet (and the toes and fingers found upon them) my torso, my head and my toilet bits (the fact I refer to my toilet bits as ‘toilet bits’ is somewhat telling I feel and that too is a scary feeling). The sight of my reflection petrifies me, as does the general idea of ‘me’. My past, my future, my present, my wisdom, my stupidity, my greed and occasional generosity all make my hair stand on end. I could go into more detail but expressing myself causes me extreme fearfulness as does holding a pen and leaving ink upon paper.
Please say you’ll help me?
Sounds to me like you only fear one thing, and that one thing is fear itself. This, like most anxiety, is irrational. I suggest you stop being such a pussy and sign up to do some voluntary relief work in the Congolese east (see image above). Then you’ll see what real fear is.
Dear Aunty Fugger,
I keep having a dream where I go into labour and give birth to a cash register. Everyone in the dream is really pleased for me but when I place my nipple in the till so the register can suckle I am suddenly struck by this horrible empty feeling.
What does this all mean?
J-Lo, (formerly of the block)
It means that somewhere deep within your shrink-wrapped soul you realize that all your hard work (jumping around in your undergarments singing about keepin’ it real) was a waste of time and that, despite being enormously wealthy, your life is entirely worthless. Buy a new coat or something. That should cheer you up.
Dear Aunty Fugger,
From a young age I planned my future to perfection, the result being that pretty much everything has worked out for me and I have no real problems. My life just trundles along in a contented but very very monotonous way, so monotonous in fact that my lack of problems has itself become a problem.
Yours, Mr. Perfect.
Dear Mr. Perfect,
Overcoming challenges is what largely defines us as human beings. Set yourself challenge: get a jigsaw, a big one.
Well that’s those readers sorted. If you have a problem why not post it as a reply and I’ll see what I can do for you too.
People are always moaning about their lot. ‘Oh, my arm’s been sore all week’, they whinge to their boss. ‘Oh, my mummy never hugged me’, they sob to their analyst. These people make me sick. I don’t care how tough you have it; there is always someone worse off than you out there. Someone worse off with their sleeves rolled up trying to do something about their situation. Take Glyndwr Michael.
Glyndwr’s dad cut his own throat after becoming unemployed and the barely literate 15 year old Glyndwr had to sign the death cert. This formative experience cast a terrible shadow over Glyndwr causing him to become depressed and eventually homeless. In January 1943, deciding his dad was right and that life was indeed a load of bollocks, Glyndwr drank a bottle of rat poison and died in an old warehouse in London’s King’s Cross.
So there we have Glyndwr, after a life of misery, lying dead in an empty building. It doesn’t get much worse does it? But did Glyndwr let that hold him back? Hell no! Glyndwr got up off his rear end and did his bit for Queen and country. Posing as a drowned British intelligence operative, Glyndwr had his body dumped off the coast of Spain. Knowing he’d end up in the hands of the Nazis, Glyndwr cunningly had forged documents placed upon his person. These documents gave Mr. Hitler and his chums the impression that the Allies were planning to attack via Greece so off they went, leaving Sicily unprotected. The Allies took Sicily without much bother in August 1943 and the knock on effect was a disorganised Nazi push that eventually led to defeat for Germany. PWNED! And all thanks to Glyndwr’s can do attitude!
Glyndwr Michael took a look at his life, saw a dead misery-guts of a fella and decided to pull his socks up and regain some bloody dignity! So, think about Glyndwr Michael next time you’re considering staying in bed all day just because you overheard someone you fancy at work say that you look like a Cro-Magnon savage.