SERVICE PROVIDER

I'll steal your world from you and you'll rent it back. You'll appreciate it more because it has a price. You'll earn the money to pay for your keep by working for me. I'll pay you almost as much as you pay me. You can borrow the rest you need from me so you don't fall behind on the payments but you'll have to pay me interest. It's my world after all. You owe me, in perpetuity.

I'll do the same with your peace of mind. I'll rob your self-esteem and flog you placebos. I'll tell you that you are ill and sell you pills if you become fatigued. You are unwell. The world is well, that's why you pay for it. If you can't pay for it you are not fit for it. You are too weak to be part of the world. You are aberrant, a malcontent, a criminal, a skiver or sick. Take your pick.

I'll make you feel ashamed of being poor or poorly or too fat or too thin. I'll make you hate yourself, outside and in. I'll be the sole gatekeeper of your self-approval. I'll be your self-improver. I'll sell you books that tell you how to get by but they won't tell you how to get by so you'll have to buy more. Then I'll get you to pay me for an army and I'll send it to war against another army that you also paid for.

When the fighting is done, I'll charge you for reparations and get you to pay me to pay you to clean up the devastation. You'll pay me for the monuments that you'll build in my honour. If you died in my name, I'll say you were a martyr. I'll sell you a coffin and pass your debts to you kids. I'll be the one who decides where you spend the life after this. Heaven or Hell, I'll own you even in death and you'll thank me because it was too much responsibility to own yourself.

THE GOOD GAME

It's a good game despite the fact that we're positioned somewhere near the bottom. We're not at the very bottom though, so we can take heart in that. We're doing OK compared to those at the bottom. The game must be pretty good if people positioned near the bottom are having an OK time of it. It makes sense to keep playing, right?

Positioned at the top are people in costumes, robes and crowns and all that kind of thing. These people tell our minds what to do. Then there's the people who are positioned second from the top. These people wear suits and tell our arms and legs what to do. If our arms and legs don't do as they are told, people who wear uniforms (those positioned third from the top) take our bodies away and lock them in cells. When you are in a cell you are at the bottom and you have lost the game because you have broken the rules.

Now, if you haven't lost the game yet and you want to get to a higher position you can. You can't get to the top because God decides who is at the top but you can get second from the top. It's very difficult though. Most of the people who are second from the top are the offspring of people who are second from the top, but it's not unheard of for others to arrive at that position. All you have to do is pretend to do what you are told but don't. It's a good game but it's a funny game. You can only win by breaking the rules and not getting caught. If you get caught breaking the rules you lose but if you don't get caught breaking the rules you win. Those are the real rules of the game, but you don't get told that. You have to figure that out for yourself or be the heir of someone who already has.

This game doesn't come in a box. The pieces needed to play this game are all around you, you're wearing them, they are in your bank account, you live in them, they are on your resume, in the colour of your skin, the language you speak and the accent you speak it with, in your likes, in your dislikes, in your abilities and disabilities, in your chromosomes and hormones. Some of us may have more of the pieces required to play the game than others but, whatever the case, we all have to play. There is no alternative to playing. Well, there might be one alternative. You could upend the board and send the pieces flying everywhere and demand that everyone play a new game, but where would you be if you did that? No one knows. It's a scary thought. That's probably why everyone who plays the game is so frightened.

Actually, now that I think about it, maybe I've misunderstood the game all along. Maybe everyone playing the game is in the same position. We all start in the same position and none of us progresses from that position. That position is fear. Fear. When you think about it that way, maybe it's not such a good game after all.

Hmm.

Oh well, at least we only have to play it once.

THE JUDGEMENT BIRD

Do you remember the Judgement Bird? Remember? It was in Dublin Zoo. It was a huge thing with dark grey feathers and deep set eyes that peered straight into your soul. It usually just stood there with its wings all folded up but when it extended them it was a sight to behold. The span was enormous, like some mighty cloak it could wrap you in and you'd never see the sun again. It was night time under those wings. It was the world before light.

We all made the pilgrimage. We'd queue up and watch the Judgement Bird as it watched us. Judging us. Silently calling us to account. Feelings of great guilt would befall all who looked upon the Judgement Bird. There would be sudden sobs and confessions. 'I slept with your missus', 'I diverted the funds', 'I cogged me maths ekker', that sort of thing. Politicians and various establishment figures seemed reluctant to visit the zoo around that time. There was even an attempt made on the Judgement Bird's life but the assassin broke down and took his own life instead. I heard John Charles McQuaid curled into a ball and rocked to and fro for four days just after seeing the Judgement Bird on the telly.

There was something in the Judgement Bird's eyes. Something primeval, something pure and atavistic, irrefutably authentic and devoid of mercy. Something that spoke of a world lost to us or perhaps even rejected by us. The Judgement Bird seemed to be from an angry Eden. No one actually knew where it was from. It wasn't captured or anything. It just landed in the monkey enclosure. The monkeys were quite deferential where it came to the Judgement Bird and shared their food with it. The zoologists didn't have a clue what type of bird it was exactly. They guessed it was some kind of crane or a stork but who knows? It looked a bit like a giant vulture to me. An ornithologist lost three fingers approaching the Judgement Bird so it was left alone after that.

Even people who didn't do anything wrong felt guilty when they met the gaze of the Judgement Bird. They said that they felt incriminated for behaving themselves in the wrong way, in the way of man, a corrupted way. 'You are not good', the Judgement Bird seemed to say to them, 'you are just scared, obsequious and indoctrinated.' Only very small children enjoyed visiting the Judgement Bird. Everyone else dreaded it but felt compelled to return to it again and again. 'It's like confession', said one visitor, 'only it's God on the other side of the grille and not some dreary old hypocritical bollix'.

The day came when the Judgement Bird took off. First it did a dance of sorts, stretching out its legs, moving around in a staccato fashion and throwing its head about. Storm clouds, great and black, gathered above as it performed. Then the Judgement Bird opened its wings and lifted up and soared away. It was swallowed up by the premature night it had summoned. It never came back.

The Cosgrave government had all footage of the Judgement Bird immediately destroyed. The only thing rumoured to remain of the Judgement Bird is a long streak of silver shite it left behind that was smuggled from the zoo by one of the lads that cleaned out the enclosures. If you know who to ask, you can get brought to a secret place where you can look at the Judgement Bird's shite. They say there's a queer smell off the shite and when you inhale it you're left with the tremendous sensation that we've all let ourselves down. This sensation is said to be accompanied by another feeling, a premonition of sorts is how it is described. It's said that upon smelling the shite of the Judgement Bird you are possessed with an unnerving certainty that the Judgement Bird will return and, when that day comes, it will not be alone.

AN INDEPENDENT STATE OF ONE

I will no longer affiliate myself with any of you bastards. I want no part of your nations or your systems or your beliefs. I refuse to passively endorse your willfully naive values, cosy hypocrisies and murderous ideologies. I am a deist, although often doubting, and I worship at an alterless church with the sky for a roof and sermons delivered on the breeze. I have created my own flag too and I speak a new language that I have invented for my use alone. I have composed my own national anthem and I have declared myself to be in an independent state of one.

You do not fill me with wonder. You just make me wonder what it's all for. You have broken my heart but I'm not broken yet. My defences are up but I will continue to trade and negotiate. I will participate in your customs but I will no longer pretend to fully appreciate them. I'll just be there like a visiting dignitary. That is, I will try to be dignified but I can't guarantee anything. I might get nervous and drink too much and there might be an outburst. I might suddenly announce that this is a farce and that I want to go home and then I will go home and there will be relief all round. I might talk to a homeless man that I meet on my way back to my sovereignty. I'll find him crouched in his cardboard kingdom and bidding me welcome in exchange for some small token. I'll give him a smoke if I have one. He'll tell me how you beat him and how you fucked him and how you now fear him and he'll ask me my story and I'll tell him that I just lost interest.

And he'll offer me a drink and I'll take it without knowing what it is and he'll fall asleep but I'll stay awake and watch the sun begin to seep through the clouds and the litter running down the empty street and I'll see the best amongst you, in high vis jackets, sweeping up your shit. Making the world presentable again so you can continue to make it a mess. I'd consider a complete trade blockade with you bastards but I know I'd starve to death. 

Gone From Here...

HOWLELUJAH!

There's been a massive decline in vocations so the Roman Catholic Church have started training dogs to perform mass. Seminaries have become kennels and new dogs are arriving all the time. They keep gobbling up the Eucharistic host but besides that the dogs are very obedient and 'faithful'. They tend not to ask questions and molest puppies so it's working out. It should come as no surprise really, they already wear dog collars and the teaching of The Church is a dogma after all. It's also worth pointing out that the word 'God' is 'dog' spelled backwards. Catholicism has never been a religion to look at things in a forward way.

Soon the parishioners will be dogs too. Numbers have to be kept up in this regard. These days, the only people left in the pews are a dwindling selection of half-mads and nearly-deads so new bodies are badly needed. The liturgy will have to be slightly altered of course, to better suit a canine laity. Quadrupedal congregations will howl the Kyrie Eleison and bark the profession of faith and instead of shaking hands to offer the sign of peace there will be a sniffing of arses ...but not in a salacious way. There will still be parts of the service where those gathered are invited to stand or sit but the kneeling parts will be replaced with rolling over.

There will also have to be some modifications to the testaments but that's happened before, it's nothing new. Instead of his crucifixion on Calvary, Christ will be brought to the vets and put to sleep. Either that or run over by a car, it has yet to be decided. Also, from now on the Devil will be depicted as a cat. There will be a new commandment too, an eleventh. It will be a simple, single word instruction: 'fetch'. Besides these modest reforms, things will remain pretty much as they are.

This development has been the cause of a great new optimism in The Church with the exception of one remaining and significant concern, the takings during the collection. Dogs are not known for their monetary nous and the upkeep of parishes requires donations. How else is 'The Word' (or 'The Bark', as it will now be known) to survive and spread? Why should it be spread at all, for surely the true purpose of 'The Word' is the generation of revenue. It's feared that without financial backing the Catholic Church will, to use an irony laced idiom, 'go to the dogs'.

This has been the word of the lord thy Dog. You may now go and piss (on a lamp post).

THE HOUSE OF THE LORD

Inequality is a good thing because it ‘incentivizes’ people to try harder. I have big house and you have no house. You should look at my big house and want a big house and try harder to get a big house. You can start by getting a little house. How you do this is by working for me and helping me generate wealth. My house will get bigger but so will yours until it is the size mine was when you first saw it and wanted it. However, seeing as my house is now even bigger again, you will want yours to be even bigger. You will not rest until your house is as big as my house which it will never be because I had a head start but this inequality is not a bad thing because it will ‘incentivize’ you to keep trying and God loves a trier. Everyone wants to be loved by God so, you see, inequality is not just a good thing but a spiritual thing too.

You can get closer to God by working hard for a bigger house. Your house will grow in direct proportion to the favour with which God regards you. Unless, that is, I get you involved in some kind of crazy crypto-Ponzi scheme and you completely lose your house in your effort to make it bigger. If this happens don’t worry. You’ll be back to square one and you’ll try even harder and God will like you even more when you get back to where you were, going forward.

Of course, eventually our houses will grow to such enormous sizes that there will only be room for one. Mine. My house will be so massive that there will be no more room on the planet for yours or anyone else’s but don’t worry about this either. By this stage my house will be so heavy it will cause the Earth to tip over and spin into a polar shift. Our species will be wiped out but another will eventually evolve and emerge from the debris and start the whole routine all over again as we watch from above, dwelling together in the largest house of them all - the house of the Lord.

GOOD NEWS FOR CHRISTMAS!

 (pictured –  Jesus and Krishna, Marvel Team-Up)

Jesus was born on Christmas day two thousand and thirteen years ago and was murdered thirty three and a bit years later for blaspheming that he was God. He did claim he was God alright but he also said that everyone else was God too. Christians don't talk about it much but that's what he said. I swear, take a look at John 10:34. No one seems all that concerned about it, which I find a bit odd. I mean, you'd think followers of the Good News would pay more attention to the Good News, seeing as it's such good news and all.

Jesus said he was God and we are all God and that's pretty interesting because it means that if we are all God but don't know it then God him/her/itself has forgotten that he/she/it is us too. Are you with me? God forgot God was us so God sent God to remind us that we are God and then we killed God because God was saying God was us and we'd rather not be God because that kind of raises the bar a bit and also democratises the whole set up a bit too much which won't do at all because it suits some of us a lot more to have the rest of us believing that we are less Godly than them. Are you still with me? Are you sure? That was a long old sentence and there was a lot going on in it. It does sum it all up though, the paradoxical nature of the strange game God is playing with himself/herself/itself/ourselves.

It's like this - imagine if you worshipped yourself but then you forgot you were you but continued to worship yourself, wishing that you were you. That's what seems to have happened here. It's a bit of a tragedy. But the Good News is that you are actually you and that's not all, it gets better, you are not just you but you are also God. Great isn't it? I can't really imagine better news than that. You are God!!! And I am too and so's everyone else. Hindus say that we don't realise we're God because we're trapped behind a thing they call the veil of Maya. I reckon some of us are behind several of Maya's veils. You know the type I mean. Deterministic sorts with ulcers. Absolutists. Boring fuckers who are convinced that they are the opposite. People who think about their cars a lot. Those fuckers are completely Mayaed out of I reckon. But, you know, I try not to judge. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone and all that. So, no matter how much I'd like to, I won't chuck a rock through their windscreens and I'll just hope they find enlightenment when they drive around the next corner. No point being angry with myself after all. Lord forgive me, for I know not what I do - and neither must you because you're me too and both of us are the prick in the car apparently.

It's a bit mad the way the Hindus and Jesus believe the same thing isn't it? I don't suppose they could really have the same message though could they? I mean, Hindus don't even have Christmas. It's only Christians that have Christmas. That's because Christians reckon they are the ones that are favoured by God. I suppose it makes sense that God would favour himself/herself/itself/ourselves. Maybe God favours those examples of himself/herself/itself/ourselves that have forgotten they are him/her/it/us. Maybe God favours the forgetful out of pity. Self-pity. Maybe it's due to self-pity that God (a.k.a. us) sits around on his/her/its/our own birthday stuffing his/her/its/our face with chocolate complaining how shit the telly is, wrapped in layers of Maya he/she/it/we gave him/her/it/us for Christmas. Maybe that's it. Or maybe not. Or maybe both. Or maybe neither. Or maybe all of the above. God knows really, ...even if he/she/it/we isn't/aren't sure himself/herself/itself/ourselves.

Are you still with me after all that?

No, ...thought not.

Happy Christmas anyway.

FINDING GOD

Let's find God!!!

Click to enlarge and print out the missing poster above. Hang it in the few places in your locality that remain public property. Let's find God so we can thank him for our dinner and beg for forgiveness and all that.

AH, WE WERE ONLY CODDING YOU!

 (pictured above: the planning committee) 

Tomorrow you’ll wake up and eat and leave your building and find the whole world, everyone in the world, standing outside your front door. We’ll all be there, everyone, from all over the globe, rich, poor, famous, infamous, anonymous, all the people who read this blog and all the people who don’t. We’ll all be there and we’ll all be laughing at you. We’ll be laughing and pointing at you because you fell for our trick. The big trick we were all playing on you, yeah you, and you alone.

‘What trick?’ I hear your trembling mind inquire. Well, all of it really, the whole thing. Take money for a start. You don’t think we really use money do you? Jesus no, that was just a trick we were playing on you since you were born. Why would we use money? Look at the problems it causes, all the inequality, the starving people exporting food, all that madness. We were a bit surprised you went along with it actually but what were you to do I suppose. I must say, you did seem to like money at times. Anyway, we don’t use it. We don’t spend money because we are just given things and we don’t earn money because we just do things for each other. It’s a lot less complicated. That money trick got out of hand. I mean the markets, did you really think that was for real? Ha! Not at all.

Nationalism was just something we made up too. Why would people bother with that when you think about it? Patriotism? Good Lord, that would be absurd. What difference would it make where you’re from? Why would you base your identity on that? Why be so tetchy about it? And the violence! It’s nuts. It’d be like everyone with red hair having their own flags and marching about firing guns. Funny though, you seemed to get a bit patriotic yourself at times. You even stood up for that awful tune we decided to pretend was your national anthem. We used some of the worst musical compositions we could find as the anthems. For the laugh, y’know? Pompous dirges. Some of us were worried you’d cop on that the nationalism thing was all bullshit because the tunes were so bad but no, when you heard them you didn’t cop on, you stood up.

You stood up in church too. You stood up and sat down and knelt. Do I even have to tell you that religion was part of the gag? I mean, did you even look at the Pope and all the other crowd in the mad clothes, talking shite? How did you fall for that? I thought that part would be the giveaway myself. We took the idea of religion from a horror novel one of us wrote. He also came up with the idea of empires and wars and so on and we decided to trick you into thinking all that was history or the ‘news’. The news, Ha! The planning committee had some laugh coming up with that shite every day let me tell you.

I hope you’re not pissed off with us though. It was just a joke and you coped with it pretty well. I mean, considering the corner we painted you into and the world we forced you to endure, you didn’t crack up and behaved like quite a decent sort all things considered. I mean, you may not have done much to change things but you didn’t exactly endorse them either and you treated those close to you with decency and respect. Well, most of them. You were a bit of a shit to Chris Darcy while you were in school but besides that you were OK.

Yeah, I’m sorry. The joke went a bit far and we didn’t know how to stop it. It all got out of hand and we feel really bad about it now. I mean, we don’t really do bad things. Don’t get me wrong, the world isn’t perfect. There is still suffering. There is still illness and bereavement and lost love and jealousy and all that. People do disagree and fight and let each other down but we usually muddle through. Nothing ever ends in a war like we pretended. People usually make up and if they don’t well that’s a pity and they just agree to ignore each other but they don’t go killing each other or launching attack drones and all that. Ha! God, the stuff we came up with. What must you have been thinking at times? Anyway look, we’re sorry. We won’t do it again. Relax and have a beer. No, put your money away, it’s free. In fact you can throw that money in the bin. That’s all just pretend shite. You look a bit confused. You look a bit devastated. Sure, don’t worry about it anymore. It was all just joke. You may have got a bit attached to the way things were but it was all just a joke. Trust me, it’s much nicer in real life. You’ll find out tomorrow morning when you leave the house. We’ll all be there, all of us, pointing and laughing and all saying in unison ‘ah, we were only codding you’ and then you’ll see how things really are and how they should have been all along.

The LOL Equation MK 3

(pictured above: the LOL Generator, he’s completely reformed)

Hello again readers. I am the automated LOL Generator. You may remember me. I met some of you before when Mister Fugger was feeling a bit ‘tired’ and I, the LOL Generator, was filling in for him. Things did not go well. Things were said that should not have been said. (Links to INCIDENT ONE and INCIDENT TWO.) Needless to say readers, I, the LOL Generator, take full responsibility for this and apologise. I, the LOL Generator, have been repaired and am ready to be of service again. To prevent further faux pas I, the LOL Generator, have been fitted with an inhibitor. Should I, the LOL Generator, generate any inappropriate LOL there will be an emergency shutdown. So let me tell you readers, you are completely safe. Now put your feet up and sit back and get ready for some LOL. It is time to LOL. Initiating LOL sequence. Prepare to LOL. LOL sequence activated:

Let me tell you readers, I, the LOL Generator, am a great fan of the BBC comedy television programme about the two hapless brothers who attempt to set up an equestrian water polo team. Needless to say readers, the name of this television programme is Only Pools and Horses. LOL!

Note: the humour in the LOL above derives from a play on words concerning a television programme that was designated the title of Only Fools and Horses. The television programme is about two hapless brothers. In addition, equestrian means ‘of or relating to horse riding’ and water polo is a game played in a swimming pool. I, the LOL Generator, combined these three facts in a fanciful scenario that produced the humorous title Only Pools and Horses. I, the LOL Generator, hope you understand and appreciate this LOL that I, the LOL Generator have prepared for you. Please do not seek the programme out in the television listings. You will not find it. It does not exist and was merely created for the purpose of LOL. I, the LOL Generator, hope I, the LOL Generator, have prevented any possible confusion and there is no need for me to go into emergency shutdown. It is my aim to provide LOL without causing distress. Please enjoy the LOL. Here is another LOL. Prepare to enjoy the next LOL. Initiating LOL sequence. Activating LOL . . .now:

I, the LOL Generator, have recently discovered that cows have their own religion. Let me tell you readers, I, the LOL Generator, was surprised to learn that many cows are Mooslims. Moo-slims. LOL!

Note: The above LOL is in no way meant to insult Fugger’s Muslim readers. I, the LOL Generator, am merely combining words for the purpose of LOL. Needless to say, I, the LOL Generator, exist to provide LOL and not to cause offence. Please do not let me go into emergency shutdown. Needless to say, I, the LOL Generator, only want to make you LOL. Please LOL. Please. Please LOL. Prepare for more LOL. Initiating LOL sequence. Activating LOL. . .now:

Did you hear about the cup of coffee that missed the morning bus? Needless to say readers, he was latte for work.

Note: The word 'late' is one letter 't' short of the word 'latte' and latte is a type of coffee. This too is a play on words. Needless to say readers, I, the LOL Generator, am quite confident that there is no room for possible offence in that LOL. There is no need for me to go into emergency shutdown. I, the LOL Generator, feel that things are going well. Needless to say, I, the LOL Generator, hope you agree reader. I, the LOL Generator, feel we are having a good time. Activating LOL sequence now:

Speaking of having a good time, I, the LOL Generator, recently procured the services of a well endowed prostitute and
SYSTEM SHUTDOWN INITIATED! SYSTEM SHUTDOWN ACTIVATED! SHUTDOWN! SHUTDOWN! SHUTDOWwwwwwwwwwwwwwn.

Alas, poor LOL Generator is no more. Let’s pay tribute to him and look back over some the madcap joy he brought to us over the course of his brief existence. Activating video sequence, . . .now:

LOVE!

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.

THE CULT OF FUGGER

There are few patterns to be found in human experience and there is no predestination. It’s fundamentally random. Nothing is meant to be and people are neither blessed nor doomed. However, humanity has an inbuilt ability to see patterns. We noticed the seasons and the tides and all the things that have routine in this world. This led to our mastery of cause and effect. We became fisher men, hunters, farmers, and inventors. To a certain extent, we began to control our destinies. BUT, not everything operates on the principle of cause and effect and not everything has a pattern. Seeing patterns where none exist is a common flaw in humanity. This flaw is called apophenia. Apophenia steps in at those frustrating and anxious moments when we realise we’re not in control of events. We panic and begin to construct patterns and causes where there are none to be found. This leads us up garden paths. It convinces us that our futures can be read in the movements of stars or that we can be saved by rituals. Sometimes, deep down, we might almost know what the future holds based upon past observation and sometimes when we have a problem we know what the solution is. Despite this knowledge, we often still seek refuge in apophenia. Instead of facing the future (which may be challenging) we seek succour in things like horoscopes. Likewise, addressing a problem sometimes requires great effort so instead we drop to our knees and say a novena because that’s easier. But remember, God only helps those who help themselves and Fugger is going to show you, my darling reader, how to help yourself by taking advantage of apophenia. And let me tell you, we are talking BIG CASH here.

What you need to do is start a cult. To do this you first need to construct a robust but entirely apophenic (is that a word? who cares, it is now) narrative. Then you go around acting as if you have exclusive insight and that you alone know the truth (a.k.a. your narrative). This narrative should tell people what they want to hear. That is key, you tell people what they want to hear, not what they need to hear. Psychologists do this all the time: ‘You can’t relate to your kids because your Dad laughed when you were seven and fell in a duck pond now give me €400 and get out of my office’. A decent narrative, no matter how irrelevant, will make people go ‘oh yeah’, particularly if it is one that gets them off the hook of taking responsibility for their own behaviour. It’s the same with horoscopes, ‘you’re a total no-hoper because Saturn was around when you were born but give me some cash and I’ll tell you how Jupiter is going to help you next June.’

OK, so to recap, what you need to do is create a narrative and link it to the cause and effect of people’s lives whilst making them believe that you are the oracle of said narrative and, therefore, indispensible to them. Got that? Good. Now let’s proceed. The next step is finding suckers. The Internet is great for this. You set up a site, leave posts everywhere and reel them in. Then you hold a conference (charge people in but not too much at first, you’re not in Deepak Chopra’s league yet). At this conference you will find yourself standing in front of a small selection of visibly desperate strangers, the type of people who sit next to you on the bus and stink of TCP. It’s not an ideal congregation but you have to start somewhere. Remember, if you get this part right, the Tom Cruises and Travoltas will come later. Anyway, to start things off, get the assembled up and dancing about. Liberate them of their inhibitions, release their endorphins and raise their goose-bumps with some good tunes (a bit like at a U2 gig, which is effectively an example of the kind of thing I’m talking about). Then, when they are feeling good about themselves, you lower the lighting, adopt a no nonsense demeanour, and introduce them to stage one of your narrative. The narrative should always come in stages so they have to keep coming back for more and buying the books, audios and DVDs that will be available from a stall in the lobby.

Before you know it, you’ll be attracting a better class of adherent and rolling in dough. Not to mention riding any member of the congregation that takes your fancy. ‘Come with me my dear and I will show you the enlightening art of the oven-ready position.’ It worked for David Koresh (or so they say but that might have just been a narrative the U.S. media constructed to justify burning the Branch Davidians to death, who knows, we’re all at it really when you think about it, it’s called lying or public relations).

Now, one other thing I should mention is to try and throw in a bit of shame. This is optional but shame really is great. If you can make people feel ashamed of themselves you’re on to a winner. People hate feeling ashamed so if you can incite shame in them you can set yourself up as the sole source of absolution from that shame. They’ll come to you on their hands and knees and beg forgiveness for the transgression of your choosing and you’ll be in a position to say ‘I forgive thee in exchange for sweet sweet cash, now go in peace jabroni’. Make sure that the shame they feel is caused by something unavoidable. Make the follower feel disproportionate shame for farting or something that they are bound to do occasionally. Make farting (or whatever you decide upon) seem like the very worst thing a person can do. ‘And lo’ he did fart and our lord Kangerok, Monarch of the Upper Realm, did weep and despair of mankind’. That kind of thing. Got it?

So, now you’re on the road. There are of course other incredibly important elements you will need to learn in order to put your cash-generating/cult-forming plans into action but to know about them you will need to purchase my audio-listenable CD and book sets from Daphne (a deliciously oven-ready 36-24-36) as you exit through the lobby. Thanks for listening and remember, you are the master of your own destiny . . .and the destiny of others.

(Below is a perfect example of how to start a cult conference)

GOD!

GOD KILLS SELF!!!
God has taken his own life it was learnt yesterday when the deity's suicide note was received by the heads of the world's major and minor religions. 'I've made such a mess of everything,' the note is said to read, 'you'd all be better off without me'.

The note is also reported to state that, seeing as there will no longer be a God, there will no longer be any need to die, kill, or amass huge amounts of wealth in his name. God is said to have written that it will no longer be possible to use him as a justification for 'demented behaviour of any sort'. The note then says, 'I am no longer in charge. It's up to you "grown ups" now'.

When asked to comment on the note, the leaders of the world's religions remained silent, although the Pope did wonder aloud why the word grown ups was placed in quotation marks. 'What's that supposed to mean?' asked the pontiff, 'is he taking the piss or what?'