MAD BASTARDS

Mad bastards. 
Loads of mad bastards. 
Heaps of mad bastards. 
Swathes of mad bastards.  
Hoards of fanatical mad bastards. 
A horrendous cloud of mad bastards.
Mad bastards travelling the world.
Mad bastards flowing across borders. 
Mad bastards roaring their heads off. 
Mad bastards with a hatred of women. 
Mad bastards with a love of rifles. 
Mad bastards barbecuing people alive. 
Mad bastards playing soccer with human heads. 
Mad bastards with smartphones. 
Mad bastards uploading mad shit. 
Mad bastards looking for 'hits'. 
Mad bastards looking for 'likes'. 
Mad bastards with Twitter accounts. 
#MadBastards. 
Mad bastards with names like Abu Mahd B'Ahstard. 
Mad bastards coming in handy. 
Mad bastards doing the dirty work. 
Mad bastards of realpolitik. 
Mad bastards that are with us. 
Mad bastards that are against us. 
Mad bastards turning on us. 
Frankenstein created mad bastards. 
Mad bastards in search of their master. 
Mad bastards hating their creator. 
Mad bastards - what are they thinking? 
Mad bastards - what are they going to do next? 
What should we do about all the mad bastards? 
Where would we be without the mad bastards? 
You've got to love mad bastards. 
If we didn't have mad bastards, we'd end up looking like mad bastards ourselves.

Mad bastards - taking the heat off us for the last thirty five years.

UNBELIEVABLE EH?

People believe what they want to believe even if they know, deep down, that what they believe is entirely unbelievable and that they don't actually believe it at all. I'm not sure why this is. Maybe it is more efficient to believe the unbelievable or perhaps it is advantageous. Either way, belief seems largely to be a matter of choice.

Let me explain why I (choose to) believe this:

A few months ago myself and a few mates (Corbo, Duggie, Phlegmo, Aine Manning and her fat sister whose name escapes me right now) staged a chemical attack. We rented the gymnasium at the local recreation centre and took footage of ourselves weeping and wailing over sheets with bunched up coats, bags and cushions arranged under them so as to make the sheets look like shrouds draped over dead bodies. We made it so that some of the 'bodies' were smaller than others, like little kids. We put on a pretty good performance. Then we uploaded the footage to the internet saying that it was a recording of a chemical weapon attack in some hot country. I'm not sure what hot country we picked but it was one of those places they mention a lot on the telly.

Well, let me tell you, there was a right 'to do' altogether. Our video went viral and got on the news. Some people said that the footage was staged and didn't even originate in the hot country, pointing out that two of the people in the video were wearing O'Neills Dublin tops (oops, messed up there). Luckily these doubters also suspected that we were members of the Illuminati or giant lizards or something so no one took their suspicions seriously. In fact, most people chose to consider the footage genuine so as not to be associated with the nutters that didn't. World leaders bought it too and went on the telly saying that it was unacceptable for such a thing to happen and threatening to bomb the hot country in question, which I'm not sure would have helped but anyway...

Next came phase two of our experiment. We released a second video on the net that featured us pulling back the sheets to reveal that there were no bodies under them and just a load of bags and cushions and that. It was always our aim to demonstrate to the world how easily it could be duped – for the LOLs like, you know - and this is where it got interesting. Imagine our surprise the next day when the world's media reported that the hot country in question had developed a weapon that could transform people into bunched up coats and bags and cushions. The 'international community' (whoever the fuck that is) demanded that the hot country surrender its 'Clothes/Bag/Cushion Tranformo Weapons', which, of course, the hot country couldn't do because it didn't have any such weapons and no such things even exist. Inevitably the hot country was bombed to shit and lots of other videos appeared online featuring the grieving citizens of the hot country weeping and wailing over shrouds. This time no one was wearing O'Neills tops and this time there weren't bunched up coats and bags and cushions under the sheets, no, there were actual bodies under there. These videos didn't get anywhere near as many hits as our original one did. That's when I realised that people believe what they want to believe.

The hot country was continually bombed to such an extent that the entire place was turned to dust and then the searing heat of further bombings melted that dust into glass and then that glass cooled and the whole place was turned into a gigantic skating rink, the largest ever, and people from all over the world travelled there and paid top dollar to enjoy themselves and myself, Corbo, Duggie, Phlegmo, Aine Manning and her fat sister whose name escapes me right now bought shares in the skating rink going forward. Oh, and I got a job with a massive public relations firm.

Unbelievable eh?

Join me next time for more of this compulsive bullshit.

JOB BRIDGE

Work Placement - Restructuring Agents (West Asia, North Africa, Middle East regions)

Duties include the propagation of global chaos, subjugation of women, execution of sundry infidels, enforcement of illiteracy, social media campaigning, customer relations and the development of new market bases.

Opportunities to sever heads, slit throats, and take bites out of human organs while roaring Allahu Akbar.

Salary: Whatever you find, take it!

LOVE THE MACHINE

A dirty stomp around the Earth. Chimneys, cogs, pistons, buckled conveyer belts, murk - chug chug chug. It stamps another nation into mud. Crater creator. Death Freighter. It pisses petroleum and fills lungs with dust. We love the machine although it HATES us back. We endure and then die in the underpass of its rank and leaking belly. We love the machine because it shits money. Money money money floating down from its rumbling rusty orifice into our clasping clamour. All hail the money machine. The fiscal fecal fuselage empties as it swaggers and kills. Rat a tat tat. We're living the dream. Rat a tat tat. We excuse it in its wake. We look at the dead infants and debris and yes it's worth it, of course it's worth it, what would we be without it? We are soft and weak and organic. We are collateral. We are the expendable. We are the meat in its jaws. It chews and grinds us. It makes us worthy masticated mince. What else would we be? What else is there? Let's salute it. Let's sing songs about it. Let's define ourselves by it. We turned it on and we've forgotten how to turn it off. There is no alternative. Love the Machine! Another war starts tomorrow. Run for cover and watch it on TV. Kathryn Bigelow made a movie and it's in 3D. SAFRAN Thales SAIC. Lockheed Boeing BAE.

THE RATIONALITY OF REALPOLITIK

I, Fugger, the people's blogger, was recently invited to address the RAND Corporation. The topic of my talk was The Rationality of Realpolitik. I had a white board and coloured markers and everything. My talk went down very well. I'm providing a transcript below for you to enjoy. I kept it nice and short because in an era where everybody is busy Twittering their hashtags, it's best not to keep them long. Anyway, here's what I said:

We are 'rational actors' in a system that provides 'selective incentives'. If those 'selective incentives' do not appeal to some then we can only assume that they are 'irrational actors'. We have certain 'disincentives' that can be applied to 'irrational actors' unless those 'irrational actors' have other incentives that dovetail with our system of 'rational actors'. 

You see, in order to meet the needs of our system of 'rational actors' we must sometimes facilitate a certain set of 'dovetailing' 'irrational actors' (example: religious fundamentalists) in order to overcome another, 'less dovetailing', set of 'irrational actors' (example: secular tyrants). Once the 'less dovetailing' set of 'irrational actors' have been overcome (or reduced to crushed bone, ash, or something resembling barbequed meat) by the 'dovetailing' set of 'irrational actors' our system will set about overcoming the 'dovetailing' set of 'irrational actors' by supporting yet another set of 'irrational actors', often the remnants of the formerly 'less dovetailing' set of 'irrational actors'. And so it goes on. And on. And on and on. Forever. And ever. Until, eventually, someone comes along and decides that we (yes, we: me, you, your mom, your pop, your kitty and your dog) are the 'irrational actors' and overcome us (or reduce us to crushed bone, ash, or something resembling barbequed meat). Do you follow me? Do you get the idea? Don't you think it's clever? Don't you find it all devastatingly 'rational'?

I received a standing ovation. I was a bit chuffed to be honest but I'm not sure if they were applauding what I said or applauding the massive cock and balls I drew over the map of Syria on my whiteboard.