TROLL AND COUNTER-TROLL

People are saying that Edward Snowden is a Russian asset. This is wrong. Edward Snowden actually still works for American intelligence. I swear. And all the surveillance stuff Snowden said that the NSA can do, all the listening on your laptops and devices, all that stuff is a load of shite. The NSA can't do any of that. It just wants us to think it can so we don't act against the U.S.A.'s interests. The NSA doesn't really need to watch us. The NSA just needs us to think that it can watch us, so it got Snowden to tell us that this was the case, which it really isn't.

Snowden is now living in Russia and he's spying on the Russians. The Russians know that he's a spy though. So, when Snowden is around, the Russians talk a load of shite about their supposed deep surveillance of the U.S.A. Snowden then reports this shite talk back to the yanks and the yanks pretend to believe it, but they don't because they know that the Russians are on to Snowden because that was the intention of the yanks all along. The yanks want the Russians to waste all their time making up pretend espionage stuff to trick Snowden with. That way, reason the yanks, the Russians will have less time to come up with real espionage stuff.

When it comes to real espionage, there's actually no such thing. No one has the time. They're too busy cooking up the fake stuff. Strictly speaking, there are no such things as actual spies. Well, there are spies, but their job isn't to spy. Their job is to give the people they are meant to be spying on the impression that they're spying on them. Really though, there is no spying going on at all, but everyone thinks there is, so they don't make any plans. The plan is to make the enemy think you might know what the plan is, so they scrap their plans, should they have any, which they don't because they haven't the time.

Are you still with me? Has confusion got you in its grip? It's all about confusion at the end of the day. The intelligence agencies are mad for the confusion.

Did you know that back in a simpler time, during the Cold War, the Russians used to use props in their military parades? They'd have a huge big fake nuke, a thing that doesn't exist at all, a big fake warhead in a parade and they'd know that the yanks would see it and then go and waste all their time trying to research what it was and how to make one of their own. The yanks would waste a load of time and effort that could've been expended on developing real nukes. That was typical of the shite that went on in the world of geopolitical espionage. Of course, if such a thing was attempted today, the yanks would just give the Russians the impression that they had wasted all their time when, in fact, they would've known that the nuke was fake all along. And the extra twist on top of this would be that the Russians would know that the yanks know the nuke is fake, but the Russians would be happy enough because the yanks would still end up wasting a load of time and effort on giving the Russians the impression that they were wasting a load of time and effort.

Do you see my meaning? Is what I'm trying to impart clear to you at all?

Look, it's like this, spies know that reality is irrelevant. The world of spies is a post-reality world. It's just trolling really. Troll and counter-troll. If James Bond films were realistic, Bond would just be going around saying he bedded all those women and blew up all those secret bases, but the reality would be him sitting around in hotel lobbies trying to look suspicious but feeling kind of lonely and wondering what it's all for and if there is such a thing as anything at all and he'd frequently check his reflection in panes of glass to make sure that he's still there and, deep down, he'd be hoping that one day he won't be. Or maybe, like David Shayler, Bond would see his reflection and declare to himself 'I am the messiah and hold the secret of eternal life.'

It's hard for spies to keep their feet on the ground. That's why they're advised to keep weights in their footwear. This also makes them easier to sink, when they need to be disposed of. We'll all have weights in our shoes soon enough.

THE BIGGER PICTURE OF THE GREATER GOOD

Our goal is 'The Greater Good'. Bad things must sometimes be done in the cause of 'The Greater Good'. Sometimes acts are performed in the cause of 'The Greater Good' that are so bad they outweigh the good in 'The Greater Good'. In such cases, there is no contradiction because it is all done for 'The Greater Good'. 

'What exactly is this Greater Good?' enquiring minds might ask. The answer is that we do not know. However, this does not mean that we should stop trying to achieve 'The Greater Good'. Ignorance of one's goal never excuses a failure to accomplish it.

It is the same with 'The Bigger Picture'. Enquiring minds often ask us why we monitor the private communications of entire populations, or why we blackmail, bomb and execute the very citizens we claim to protect, or why we expose vulnerable young people to paedophile rings. We do not answer these questions. Instead, we encourage the enquiring minds asking such questions to see 'The Bigger Picture'.

When enquiring minds ask us what 'The Bigger Picture' is, we reply that 'The Bigger Picture' is a big picture of 'The Greater Good'. If some enquiring minds remain unsatisfied and continue to ask questions we have these enquiring minds discretely done away with and placed at the bottom of a remote riverbed.

Some of the most enquiring minds one could hope to encounter populate the riverbeds of these fair isles.

Remember...

Curiosity is not encouraged.

Obedience is essential.

Rationality is irrelevant.

Enquiring minds/riverbed dwellers sometimes point out that our ends and means lack sense and morality. Before discretely doing away with these enquiring minds/riverbed dwellers, we remind them that existence itself lacks sense and morality. Ergo, we serve existence. Serving existence in the way we do makes asymmetric sense. It is also the moral thing to do, asymmetrically speaking.

You are free to disagree, but we may have to discretely do away with you if you do.

If you would like to assist us in our asymmetric efforts, we would be very pleased to hear from you. You cannot contact us of course, but we will be monitoring your communications and certain to get in touch should we find your candidature fitting. Anyone can join the secret service, whether they would like to or not. The only requirements are a 'public school' education, a loose grasp on what it is to be human, a perpetual sense of paranoia and a penchant for auto-erotic asphyxiation.

You never know, you might one day end up being a member of our team. Just think, you could be the next James Bond, or perhaps James Rusbridger. It's entirely up to you ...and by 'you' we mean 'us'.

****

The British Secret Service, completely mad since 1909. It's for The Greater Good. 

Get the (bigger) picture?

CLASS WAR!

It was time to start the revolution so I put on my Slipknot t-shirt, headed into town, and spray painted the words ‘Class War’ on a bus shelter.

Lo and behold, next thing I knew, the working classes were out on the streets waving baseball bats and shovels. They were chanting the mantra ‘Class War! Class War! We never thought of that before!’ and headed uptown to where the richies live and control the media and all that type of thing.

Speaking of the media, I suddenly found myself surrounded by journalists and camera crews. They were all roaring questions at me:
‘Do you really think Class War is the solution?’
‘Are you prepared to take responsibility if someone gets hurt?’
‘Do you know where we can get some decent coke?’
I didn’t answer any of their questions. Instead, I pulled my t-shirt up over my lower face, flipped the camera the bird and shouted ‘OLD LADIES, WE’RE COMING FOR YOU!’

The old ladies thing worked a treat. It was on the news that night and all over the papers the next day. ‘Rioters Threaten Nice Old Ladies!’ No one minded when the law put the boot into the revolutionaries after that. Feeling betrayed, demoralised and quite ashamed, the multitudes that rose up the day before returned to their homes that evening. I was back in my flat long before them, taking a call from the secret service.
‘Well done Mr. Fugger, you’ve released the pressure valve. Has to be done from time to time. Should stop Joe and Jenny Pleb getting any fancy notions for a while. The cheque is in the post.’
I put the phone down, put my feet up and listened to my Angela Lansbury Reads the Poetry of Matthew Arnold CD, relaxing in the knowledge that I was on the winning side.

‘And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.’

Ah, . . .sweetness and light.