Trump has come out, as he said he would, firmly on the side of limiting future muslim influence in America. “We don’t want to become a Muslim country” he said. With muslim birth rates outpacing that of Americans of northern European origin by six to one, his embargo on immigration from certain ‘troubled’ regions is entirely sensible, pragmatic and predictably has riled the left who, for reasons unknown, simply will not criticise even those whose avowed aim is to obliterate all other forms of thought. Maybe they see a kindred spirit.
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The day is come. You can feel the build-up. All around the world, lefties and democrats and snowflakes and gender-agenda-benders and political sheep and Lily Allen and Jon Snow and Alistair Campbell and Owen Jones and Nicola Sturgeon and the list just goes on and on and on… are rending their garments, tearing out their hair, self-harming and generally melting down. It is truly glorious and it’s not going to stop today. Even after President Trump has taken his seat in the Oval Office they will not accept it. Sales of Valium are going to soar. (Top shares tip there.)
There is much fear and fervid chatter just lately, over the rise of artificial intelligence and the future of the workforce, especially that part of the workforce that doesn’t show much evidence of innate human intelligence. For the supposedly alpha evolvers of the planet we are particularly poor, en-masse, at demonstrating why we deserve to occupy such a pre-eminent position on the pyramid. But, to be fair, we’ve come a long way in keeping people in work, no matter how hard they try to avoid it.
Source: When He Is King – Time and Motion – @Battsby
Although there are exceptions the teaching trade – I hesitate to use the word profession – is dominated by leftward-thinking types. Their principal union does them few favours in representing their concerns to the masses and as public servants in the main we ought to expect better of them. Yesterday the NUT were descending on Whitehall for a march and rally to protest and agree with each other about their truly dreadful plight.
Continuing the week’s Trumpestuous theme the title of this post says it all. Obama met Trump yesterday and you can just imagine the frost in the room as icicles formed on the bust of Martin Luther King. I expected a peremptory handshake and then down to brisk business but the session lasted over an hour and that is plenty of time to air a few honest opinions. Boy, oh boy wouldn’t you have wanted to be a fly on that particular wall? Well, I have news. Thanks to a leaked transcript of a covert recording I can reveal at least a part of that momentous liaison.
Here is a painful truth. You may need to prepare your safe space in readiness should you trigger during the rest of the paragraph. Are you ready? Then here goes; nobody wants to hurt you. Still standing? It’s true though; unless you have stirred up some animus with somebody you have wronged or against whose own existence you regularly rail, unless you have provoked somebody in some way, nobody, generally, wants to hurt you. Actually, I have over-generalised here; of course there are people who would hurt you just for who and how you are, but none of them are in government.
One, two, buckle my shoe. From the earliest of our days we hear about numbers. Three, four, knock at the door. Numbers are everywhere; they describe our world. Ton-up, megabyte, 3-D, fourth estate, fifth column… Five, six, pick up sticks. Cashier number nine, please, ‘ten items or less’[sic] buy-one-get-one-free. Seven, eight, interest rate; ‘the pound is worth…’ ‘the FTSE ended…’ ‘At the third stroke’, count your blessings; you just won’t thrive without numbers. Telephone numbers, house numbers, personal identification numbers, National Insurance numbers. Nine, ten… a big, fat zero.
Modern economies are built on castles in the air. We have entire industries depending on a willing belief in their nebulous worth. Entertainers know the fickle nature of their audience and a whiff of scandal can suddenly end a career of decades, no matter what the talent involved. In fact so much scandal has there been in recent years it has created practically a causal link between talent and sexual impropriety. Is this for real, or is it more likely that if the opportunity is there, our base human nature will take advantage of it? I’m going with the latter; it’s far simpler and more pragmatic than searching for the sinister explanation.
Another day, another stupendous carnival in the eternal situation comedy of politics. Forget the soaps, ditch the detective shows, this is the acme of aching sides. Parliament is a three-ring circus right now and Theresa May in fishnet stockings, corset and killer heels is wielding her whip as the all-powerful ringleader. The music swells and the familiar tune crackles out from the speakers. As Entrance of the Gladiators plays through the tinny tannoy the Shadow Cabinet clown car lurches into the arena, steam issuing from the bonnet, different sized eccentric wheels wobbling and comes to a rest with a comedy backfire as all the doors fall off.
They say you can smell it, the reek of corruption. The guilty parties are presumed to wallow in the stench of it and it is generally accepted as a truism that power causes it. Power over resources, power over things and most especially power over people. Who judges the judges? Who polices the police? But it starts way lower than these lofty heights; corruption, like charity, begins at home. And where corruption goes, hypocrisy usually follows.