I have seen nothing less than the future of our world. Like Orpheus, I rolled back the boulder at the gates of Hades, and descended into the netherworld whence ourÂ fÅtal rulers are formed from mindless lumps of overfed lard, into sleek cloned apparatchiks fit to graze at the subsidised tables of our magnificent political institutions.
Of course, Orpheus’ first problem was finding the boulder – now’t so hard in our modern world of social media. Just click on Facebook, though I am told you can also squeeze in through the Twatter entrance. Once admitted, you will see paraded before you rack upon rack of congealed brain cells, carefully tended by learned Professors at great expense. Within two or so years, these will be presented to you as ‘bright and rising stars’ worthy of safe parliamentary seats, or perhaps ‘advisers’ to our Prime Minister, ‘academics’ responsible for works of learning upon which policy is formed, or maybe even Leader of the Opposition.
You may gasp in wonder that such an upturn in the fortunes of intellectual matter can be performed in a mere two years – or you may come to the conclusion that pigs will fly first, and you might as well slit your throat now. I know I did.
Cast your eye over the cultural visual stimulation that has replaced the Old Masters of yore, admired by 1533 of the little darlings, like Tim Hanna – oh God, he’s been let lose on the world already – ‘risk management analyst at Prestige Worldwide….’ with any luck it’s this one, and he can’t do too much damage there. Who else admires this image? There’s young Harry the Hunt – I don’t believe it, he’s been let out as fully formed too – ‘technician at C-MAX Seabed Sonar Systems‘ and lo! C-MAX have a fledgling Facebook page, all ready and waiting for Harry’s ‘likes’ to be cross posted to. Perfect for the prospective customer.
They do like moving pictures too, especially ones they can salivate in time to. ‘ifucklikeabeast’ (no00, really?) has uploaded ‘the worst nipple piercing ever – watch her squeal like a pig’ to even greater applause – 2,448 people clapped their hands (and depressingly, 15, 506, 799 took the time to watch it in its full technicolour glory, I suppose we should be grateful that only 2,448 managed to stay their shaking hands and press the ‘like’ button).
When they are not listening to educational tracks such as ‘Through the Cervix of Hawwah’ or belly laughing at the rape conviction rate:
âIf the girl youâve taken for a drink wonât spread for your head, think about this mathematical statistic: 85% of rape cases go unreported. That seems fairly good oddsâ.
These are the brains of the future. Oddly, no one has been concerned about this cesspit of juvenile humour, this window on the world of the future captains of industry, the Â£9,ooo a year semen covered students that our present crop of academics must leave their ivory towers, their learned tomes on Thermophilus genomes and rational metabolic engineering, in order to steer these brain dead specimens through a revision course on maths for Biologists.
No, what has woken the world up, was the above quote. The Feminista sisters went ballistic when the normal diet of boobs, backsides and infantile jokes regarding how far you can vomit, was interrupted to allow that ‘learned treatise’ on the odds against getting caught for rape. They landed on the head of young Jamie Street, a Plymouth student of web design, with such force that he was forced to take down the ‘Unilad‘ web site and issue a fulsome apology for having offended the sisterhood. He has been universally condemned by such luminaries as Estelle Hart, NUS Womenâs Officer. Not one of the sisters, that I can find, has even bothered to mention that men are raped too…presumably I am free to suggest that men in tight trousers have only themselves to blame if some hairy arsed builder flattens them on the floor of Piccadilly men’s toilets and has his evil way with them.
As it happens, there are as many female as male students inhabiting certainly the accompanying Unilad Facebook site, (Unilad is still down whilst the owner recovers from his mauling on Twitter) and they are equally keen to cheer on the pictures of penis shaped snow men and exceptionally short men apparently being used as Tampax substitutes by some very large women…..
These are the young men and women who will be running this country when we are old and grey (pipe down Obnoxio) – I do wish I hadn’t looked…it’s been more depressing than a pension forecast.
British venues offering the spectacle of women publicly undressing for male edification typically were either less-than-salubrious pubs or working men’s clubs or found amid the red lights of London’s Soho.
But the past decade has witnessed the rise of the “gentleman’s club”, frequented by City bankers and Premiership footballers, their “VIP rooms” replete with expensive champagne.
One chain, Platinum Lace in London, insisted women made up 25% of its membership. The profile of dancers changed too. A 2010 University of Leeds study found that a quarter of lap dancers were graduates. (My thanks to Saul for the tip)
There they go, out into the future; they might look like adults, but they still have the minds and the aspirations of a five year old with Dad’s copy of Nature magazine. Watering the beer down might help.
We’re all doomed, doomed I tell you.