Read through any University prospectus and you will invariably find many examples of ridiculous degrees. designed to give intellectually bereft teenagers a route to management positions in their local Tescos. While I would not deny anybody the chance to better themselves academically, the plain truth of these degrees is that they are designed to make money for universities and, in conjunction with this society’s idiotic idea that you cannot tell a child they have failed, a way for society to tell Tesco’s next batch of shelf-stackers that they ‘can be anything they want to be’. I’m sorry but this is so much bullshit, some people are intended to go to university, to gain a degree and enter a higher level of work. The rest are either meant to get a trade or give themselves to a life of slavery for the almighty Tescos.
On the subject of University, I am continually shocked by the attitudes of some of my fellow students. Each friday I attend a lecture/seminar for the course ‘Empire Strikes Back’. A course looking at British attitudes to race in the 20th century. Each 2 hr session takes the form of a 15-20 lecture summarising the topic to be discussed and the remaining time is spent discussing issues arising from the reading set for that week. While a few students have the ability to think logically and intelligently, it became clear very quickly how out of touch with society some of my fellow students really are. Despite all evidence to the contrary, a group who took upon themselves last year the name ‘intelligensia’ (a moniker used in a derisory fashion by many other students), take it upon themselves to blame all the race problems we have had in the past upon the ‘unintelligent’ working class. Having blamed all our woes on the working class they then try to blame our foreign affairs on institutional racism. And in so doing blaming the middle and upper classes for all our problems! Now while I will not absolve either side of blame when it comes to racist actions during the past century, surely the hypocritical nature of these arseholes can plainly be seen?
In the past I have held my tongue, knowing that I was outnumbered in the class with my points of view. But no longer will I sit in a corner and listen in as wet pinko-leftie apologists sell our national pride down the river. In today’s lecture we will be discussing the Falkland’s War, one of this group has already said in a past lecture that the country was ashamed of the war despite all evidence from the time (and the more recent massive public approval of, and participation in, the first annual Falkland’s memorial day) proving him false. Any more of this middle class leftie bullshit and they will be told most un-diplomatically to take their opinions and shove them up their arse – sideways.
Those of you who took the time to read my last blog will no doubt remember the tale told of a ‘friend’ who, despite warnings and an explanation of the facts, decided to screw over his mates in the probable pursuit of a shag (fruitless may I add, while he would no doubt sleep with a female walrus should it show the inclination, sane and insane women alike will no doubt join me in decreeing him as unsuitable for procreation. The world does not need or want another of his ilk). I can only presume that the penile wart himself has had the occasion to peruse my humble journal, as not long after my last post he sent a message to the other friend mentioned in my musings, moaning and asking why we hated him and trying to justify his actions. Not satisfied with blatantly trying to turn the situation against us privately he has embarked upon a campaign of slander, both to the aforementioned whore of Babylon, and also to other fellow students and friends.
Apparently we have bullied him – Not so! since it was clear for which side he had presented his colours, I and those other implicated in this ‘plot’ have ignored him. Cutting him out of our lives in the same way we cut out the foul cancer of that harlot residing in Babylon.
We have been named as ‘the clan who hate him’ – Once again not so! In order to hate someone you have to care about it. The removal of this barely homo-sapien abnormality from my social life caused me not one moment of grief. In fact I actually came out of the situation financially better off as I was no longer having to pay for him to play pool (a petty thing it seems, but you pay for someone else to play pool 2/3 times a week for a year and see how you feel).
I no longer wish to hide behind the pretense of anonymity, while calling him names is fun, I will feel much better directing my anger directly. So, Simon Sepazhad, you sir are a cunt of the highest order. I have never bullied you, I have never hated you. The warnings I gave to you were in an effort to retain you as a friend. But believe me in this, carry on with your campaign of slander and outright lies and I’ll give you something to campaign about. Keep on dragging the good names of me and my friends through the shit and I promise you will regret ever saying hello to me in the first place. Unlike you, I am a loyal man. Those who hurt my friends invariably come out of the situation broken people.
Reading back through this post it has occurred to me that I have been very pessimistic and dark about things. So I shall endeavour to finish on a lighter note.
I wish to tell you the tale of a young boy from the south coast. Now this young boy, in his desire to belong and have some meaning in his life decided to throw himself completely into the world of football. Not playing it mind you, but watching it and supporting his favourite team. Now this boy chose as his favourite team the mightiest team in the land. Famous throughout the world for their success, albeit slightly out of walking distance, being 182 miles away from where this poor boy lived. Ignoring the great distance between him and his beloved club the boy set out to immerse himself in the glories of his chosen team, every player to pull on the jersey became a god. Surely an international team filled with players from his team would lay waste to all countries foolhardy enough to take the pitch before them?
Such wonderful thoughts swam through the boy’s mind as he moved to the big smoke to continue his education. Immediately he felt at home with other people who loved football just as much as he did. But problems began to emerge, the fellow lovers of the beautiful game did not agree with our stalwart hero about the greatness and glory of his team and all who pulled on the jersey.
And so, in an effort to gain common ground, the boy switched his focus to international football. Surely love for their national team would unite this band of brothers and forge lasting friendships. Ah but if only that were so. Very soon our stalwart hero became mentally ill, the disease he had contracted confounded the doctors and his friends. For instead of physical symptoms, this poor boy was reduced to slandering his national team’s chances in the upcoming world series of football. He began to feverishly rant about how the benchwarmer from his beloved team was a wonderful goalkeeper and should be shot-stopper #1 come the world series. He then proclaimed his love for a country that bore no love for his own. Vowing to don their jersey during the world series and even avowing an admiration of the football team from the local pizzeria that would also be playing in the upcoming world series.
Alas our hero’s friends did not realise the fragile mental state he was in or else they would have bought him a nice new white jacket with extra-long sleeves. Instead they merely laughed, pointed and talked among themselves.
What is the point of this story you may ask? Well dear reader, do not make the same mistakes as our hero in this tale. When beginning on the path to a glorious friendship try to make sure you have a number of things to discuss with prospective pals. And for fuck sake – don’t base your whole life on football – it’s a game!!!!
Anyway I must love you all and leave you. Comment away, even criticism can be fun.
John
