Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Intelligent Design?

What a shitty piece of work in progress the human race is.
We're helpless from birth to upwards of twenty years (twenty-five or more if you're a bloke) and from about sixty it's all downhill for most of us.
We stand upright, so we get bad backs.
We have big, heavy brains, so we get sore necks.
Our bodies are made to store fat, but when we do what comes naturally we slowly kill ourselves by strangling our organs and crippling our skeletons..
We're always ill. Not me, incidentally, but you lot, you're always poorly, with your sniffly handkerchiefs and your croaky, "I can't come into work today." voices.
To take away the misery of actually being human we take drugs that do us harm.
To take away the misery of addiction, rejection, failure, being short, being fat, being white, being black, being spotty, being a teenager, being an adult, having kids, not having kids... [insert personal misery here] we turn to therapy, which only makes it all worse.
Because we can't believe it's all our own fault we invented religion and blame it on a higher power, even though we secretly know the truth. And then we started taking it all too seriously and set to fighting each other.
All our bits wear out long before we snuff it, so we need spare parts: teeth, hair, eyes, hips, knees, hearts, livers, kidneys, you name it, we need an upgrade. All in all the human design committee is a bit of a disaster, really.

And yet, and yet. We never do sod-all about it, do we? Clinging to the last scraps of breath when dignity says we should give up the unequal struggle and clear a space for the next lot. So thank heaven for the sensible Dutch. The Clogmeisters have taken a leaf out of my manifesto and come up with euthanasia on wheels, demise on demand. Put me down for next Tuesday, would you? There's a love

Have a nice day. J

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