The Communists Next Door

Listening to Any Questions on Radio 4 on the drive home from work last night it was fascinating to hear the inner workings of an alien species. Broadcast from Glasgow, it didn’t take very long to realise that the Scots aren’t like the rest of us. Or if they are they may have succumbed to a wasting disease that we should all worry about. The SNP appear to be pink to the core, espousing many of the contradictions of communism itself; collective misery and hardship and wishing death on the hated Tories, while, simultaneously expressing a deep seated desire to save the world, when they can’t even save themselves.

Part of the problem with pretending that you are so nice, while spitting hatred at those who pay for you to maintain your delusion, is that sooner or later you have to come face to face with reality. The reality that not everybody is equal, or that some people are not worth saving. That those you despise genuinely don’t care what you think of them. And that lofty ambitions of egalitarianism will remain unreachable without the enlistment of capitalism’s ability to do the things that communism can only dream of. And why get so agitated and angry when you find that not everybody shares your impossible quest?

And then you come up against people like me. I don’t care. I really don’t. I don’t care about refugees, asylum seekers, sick children, the unemployed, minority rights... In short, I don’t care about you and your bizarre obsession with taking and living the hypocritical oath. Oh, all this weird shit interests me, but in a fascinated ‘Ripley’s Believe it or Not’ way. It interests me that you can be all for equal treatment for all but also want to kill Tories. It interests me that you will believe without question and without proof a narrative that says the Westminster Government has a deliberate policy of exterminating the disabled and unemployed, yet refuse to condemn a murderous ideology which actually tortures and kills people live on screen.

Not caring doesn’t make me a typical Tory because there isn’t a Tory in the land who would espouse the complete disdain and disregard I hold for the human species and all its self-inflicted suffering. For instance, I don’t believe in every woman’s right to procreate; some people should never be allowed to replicate. I broadly support preventative abortion and if necessary post-natal culling. Up to 40 years post-natal ideally. You may call me a monster but you should be aware that I genuinely do not care what you think of me. If you are the kind of person who is offended by strangers not agreeing with you then why are you even still reading this?

Manufactured rage, dog-whistle reaction to barely grasped events, the confusion about which murderous bunch of foreigners you are supposed to support today, your fanatical devotion to the NHS even as it eats through money that might better get your children properly educated to not rely on others for their health and well-being... and maintaining the constant state of readiness to react angrily to every story of cleverer people passing on their advantage to their children must take its toll. I expect the cognitive dissonance roars like tinnitus and disturbs your very balance.

No? Me neither... Jockanese translator required

But, you see, the world needs people like me. It needs people like me to go out to work and pay my taxes and do my level best not to spend those taxes ten-fold. It needs people like me to hold up as hate figures, even though we do nothing to make the plight of your oh-so-many special cases any worse. And it needs people like me to be good little Aunt Sallies for you to rail against and wave your feeble little fists at. But at least I recognise that nobody cares what I think and nobody is going to spend any wasted time trying to rearrange the world to suit me... which is almost the exact opposite of the whining entitlement monkeys of socialism.

Sanguinicity

Sanguine, that’s me, or so some think; cheerful in apparently adverse circumstance. Others believe me dour and pessimistic. And yet more have in the past remarked on my impassivity and calm in the face of the shit storm, remaining imperturbable and somewhat nonchalant as all around empires crumble and the mighty are impotent to stem the tides… or at least, the photocopier is up the spout again and we’re out of milk.

The thing is, I really don’t see the point in getting all worked up about stuff; no rational reason to get too excited – only disappointment will follow. No, stay grounded and the Earth will turn, the sun will rise, the weather systems will run their regular seasonal gamut of change and no matter the prophecies and prognoses of all the well-paid hot air spouters we have genuinely seen it all before. The same with pretty much all disasters and chaos, natural or man-made.

While I can readily agree that to send aid to destitute victims of floods and famine, terror and tragedy, is ‘a good thing’, I don’t see why I need to be emotionally involved. It strikes me that a mewling, keening, ululating display of mourning and garment-rending for people who I don’t know, will never know and with whom the most interaction I will ever have is maybe dropping loose change into a tin, is entirely unnecessary. I want neither their gratitude nor their never-ending dependency; in fact if I do put money in a tin the most likely reason is that I just want rid of the shrapnel.

Each to his or her own, I say. We have enough to do just to look after our own hearth, never mind the rest of the world. Charity really should begin – and in many cases end – at home. Look after the pennies, they say, and the pounds will look after themselves. The same applies to humanity – sort out your own shit and don’t go looking for a mission until you have done so. Far too many people take umbrage on behalf of others, or take up cudgels for lost and unworthy causes when their time would far better be spent taking personal responsibility.

All of which – and more besides – is why I could never be a politician. Pretending to care about things I know nothing about, spouting supposed ‘opinions’ which are every-ready to change, depending on the audience. Promising solutions to problems I don’t fully understand with money whose production I know little about. Like Jeremy Clarkson, or Katie Hopkins I would look about me and laugh at the little people… because they are, quite frankly, hilarious.

The answer to pretty much every question...

So, there’s no point in trying to wind me up on The Twitter, or trying to persuade me of some noble cause that involves people whose significance to me is as an ant on an elephant hide. I’m not without emotions but they are mine and mine alone and I don’t deploy them, Diana-like, to be part of some weird drone-driven hive-mind of morbid mediocrity. My Twitter profile says “No need to argue; I'm always right.” Take that as read and we’ll get on fine when I’m King.