Grade A Thundercunts

It’s that time of year again; for a few days the air is rent by the wailing and gnashing of teeth by the parents, teachers and the kids who are on the receiving end of ‘the wrong grades’. Only this year they have somebody else to blame, which is brilliant because this is what socialism teaches you, after all. And of course, it is the government in the frame. Not the teachers, not the exam boards, not the university admissions system and definitely not the kids, many of whom have sat firmly on their arses for the last six months.

The principle awkward paradigm at the heart of socialism is that the state must be worshipped at all times, but it if fails to provide it must be attacked and its figureheads replaced, to then perpetuate the same failed ideology all over again. Marxist education is a spiral of dumbocracy, labelling ever-lower achievements as ever-increasing successes. Grade inflation is not a fiction, it is a fact and it benefits nobody, yet still it goes on. (You pretend to study, we pretend to grade you.)

But why this fixation on grades anyway? Once, only a gifted few waited through the summer months to find out whether their application to the pinnacles of education would be successful. For everybody else, the actual grades rarely mattered. You left school, you got on with the next phase of your development – a job for most – and pretty soon you learned that exam success did not matter one jot once you had moved on.

But the ridiculous notion of university for all provides a wonderful opportunity for everybody to own their own little slice of misery. Woe is me, I didn’t get the three Ds that Shithouse Uni wanted for the MA in Finger Painting and I’ll have to settle for Mediocre Studies instead. Given that you are probably going to end up in McDonalds anyway, why not get a head start on your future colleagues and go straight from school to job? Oh, wait, serving chips now requires a degree... probably.

Children – and as anybody over 50 knows, anybody under 30 is still a child - are past masters at creating dramas from the most petty of events. Having been told by their influencers that their mental health is at risk from the lockdown, many are looking up the symptoms of a variety of psychiatric disorders so they can feign frailty and garner sympathy. Some will do it so well that they will actually manage to convince a trick-cyclist of their pain, thus earning a diagnosis which will curtail their life chances forever.

It’s bollocks on a bus. People escaped gas chambers and went on to lead full, productive lives, create wealth from nothing and dynasties from their loins. Victims of disasters manage to put the past behind them and pursue new futures. Amputees even learn to live without the lost appendages and some achieve feats beyond the comprehension of the idle full-bodied. In short, life’s hard, then you die; nobody gives a fuck about your pretend ‘advanced’ level grades.

So, kids, gender is not fluid, human cultures are not equal, diversity is – of itself – divisive and unnatural and nobody owes you a living. How well you do in school is rarely a predictor of how well you will do in life and if you are going to learn anything from the pandemic it should be that shit happens. Into every life a little rain must fall, but tomorrow the sun will shine. So, you didn’t get the grades you think you deserve? Seriously, nobody cares.