Two Thoughts

Digital Piracy

I had no qualms present as I thieved Sunset Blvd. and The Maltese Falcon from under the dead-eyes of it's starving creators via a loose swarm of like-minded buccaneers. There was not an inch of conscience involved. My eyes continued their involuntary act of descending a steep slope of snow, with a barely controlled flourish. Either for the sheer thrill of the ride and/or to bypass tedious scree, I enjoyed the hell out of it.

I was a new modern man with his fingers on the keys not giving a damn or a penny to/for the third generation black-suiters who wanted my ill-earned hard cash for what is, undeniably, old Bogart. Of course I had a dog by the name which was put down for mauling toddlers, or so I assumed from the euphemism my mother used. Whatever happened to collective culture anyway, it is as guarded as a dictator's tomb?

Hysterical Paroxysm

On a related note there I was treating her for the nervous ailment that had troubled her all these dark months since her husband put to sea, and suddenly I found the equipment all covered in a tepid sort of semolina. 'Aha! by Jehova and all The Saints' I thought out loud, stowing the vibratode in it's hygienic red leather lined beech box, I've heard of this but never seen the like; 'too right' said the wife. Nowadays you can get them in the Argos catalogue.

- "Tyranno" 1918

Demon Means

Those demons up there, the head office heads, have long since developed a means of control so pure and so very simple, a transplant patient could quite contentedly eat her dinner off it. Truth be told, it almost had me, of all people, flummoxed. That could never have lasted, though. Their method is as follows:

Multiple organisations (at time of writing, these number seven), ostensibly rivals, enter into a wretched, underhand agreement regarding espionage and counter-espionage policy. Their first move is to insinuate, semi-publicly, that sensitive information has been leaked/acquired nefariously from their respective organisations. Next, over a period of, say, two months, they institute, in seeming reaction to each other, variants on the following policy:

“Any person/persons, be they employees or visitors, whether authorised or not, found in a situation deemed by Security to compromise the integrity and/or property (intellectual or otherwise) of the organisation, will be brought before a tribunal selected by the board of directors, and may be liable to prosecution under applicable laws in the jurisdiction governing head office.”

Needless to say, the combined clout of the various organisations in the aforementioned jurisdiction is more than sufficient to draw out legal proceedings for protracted lengths of time, indeed, indefinitely. This is the key to their control, when coupled with the following nugget of secret policy:

“As a member of this organisation, you accept that, should you be caught by a rival organisation in a situation that would seem to compromise the integrity of your intentions towards them, and by extension the integrity of this organisation, it is our policy to deny knowledge and involvement, as all and any infiltration of rival organisations is contrary to policy. You must therefore expect no assistance should charges be brought. Since all and any infiltration is contrary to policy, it will be assumed, should you be found in such a situation, that you are acting on behalf of a third party, and you may consequently be liable to disciplinary action before a tribunal selected by the board of directors.”

That’s right, people; the only aspect of the demon means to control that lies beyond their sphere of control is the assumption that orders, specifically orders to spy, will be followed by employees, or colleagues, as head office prefer to call them. This, however, is a safe assumption; we all know that. I got wise, though, and forewent the auld job security thing. I last ate seven days ago, and that was three beans in a salty sauce, but at least I’m free from litigation, and from paying attention, and from ever having to think about it, really. In fact, the above was never written.

In Bed With The Man From Marks&Spencer

The following is a cover version of Wolper’s Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory, The Inventing Room scene:

Late in the dark of the night Val lay in bed with Marks who part-invented Marks & Spencer, talking.
“I simply love your apples” she said sincerely. “I wont buy them from any other shop.” Then she paused for a moment to let wonder form, then asked “Why ARE they so special? Is it all down to the soil in the place where they come from? Do they have really caring farmers?”
“Aaaah my friend” said Marks, which Val heard with her face as well as her ear, for her cheek was on his chest. “I have something rather special to tell you. But this is the most secret mechanism in all my enterprise. I can only give it to you if you solemnly swear to keep it to yourself and never show it to another living soul as long as you live. Agreed?”
“Agreed” said Val predictably and happily.
“Good. Because du komme jetzt in den interessantesten und gleichzeite geheisten Raum meine Fabri. Meine Dame: Der Inventing Room.
Now people are very funny about fruit flavours. As long as it’s sweet, you can almost replace their orange-juice with apricot-, so long as they don’t see the label. Asked to articulate, they will often tell you ‘It tastes fruity’. And so it does. But, now, why would you want to replace orange with apricot (except out of mischief)? well now I’ll tell you. The fact is, apricot is simply a special variety of orange. It’s at a different value on the circular Fruity Spectrum; nevertheless, it IS a spectrum, all items are gradual; and the flavour of apricot is extreme orange. So if you give it to someone who thinks they are drinking orange-juice they will taste that it is special extra-tasty orange-juice. The imposter fruit IS registered, but only in as much as yum. It gives it a little kick,”
“I see.”
“Now take this to our apples. We realised that they needed a little more jelly fat to have the edge on other shops. So, one day, way back when, we take a syringe to an apple and extract all the apple-taste. Then. We take a number of strawberries (it depends on how big the skin of the apple is), and repeat the operation with a new syringe, sucking out the strawberry flavour. Then swap the syringes and insert the imposter flavours. A little coloured ink and voila. Testing this sort of experiment on yourself is inpossible so I gave one of each to my stepmother, unsuspiciously. She eats and all is fine – remarking ‘What a nice juicy apple’ or some such. We use this method on every single apple that comes through our stores, every year. Fantastic invention. Revolutionised our industry. People can eat ‘em and eat ‘em until their dying days and never know any wiser. Never realise. Never. Least I don’t think they do. And as a bonus we also get tastier strawberries.”
“Oh wow wow wow.”
“I know. Isnt it scrumptious?”
“It’s marvellous.”
“But now remember: no touching, no tasting, no telling.”
“I swear, Marksy.”
Talking stopped for a while while the pair thought of apples, what had happened to them earlier in the day, and the prospect of sleep. Marks had rolled over and later quietly said “Where is fancy bred? In the heart or in the head?”
Val said “Did you say ‘fancy bread’ or ‘fancy bred’?” This writer does not know the answer.

The Church

Sadly it was the rather stupid Charlotte Church that instigated this evening's thought processes.
I want to talk a little about religion. I want to, but can't. I know literally nothing about it. Well, not literally. What worries me most though is that I'm joined by about 6,578,257,375 people. 6,578,257,375 know nothing about religion. On a side note I had this theory once, or more of a fantasy, that women had a huge secret, and its such a deep hidden secret that they can't ever tell a male, without destroying everything. So not even a lesbian could break the vow...not even riddled with drugs and frying in a pancake oils. I don't know what the secret would be, obviously. Probably something to do with machines... maybe the world is hollow and lined with little rubbery handles, so that when the menfolk go to sleep (after a hard night hunting amphibious birdlife?) they drop down specially crafted tunnels that they dug as part of their initiation. They slide down these hand crafted tunnels and drop into the hollow earth, wildly grasping for a handle as they plummet into the innner void. If they manage to catch hold they can swing around, so that from a distance away into the space and turning back their shapes make important concentric patterns. That would explain magnets. If they miss they just drop...although the problem is after they have dropped for say, a thousand or so miles they'll be approaching the 'core' of the empty space. If they dropped any further they'd actually be flying, if you get my drift. So obviously they come to an abrupt stop in the centre....where surely thousands of women from all around the world will be dropping to. Exactly the same point. At high velocity too... no doubt creating intense heat. A huge boiling fleshball of oestrogen, and er, hairstyles and screaming and mangles.
I forget my point.