“Tales I Tell Myself” Vol.8
Vote Paddington!
7th June 2022
“Rhetorical Questions Round a Rectangular Dining Table Vol.18”
Why does the “Big Dog” have 9 lives? Vote Paddington!
Welcome to the celebratory and indeed 18th issue of those nagging doubts that turn into rhetorical questions that inevitably lead me absolutely nowhere, but which sustain me somehow in this maddest of all possible worlds.
And why not?
Here the in the UK the Jubilee has left town, the Queen appeared via a hologram and said hologram enjoyed a solid gold coach ride all of its own through the humble streets of old London town. Via the jungle drums of The Matrix I understand that people waved. Of course they did! It was a hologram after all and we live in a holographic universe.
Waving at holograms is so last year sister!
“The Matrix is all around you” and so is our holographic reality that defies quantum physicians the world over as well as an unreliable narrator still laughing at the prospect of people waving at holograms. Anyway, I’ve voted for Paddington Bear to be Prime Minister, I’ll be deputy and as God is my witness, we’ll drive the money changers from the cesspit of UK politics once and for all.
Please vote “Paddington” at the next election.
We’re your only hope left.
Talking of which, Boris Johnson survived a vote of confidence in his ability, an ability that has yet to be accurately defined, as a Prime Minister, and the cult of the “Big Dog” calls in yet another of his feline lives. His attack dog, in a political sense, Nadine Dorries, gave a rousing defence of her would be lover (Friend, Cabinet Colleague and Prime Minister, surely? Politics Editor) before seemingly to confirm we’re at war with Ukraine and then no doubt sneered at the camera like a drunken woman on a particularly boisterous hen party in the Czech Republic before disappearing like a phantasm into the 5th Dimension. Today, Alexander has been allegedly caught with Charlie and Auntie Beeb is showing images of Uncle Keith stating that a “majority” of women can’t actually have a penis. They may be stage names. They may also be hollowed out actors. But as I hope I’ve demonstrated, politics needs a fresh face, as well as a cheeky little hologram, and me and the bear are it.
Vote Paddington!
Why does the “Big Dog” have 9 (and counting) lives? The conspiracy fruitcake in me would point you in the direction of the day, time and month that yesterday’s call of no confidence was convened as nothing is left to chance in this Satanic stage play of our lives. Davos has ended, Bilderberg begun, and those lovely entities that litter our Telescreens lecturing us on how fast and catastrophic the world is ending, litter our skies in the private jets and aeroplanes we’ll never own. The ludicrously monikered big dog was a member of the “Young Global Leaders” at the once secret Davos club in Switzerland, and much like the CIA that funds these uber secretive talking clubs of the vacuous and vexatious (“rich and famous”, surely? Culture Editor), once you’re in, you’re in and you only leave when others decide.
You also leave in the manner they decide too, if you get my meaning?
There are currently representatives of Her Majesty’s Government (and Boris’ political chums) at the once secretive and still ringed with a perimeter of private security guards and local police at yet another of those elite clubs, held this year at a Washington Hotel, before many of those attending will enjoy a gas guzzling hop in their private jets to California for frolics and shenanigans in front of a 40 foot high owl carved out of stone. Again, a highly trained and privately financed army of enforcers and snipers will ensure the attendees have the grandest of times in their secluded hideaway and if you think worshipping a ginormous stone owl is a little on the weird side, wait until you find out what else happens between consenting adults in their private club of doom.
Why connect such vague dots? Because they form a chain and when you’re in the club baby, you’re in for life. The “Big Dog” is the walking dead (“Dead man walking”, surely? Film Editor) and he’ll be cast aside soon enough for yet another young cabal (global? surely Politics Editor) leader of the same exclusive club that despite connecting such dots and seeing the elephant picture develop in the room, we all still refuse to believe our lying eyes.
It’s all Vladimir Putin’s fault, obviously, but the extortionate tripling of energy costs, food banks, extreme promotion of identity politics, a “cut and paste” generation of political nobodies saying nothing in exactly the same way, proxy wars, multi Billions to a military industrial complex and vast sums to the vacuous political entities in the middle, the silencing of protest, the curbs to freedom of speech, being unable to define what a woman is, “fact checkers”, mandatory medicines and vile apartheid action thrown at those who choose to retain their bodily autonomy.
Fear.
Control.
3 word mantras.
Are you feeling sleepy yet?
I wonder if you can connect the dots to the charlatans in your own country cloaked in a clownish, smiling veneer whilst their dead eyed stares tell you the real story of their actions?
And who fact checks the fact checkers again?
“The Bangers and the Mash
The negatives for cash
You’re either in the club, baby or you’re not.
Whatever turns you on
Whatever gets you off
Chief of Police, or Vice-Chancellor
Lord and Lady Blah Blah the Vicar and the Judge
You’re dancing to my little red book”
“Bangers and Mash”, by Radiohead.
Vote Paddington!
“Rhetorical Questions Round a Rectangular Dining Table Vol.18 — Why does the “Big Dog” have 9 lives? Vote Paddington!” can also be found singing and dancing through pages 275–279 within my late March 2024 self-published book “Tales I Tell Myself”.
"Tales I Tell Myself" - link to Amazon
Thanks for reading. I hope this message in a bottle in The Matrix finds you well, prospering, and the right way up in an upside down world.