Wednesday, 6 September 2017


We live in an age which worships all things technical, while being assured it is our saviour and future, a fact embraced by all who can not think for themselves but rely on a machine to do their thinking for them which probably the vast majority of the human race, but then do not despair as there are those who think Elvis is alive and well. Working as a fish and tater hawker on Whitechapel Road. If you believe that you will believe anything, which unfortunately applies to most of the human race for whom gullibility, as an incurable condition, has replaced bubonic plague.

Enough of this frivolity. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty of this piece before I sober up and write something sensible, worth reading and polite to my readership, so, on with the motley. I can’t stand technology, it is the bane of my life, all these computers and pass words and god alone what else, indeed it is getting to the stage where one can not get on a bus without a pass word. Admittedly I have trouble with all things technological, without doubt I have trouble switching the light on and off, nor can I stand telephones, intrusive bloody contraptions at the best of times which only ring when one is asleep or enjoying a good crap after a prolonged state of constipation. Well I have started so I will finish.

First and most obvious is those automata in supermarkets which squawk instructions at you while your are trying to figure out if your credit card is maxed out and you left the gas cooker on. They are irritating but this is just the start, things have got worse and worse, and getting a damn side worser. Is it only me who gets the impression that contact between humans is becoming an indictable offence. Phone up a supplier of a commercial product and what do you get? A bloody robot that’s what, and they are touchy sods them robots, you’d think they were human the way some of them carry on. One outfit I contacted put me though to a robot which could not understand what I was saying. Now I am a patient sort of old cove, but finally I lost my rag and started efffing and blinding at the bloody thing, what happened? Did I receive satisfaction? Did I hell, I was cut off. I ask you, cut off for cussing at a fucking robot, the indignity of it all. I think I have lived too long.

There is hardly an institution not infected by this insidious virus, bring back the Luddites, start wrecking these perverse machines which are destroying the ability of people to think and react for themselves, not that the fools could do so under the most propitious of circumstances, but at least we could enjoy the satisfaction of telling them what we think of them, or to bugger off and get an education.

Where will it all end I ask myself? The way things are going it is only a matter of time before you go to the doctors, only to be confronted by a machine and told to stick your cock in the hole and cough.

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