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Not my paragraph, but nicked from a book called 'The Gatekeeper' by Terry Eagleton. It sums up my utter despair for this world, at this most dismal of times, when our leaders are plotting to blow the crap out of each other's citizens from the safety of their bunkers.
"Inventories of carnage are usually suspect. But it was reckoned in 1970 that the number of humanly caused deaths in the twentieth century, by far the bloodiest of historical epochs, stood at about 100 million. Thirty years later, countless more massacres would need to be added to that figure. The story of humanity has been one unbroken din of hacking and gouging, as any history of the world will confirm. Few narratives are more grossly improbable. For the first few aeons, hardly anything of interest happens, and the characters are mere sketches for credible, well-rounded human beings. Then, as if to sustain the reader's drifting attention, the author throws the last shreds of realism shamelessy to the winds, brazenly squeezing his storyline for every last drop of sensationalism. A dwarfish Corsican corporal conquers a large slice of the globe, while a demented Georgian peasant butchers millions of his countryfolk. In an absurdly extravagant flight of fantasy, the joint wealth of the three richest men in the world is said to equal the combined wealth of 600 million of the poorest. A sickly sentimental twist of plot has no less than an implausible 200 babies in the world's poorest countries die every hour. As the fable lurches eratically towards its later stages, the last semblance of narrative unity shatters into a mish-mash of wars, famines, tyrannies and revolutions, with sub-plots left hanging carelessly in mid-air, the same incidents mindlessly repeated, characters hastily recycled and potentially fruitful storylines casually aborted. Nobody would believe a word of it for a moment."
"Inventories of carnage are usually suspect. But it was reckoned in 1970 that the number of humanly caused deaths in the twentieth century, by far the bloodiest of historical epochs, stood at about 100 million. Thirty years later, countless more massacres would need to be added to that figure. The story of humanity has been one unbroken din of hacking and gouging, as any history of the world will confirm. Few narratives are more grossly improbable. For the first few aeons, hardly anything of interest happens, and the characters are mere sketches for credible, well-rounded human beings. Then, as if to sustain the reader's drifting attention, the author throws the last shreds of realism shamelessy to the winds, brazenly squeezing his storyline for every last drop of sensationalism. A dwarfish Corsican corporal conquers a large slice of the globe, while a demented Georgian peasant butchers millions of his countryfolk. In an absurdly extravagant flight of fantasy, the joint wealth of the three richest men in the world is said to equal the combined wealth of 600 million of the poorest. A sickly sentimental twist of plot has no less than an implausible 200 babies in the world's poorest countries die every hour. As the fable lurches eratically towards its later stages, the last semblance of narrative unity shatters into a mish-mash of wars, famines, tyrannies and revolutions, with sub-plots left hanging carelessly in mid-air, the same incidents mindlessly repeated, characters hastily recycled and potentially fruitful storylines casually aborted. Nobody would believe a word of it for a moment."
I think the next inhabitants of the Earth will be forced into diplomacy. These mutant Cockroaches have survived nulcear armageddon and as we know they are already double hard bas**t*rds. Therefore they can't kill each other easily. Wars will be pointless and thus s**tinging insults and retorts are the only weapons available.
"You chitinous carpet crawler!".
"Eat my mum, you ladybird boy".
"Why dos**t thou mock me so? My terrible affliction is insufferable. So I'm not like any normal Cockroach, I don't like smelly carpets and rotting wood, spoiled food and Kilroy, I can't help yearning for the finer things in life, like fragrant carpets and polished wood, well prepared food and Springer. If you pri*k me do I not bleed".
"No, you dumb sh*t how many times do you have to be told? You're like a tank that likes trundling about in filth, similar to those human politicians who used to wander the s**treets of Soho, pandering for perversion. Have you no shame?"
"No I voted Tory".
"You chitinous carpet crawler!".
"Eat my mum, you ladybird boy".
"Why dos**t thou mock me so? My terrible affliction is insufferable. So I'm not like any normal Cockroach, I don't like smelly carpets and rotting wood, spoiled food and Kilroy, I can't help yearning for the finer things in life, like fragrant carpets and polished wood, well prepared food and Springer. If you pri*k me do I not bleed".
"No, you dumb sh*t how many times do you have to be told? You're like a tank that likes trundling about in filth, similar to those human politicians who used to wander the s**treets of Soho, pandering for perversion. Have you no shame?"
"No I voted Tory".
History of The World Part II
"Boy life rules as monkeys. We just eat and scratch and make monkey-love all day. No jobs, no stress and no idiot leaders. And hey, if we dont like the alpha male, we just beat him until he flees and becomes Ronin"
"Yup. We rule"
"I'm becoming evolved, this sucks. Suddenly I am aware of myself as an entity and no longer merely content with existing harmoniously with this planet"
"Me too. This sucks"
"Yes"
"Yup"
Fast fowards a couple of million years
"Well we're evolved now."
"Yup"
"I dont agree with your idealogies, although they have just as valid a base as mine."
"Sorry?"
"Let's kill each other"
"Hang on, we're evolved now. Shouldn't we be discussing this like adults with sentient intelligence?"
"Kill you with my stick"
"I've got a bigger stick, therefore I rule"
"No, I have more sticks and loads of people with even pointier sticks"
"Damn. Ok, well I have another 6 countries that hate you as well."
"Why?"
"Dunno. Skin colour?"
"No"
"Religion! That's always a winner!"
"Heathen!"
"Capatilist Pig!"
"INDFIDEL!"
"BLOODY ARAB!"
And then we all died in a big mushroom cloud.
Then the monkeys came back after a few millions years.
Repeat.
"Boy life rules as monkeys. We just eat and scratch and make monkey-love all day. No jobs, no stress and no idiot leaders. And hey, if we dont like the alpha male, we just beat him until he flees and becomes Ronin"
"Yup. We rule"
"I'm becoming evolved, this sucks. Suddenly I am aware of myself as an entity and no longer merely content with existing harmoniously with this planet"
"Me too. This sucks"
"Yes"
"Yup"
Fast fowards a couple of million years
"Well we're evolved now."
"Yup"
"I dont agree with your idealogies, although they have just as valid a base as mine."
"Sorry?"
"Let's kill each other"
"Hang on, we're evolved now. Shouldn't we be discussing this like adults with sentient intelligence?"
"Kill you with my stick"
"I've got a bigger stick, therefore I rule"
"No, I have more sticks and loads of people with even pointier sticks"
"Damn. Ok, well I have another 6 countries that hate you as well."
"Why?"
"Dunno. Skin colour?"
"No"
"Religion! That's always a winner!"
"Heathen!"
"Capatilist Pig!"
"INDFIDEL!"
"BLOODY ARAB!"
And then we all died in a big mushroom cloud.
Then the monkeys came back after a few millions years.
Repeat.
Insane Bartender wrote:
> The history of the world is quite simple, really. Human history that
> is.
>
> "We want your stuff"
> "Well, you can't have it, it's ours, and we need it."
> "We're going to take it anyway"
> "No fair, stop killing our people, dagnabbit."
> "Mwahahahaahahahaa!!"
>
> End of.
The only thing you missed out was the lengthy discussion of trying to convince the rest of the world that it’s a good idea to take said items from the other country in between "We're going to take it anyway" and "No fair, stop killing our people, dagnabbit.".
> The history of the world is quite simple, really. Human history that
> is.
>
> "We want your stuff"
> "Well, you can't have it, it's ours, and we need it."
> "We're going to take it anyway"
> "No fair, stop killing our people, dagnabbit."
> "Mwahahahaahahahaa!!"
>
> End of.
The only thing you missed out was the lengthy discussion of trying to convince the rest of the world that it’s a good idea to take said items from the other country in between "We're going to take it anyway" and "No fair, stop killing our people, dagnabbit.".
How about the entire world in just one word....
...Earth
...Earth
The history of the world is quite simple, really. Human history that is.
"We want your stuff"
"Well, you can't have it, it's ours, and we need it."
"We're going to take it anyway"
"No fair, stop killing our people, dagnabbit."
"Mwahahahaahahahaa!!"
End of.
"We want your stuff"
"Well, you can't have it, it's ours, and we need it."
"We're going to take it anyway"
"No fair, stop killing our people, dagnabbit."
"Mwahahahaahahahaa!!"
End of.
I just realised that it's a sort of left-wing version of Richard Littlejohn saying 'Asylum seekers...lies...You couldn't make it up!'
The world is full of ignorance which breeds fear, hatred and resentment. Erm...I think I've summed up the world in one media friendly soundbite!
People to listen and try to understand why someone else wants to hate them instead of just reacting with like.
All too true, we seem doomed to repeat history, in most ways, except with different music and the other distractions from real life, and the things that matter. What would it take to change that ?
Not my paragraph, but nicked from a book called 'The Gatekeeper' by Terry Eagleton. It sums up my utter despair for this world, at this most dismal of times, when our leaders are plotting to blow the crap out of each other's citizens from the safety of their bunkers.
"Inventories of carnage are usually suspect. But it was reckoned in 1970 that the number of humanly caused deaths in the twentieth century, by far the bloodiest of historical epochs, stood at about 100 million. Thirty years later, countless more massacres would need to be added to that figure. The story of humanity has been one unbroken din of hacking and gouging, as any history of the world will confirm. Few narratives are more grossly improbable. For the first few aeons, hardly anything of interest happens, and the characters are mere sketches for credible, well-rounded human beings. Then, as if to sustain the reader's drifting attention, the author throws the last shreds of realism shamelessy to the winds, brazenly squeezing his storyline for every last drop of sensationalism. A dwarfish Corsican corporal conquers a large slice of the globe, while a demented Georgian peasant butchers millions of his countryfolk. In an absurdly extravagant flight of fantasy, the joint wealth of the three richest men in the world is said to equal the combined wealth of 600 million of the poorest. A sickly sentimental twist of plot has no less than an implausible 200 babies in the world's poorest countries die every hour. As the fable lurches eratically towards its later stages, the last semblance of narrative unity shatters into a mish-mash of wars, famines, tyrannies and revolutions, with sub-plots left hanging carelessly in mid-air, the same incidents mindlessly repeated, characters hastily recycled and potentially fruitful storylines casually aborted. Nobody would believe a word of it for a moment."
"Inventories of carnage are usually suspect. But it was reckoned in 1970 that the number of humanly caused deaths in the twentieth century, by far the bloodiest of historical epochs, stood at about 100 million. Thirty years later, countless more massacres would need to be added to that figure. The story of humanity has been one unbroken din of hacking and gouging, as any history of the world will confirm. Few narratives are more grossly improbable. For the first few aeons, hardly anything of interest happens, and the characters are mere sketches for credible, well-rounded human beings. Then, as if to sustain the reader's drifting attention, the author throws the last shreds of realism shamelessy to the winds, brazenly squeezing his storyline for every last drop of sensationalism. A dwarfish Corsican corporal conquers a large slice of the globe, while a demented Georgian peasant butchers millions of his countryfolk. In an absurdly extravagant flight of fantasy, the joint wealth of the three richest men in the world is said to equal the combined wealth of 600 million of the poorest. A sickly sentimental twist of plot has no less than an implausible 200 babies in the world's poorest countries die every hour. As the fable lurches eratically towards its later stages, the last semblance of narrative unity shatters into a mish-mash of wars, famines, tyrannies and revolutions, with sub-plots left hanging carelessly in mid-air, the same incidents mindlessly repeated, characters hastily recycled and potentially fruitful storylines casually aborted. Nobody would believe a word of it for a moment."