I’ve just about recovered from the shock of seeing our American chums (or the half of them that bothered to vote) elect an evil clown as president. Coming not long after the Brexit fiasco, it feels like all the rules of the universe are now open to question and anything is possible. Tomorrow my bus driver might be a duck, the sky may have turned green and all the fish could be strolling around town in tiny berets, affecting a French accent and taking selfies in front of Copenhagen’s famous Little Mermaid.
Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.”
It’s one of those periods when whole nations seem to go a bit gaga and do something that had just months earlier seemed inconceivable. I took the news quite badly, and I’m not even an American citizen. But my US chums on Facebook and WordPress seemed equally aghast. What new folly had they sunk to? Were they, as one cartoon suggested, competing with Britain for the ‘dumbest nation’ title?
When I was young I had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up, apart from taller.
I showed a keen interest in science and space exploration at an early age, but sadly my eventual application to astronaut school was rejected, on the grounds of my flat feet and shortsightedness. That, and the complete lack of a science degree, flying experience, courage, or any of the usual qualities they tend to look for in potential astronauts.
This post is a bit of a departure from my usual ramblings, partly in an effort to avoid the dangers of routine and comfort that we all can so easily slip into. Please do not attempt to adjust your cognition equipment.
So let’s start by shaking off the chains of convention and get loosened up with some DIY primal screaming therapy. (This is best done totally nude) Ready?
There, that’s better, I feel fired up and ready for action. How about you? I just hope the neighbours haven’t called the Police. Again. Better get dressed now and get cracking.