death of the west

 

Driving to meet Melissa Tarkington at the lake.

I switch on the radio.

Immediately there comes the sound of a news reader dramatically being dramatic about something dramatic.

"... Police have arrested nine people..." dramaturges the Classic Hits 98 FM news reader.

"Yes," I cheer, "this is more like it. Yes Beavis. Yes, yes, yes. Who did they arrest? What did they arrest them for?"

"... the arrests took place at an anti lockdown rally..." continues the reporter.

I groan like a heffalump in pain.

They're arresting people for protesting against hysterical and incompetent government policies restricting our movements during an induced flu virus panic.

You can be arrested for that?

Well maybe some of the demonstrators were unruly.

I wasn't there.

Ho hum.

Here was I hoping the police might have finally swooped on Kinneavey or the Hutch gang, or the Maloneys or the clan gang operating out of the Alke Babish chipper, I mean that the cops might actually be about to start fighting crime.

"... some of the protestors were carrying placards displaying untrue statements about the vaccine..." intoned the reporter with horror in her voice.

Untrue statements about the vaccine?

Oh the humanity.

Ye gods.

What did the statements say? It's safe? Those vicious bar stewards. 

Well this is quaint. The heroic news reader from Classic Hits 98 FM is making value judgements on the truth or falsehood of protest placard slogans.

Without actually telling us what those slogans were.

Youth oriented radio stations ain't what they used to be.

Well, youth-ish.

At the lake I meet Melissa.

As I walk towards her, she turns sideways, with one elbow sticking out, and her bum protuberant.

This is quaint.

Are woman in the Western World going to spontaneously start trying to twerk me in public?

Richard Dawkins would say it's possible.

An evolutionary wrong turn he might call it.

Twerking is a salacious dance move which involves gyrating the anus of the first party in the vicinity of the crotch or crotches of the second party or parties.

What you're reading right now is the first known instance of the word being used by me.

As per my usual practice, I'm arriving somewhat late at the party or parties.

But no.

Melissa is not attempting to twerk me.

Her bizarre posture, akin to a duck trying to persuade another duck to mate, is a form of greeting approved by the Irish government from which the government maintains you can't catch the flu they're panicking about.

Some watching ducks fall about the place laughing.

"Ah come on Melissa," I plead.

"It's the recommended safe way to say hello," she insists.

"You look like a duck trying to mate," I tell her sensitively so that she'll know what the ducks are laughing about. "If our atheistic abortionist World Health Organisation soviet puppet government told you to stand on your head and fart your greetings as the only safe way to say hello, would you do it?"

She looked troubled.

Difficult to be sure whether she was having second thoughts about the government or about me.

Later I wandered into a church.

The rector came over when he saw me in the forward aft pew.

"James," he said turning sideways, stretching out an elbow, and waggling his bum.

"Ah John," I said. "This is all very silly."

"Stay safe James," he said in an earnest, husky, sincere, dramatic, demented Classic Hits FM news reader type voice, moving away.

I resisted the urge to exclaim: "Bloody hell," and instead contented myself by fulminating quietly: "I've been harassed by Steven Kinneavey, the Hutch gang, the drug dealing Maloneys and the Alke Babish clan gang for the past ten years and now for the first time people are expressing concern for my safety. And they're talking about the ****ing flu. For ****'s sake."