Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Nostradamus never picked the lottery numbers, did he?

Practically every time I sit down to the typewriter to write the weekly offering of unmitigated tripe, I rarely have any set plan or theme in mind - this week is no different.The mind is both a desert and a seething mass of disjointed thoughts. So, I'm just going to meander through and jot down a couple of disjointed ideas as they occur to me. One thing I'm not going to bother with is the coming parole hearing, which is in just a few days - Thursday the 26th in fact. I'm sure enough will be said about that next week - this week I am concentrating on tripe.

What about this "prophet" in America? He pronounced that the world was to end at 6 p.m. on Saturday the 21st - which was yesterday, as I write. Apparently we could expect massive earthquakes and other disasters which would destroy civilisation as we knew it. The "good" would be taken up to heaven - of course - whilst the rest of us would be condemned to suffer on the devastated world until such time as it all came to an end.

That didn't happen then.

Whatever you may say, you have to give these conmen the credit they deserve. They utter such shite and STILL manage to get a lot of people to believe them AND to cough up their dosh while they are doing it. Well, they won't need it in heaven and, let's be fair, the conmen need it to live the life they want to live. So, one rip-off merchant bites the dust, but have no fear - there will be another one coming along any second.

Nostradamus said:

The world as we know it will come to an end with a dart from the east.
Mind, he said a lot of things, all obscurely too - him and a lot of others. Why do these harbingers of doom never speak clearly? It's always wrapped up in jargon and ambiguity. Let's have it right - if they could see into the future, the first thing they would do is pick the right lottery numbers. They haven't oet a clue, none of them. Fortune telling, predicting the future - it's all gammon.

I saw the nurse the other day - my yearly "Well Man" check-up. Weight: 96.3 kilos; heart: still working well; lungs: ticking over fine - and the pulse of a teenager.

"So!" said he after he had finished messing about with me, "How are you in yourself?"

"Fine," said I.

"Where do you see yourself in a couple of years?"

I looked at him in (I suppose) an old-fashioned way. "What sort of idiot question is that?" I asked "How can anyone answer such a stupid question? You yourself haven't got a clue where you'll be this time tomorrow. Anything could happen! How the fuck do you expect me to predict where I'll be in two years' time? I might be dead! Who knows?"

He nodded. "You are right."

I went on. "These silly young girls who are training to annoy prisoners and calling it psychology ask the same questions. It's downright lunacy! Talk about crystal ball gazing - fucking insanity. Why not ask me what is going to win the Grand National in two years' time? You've got as much chance of getting a sensible sort of answer. I don't know!"

"Well," he had the grace to grin. "There is one thing you can be accused of, and that's honesty."

"Well," said I, the armchair philosopher, "when you get older, you realise that honesty is the best way. Life is too short for any other attitude. You realise that you don't really care, and you have to care to lie to people. I'm too old to worry about silly things that I once saw as important. It's all bollocks at the best of times."

Boudica is right - she told me weeks ago, "When you go in front of the parole board, keep your mouth shut."

As my auld grandfather would have said:

Whatever you say, say nothing.
The Voice In The Wilderness

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