You’ve probably guessed, from several posts, that I have a hard on for the subject of ignorance of basic immutable physical science, laws and limits, and the consequences this has for society as a whole.
You’ve probably also guessed that there are no sacred cows, from the recent post on various sci-fi staples, I don’t give a fuck what the story is, if it ain’t based on hard physical laws, then it ain’t science, it’s fucking fantasy.
It really doesn’t matter what field of life or science or hopes or dreams or aspirations or work or play or love or family or anything else you are dealing with, it all comes down to the same thing, which can be paraphrased as;
“Income 100, expenditure 95, result = joy…. Income 100, expenditure 105, result = misery”
I have given this lots of labels, “stall speed” and “steps” for various levels of technological situation, but it’s all the same thing….
…so let us indulge in a little bit of science fantasy for a moment, the head of Samsung, and no, I don’t mean the fucking phone division, I mean the whole fucking thing, from cargo ships on down, opens a time portal to 2000 BC somewhere, and emerges to the people there, on the other side of the portal he has an entire heavy / light / techno industry as his beck and call, so he turns to the people and explains what he can do, and they sit and discuss this with him for a bit and come back with a list of what they want.
The list doesn’t have the alphabet, decimal numbers, standard weights and measures, maps, medicine, metallurgy, agriculture, or anything else, it doesn’t even feature a high tech village complete with electric power, freezers full of food, wardrobes full of clothes and a fully staffed hospital and medical centre.
Oh no, what they want is a fucking dragon, a unicorn, eternal life and copy of the necromonicon.
In disgust he gives them a crocodile, an ostrich, a baggie full of acid tabs and a printed copy of 2 girls 1 cup, steps back to 2014, closes the portal and then forgets the whole idea as a waste of fucking time.
A perfect analogy of what would happen today if a species that had had space-faring ability for the past 60 million years rocked up in orbit and offered to help out.
With the benefit of hindsight, I myself fucked up, I should have founded some kooky religion in which the adherents gave me all their money and in which I was the only one allowed to fuck anyone, and I could fuck everyone, no limits…. it’s what the cunts *deserve* after all.
It’s a bit like the dating / fucking sites, the rode hard and hug up wet and surplus to requirements 40 something skank is perfectly entitled to ask for all sorts of unreasonable things from the men considering contacting her for a fuck, you must be handsome, you must be 5 foot 11, you must have a great body, you must have an 8″ cock, and know how to use it, and your tongue too, and so on.
She is *perfectly* entitled to ask for all these things.
She just isn’t entitled to have her wishes fulfilled.
Indeed, you got to be a bit worried about anyone who can live on this planet for 40+ years and who *still* thinks asking for dragons and unicorns and shit is going to have any result other than complete and utter disappointment…
And, no, claiming that there is a difference between wanting an alpha male and wanting a pet unicorn is just yet another level of delusion.
See, yesterday, I got a “rearranging the deck-chairs on the titanic” missive from my line manager, some *gargantuan* fuck ups were made, but not by me, oh no, all I did was make some laconic SNAFU comments, which playing a *pivotal* role is sorting out said fuck-ups… my reward? A missive from said line manager about said SNAFU comments.
You know, where “teamwork” is them dropping you in the shit because they can’t be assed and they are incompetent anyway, and then “teamwork” is you not seeing this 600lb gorilla in the room.. oh no…
Number of fuckers in the same corporation who appear to suffer under the delusion that missives from lines managers are invitations to converse, me, I just reply with a double click “ack” squawk, anything else is superfluous, and annoying to the managers.
Of course, the ack squawk isn’t ideal either, ideal is a humble and grovelling apology, and praise and thanks for the enlightenment and instruction, but seriously, fuck you, you’ll have to up my salary by about 10,000% to get anywhere near that.
Years ago my dad knew a guy who amassed a fucking fortune during the last war, during the war, a time when habeus corpus went out the window and everything was locked down, right?
No, turned out that everyone was so distracted by “the future” and worrying about it, guys like this were not running a horse and cart through the system, but entire bedford lorries, fully laden, and I was reminded of that in last week’s gargantuan fuck up at work, at least three distinct individuals in at least three distinct departments in at least three distinct corporations, all of whom had direct and immediate hands on responsibility, plus whatever crew of QA and pen pushing box ticking types there were, plus whatever logistics types, all of whom are of course six sigma and five nines and certified up the fucking wazoo, managed to monumentally fuck up the rather simple task they had, and it simply isn’t possible for any of them to have missed this, if they had made even the slightest level of checking, so all that remains is a quick fuck it, the next guy down the line can sort it….
So, on another site last week, I met a guy, ex-services, and boy, he had it nailed, and now I am stealing his phrase.
He nods, makes a wiping dust off his shoulder motion, and says “Satellite management” as in, each manager is a satellite, much like the thousands of satellites in orbit around earth, each doing their own thang, and totally unconcerned about the others, save for one thing, that they don’t crash into each other.
Priceless, in its accuracy.
And yet, my fellow wage slaves get missives from their satellite line managers, and think this is an invitation to chat, or that they can go to said manager with issues, and get them dealt with, and so on, and so forth.
My line manager gave me the job because he was told to hire a guy to cover my region by his manager, he did that, and chose me because I, in my personal interview, raised least red flags to him, I get maybe on average one brief missive every 6 months from this guy, ack squawk, I’ve got to be low on his list of squeaky wheels.
Which kinda brings us back to the beginning, if everything you do is to avoid hands on change, within the laws and limitations of the real world, then what can you possibly expect except increasing chaos and entropy, given that 99.9% of what we now call society is entirely un-natural and man made, what can you possibly expect except that it fall apart?
See, the works mobe is dying, so you have to ring the assholes, and they ask a whole load of asshole questions, like, are you actually using the fucking GPS / wifi / bluetooth, cos, you know, that fucks the battery, yeah yeah fuck off and lets get through the poxy menus, so OK, we will send a replacement Samsung handset, well, not quite, they send the FRONT of the fucking phone, I have to retain my SIM card, obviously, and I have to retain any microSD card fitted, obviously, but, a fucking 400+ euro phone, and I have to retain my fucking battery and thin plastic rear cover????
WTF is that all about?
Probably the same micro-management bullshit that says I’m not allowed to root the company phone, fine, that’s 2 hours overtime on a Saturday to rebuild all the settings and apps, because I can’t do a one click Titanium restore to literally identical to the old one.
So I am at this site, and it’s not because she was female, early thirties with a good bod and a nice face, but it is because the bitch is *pleasant*, greets me by name (my third visit to that site) and offers me a coffee and all that jazz, so I go the extra mile, instead of fuck ya, I done what I wuz told ta do, cya.
Meh, I got a ton of patch cables in the trunk, grab two, run one from the router to their switch, run one from the switch to the PC, change a couple of minor settings in the PC after checking ipconfig /all
She’s in awe, god, you must have so many degrees and qualifications (not just because of the 2 patch cables, but what I did before) and all… I just laugh at her, no babe, all the assholes with the qualifications and certificates are sat in offices, fucking up my day job and yours.
Me, I just have experience and a brain… she nods…
But, no lesser a man than Einstein noted that people keep on doing the same pointless shit and keep expecting a different outcome, so unless I myself wish to don the mantle of insanity, I have to accept that people will never change, so none of this can be taken as a how to, or an if only, or a do this to get that result.
It’s more of a survival manual.
But, importantly, not a survival manual (again beloved of writers) where you, the lone hero, is the only one un-infected, because there are no un-infected, not even you, or me, we are all made of the same stuff after all.
More of the survival manual that reminds you, every single say, that you are an alcoholic living in a world of free booze, and the only way to survive is to refuse to ingest the same shit everyone else does.
Look around you, shrug, ask the question, “is this really all there fucking is, just endless this shit?”
ack, squawk.