Letting the Eire Out

There is no reason to believe that Ireland is not in a bad way. There is a general lack of confidence and a long track of record of abnormally high government ineptitude. AIB and Bank of Ireland have sunk money into what has been one of the most ludicrous property bubbles imaginable. The rental fees, property values, and cost of living have been astronomical. It was the sheer effrontery of the costs which made them bearable. Nobody considers what is truly shocking.

I'm thinking Ireland will soon be forming a union with the glorious nation of Germany.

From Here to There

Chris Martenson continues to be a lonely, paranoid voice in the wilderness going on about something resembling sense but just a touch too removed:

Those who spend their lives watching the Idiot Box do not need the Newspeak Dictionary. Their vocabularies are automatically attenuated. They are ready to believe that government officials can save them. For example, they think the president can fix the country's problems. He has the brains to accomplish miracles: to deliver us from penury through government spending. Meanwhile, the country leaps from the frying pan of deflation into the inflationary fire. It is called "a stimulus package." It is the biggest white elephant ever sold, at the dearest price. If it doesn't work, we'll do it again, and again, as many times as it takes - or until the currency collapses. A stupefied country listens in suspense to those fateful words: "We are from the government, and we are here to help." Euphemism is the native language of every bureaucrat. For them, loot is "revenue." Waste is "progressive." Propping failed industries is "a good investment." Stopping a market correction is "saving the economy." Every event is an excuse to spend money. If the economy is flush, spend money. If the economy is contracting, spend money. Do you want more golden eggs? Cook the goose that lays them. Everything is going to be okay!

Thanks, we'll take that into consideration Chris.

It's funny how you can always tell who is beyond the fringe. Their sentences are short, fragmented, impassioned, and often packed with a great deal of cynicism. I'm also impressed at the way people like Mr. Martenson and others manage to squeeze all their favourite talking points into every observation. For a while that was the Dire Wolf's goal: to take any subject whatsoever and take it to new disturbing places.

As an example let's discuss the injustice of Avram Grant's firing last year. Taking the paranoid tact it would run like this:

Firing Avram Grant was so unjust! He took that team to within a point of the Premiership Title and a penalty kick of the Champions League. It's ridiculous! Yet nobody seems to complain. That just goes to show the stupefying effect of television eh? It disrupts our critical thinking until we accept whatever the well coiffured man is saying as gospel truth. And do you think anybody cares? Do you think anybody could do anything to stop it? You think you can regulate thought into existence? If anything the Government loves it. They fucking love it. The people just sit back and swallow their lies. It's not even passive. People are like Oliver Twist. The meager gruel of failure and untruth sold to us everyday by elected officials doesn't sustain our capacity for delusion! We have to say, "Please Sir can I have some more?"
Don't even get me started on Paul Krugman!
The press is always ignoring the real story. Especially in the west. Journalism has become a universal magnet for people to trumpet their half baked pinko ideals. Every morning acres of rainforest are cut down so some new J-school hack can drown me in sanctimony. Can anybody actually read the Guardian without experiencing a sense of nausea?
Why take an honourable stand and fight for the rights of Avram Grant when you could demonize Joe McCarthy? Why point out that Avram Grant is a damn fine manager when you could write an op-ed about Sean Penn's "bravery"? It baffles me. It just baffles me.

You're Absolutely Right. It's so obvious...

And a nod to Hugh Hewitt. Even those he is a !&*£"$% C^£$ he makes a good point. "We want regulation scream" the ignorant hordes. Well there already was a regulatory body in America. It was called the SEC. Largely staffed by rent seeking bureaucrats they proudly threw Conrad Black and Martha Stewart into the slammer for what should have been wrist slaps.
However Bernard Madoff and Charles Stanford ran scams of 50 billion dollars. These weren't just scams! These were well beyond scams. These were swindles of biblical proportions and unsurprisingly the government didn't even notice.

Everybody Sit Down and Shutup

A couple of days ago I roused myself from my latest apathetic fit, dressed, and emerged from this sub-standard cave of a flat the fates have doomed me to dwell in. Blinking in the light of day, I quickly noticed the obvious: that nothing had changed. My fellow inhabitants of this lonely rock that hurtles through space were continuing their busy rush to nowhere with that charming sincerity that sometimes awakens pity in the few neurons I have chosen to keep dedicated to human emotion.

I noticed a newspaper stand as I walked (Let it be known that I walked aimlessly, but at least concious of that fact, unlike those around me). One of the papers featured a picture of that Obama fellow. I was reminded that the people of America had 'elected' a new president. Or more accurately the lucky winner of this lottery, which the american people callously refer to as democracy, was a smooth talker from Chicago.

I quickly absorbed all the relevant information in the caption. He had removed the bust of Churchill from his office, and with that act pronounced humanity's intention to enter the dark ages once again.

I put the newpaper down and returned to my lair. Where I sat, somber and pensive.

The Gates of Hell

Bill Gates you are in danger of burning for a large portion of eternity. And I feel in my heart only pity. Bill Gates please seek the healing you so badly need. Before it is too late. Before you are doomed to wander the corridors of cyber space alone like the ghost of Jacob Marley. Repent and be saved!

There is another.

Dylan Thomas once wrote:
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon do I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for Michael Fowke,
his arms wrapped Round the griefs of the ages
Who pays no praise or wages
Nor heeds my craft or art.

And this has been no more apt than today. When Michael said unto his followers "What needs a banker apologise to a politician? What needs a farmer apologize to the lowly weed? The Majestic Eagle to the lowly worm?"