Fuck Me, It's Dwayne Dibley!

Mrs Bison spent about four hours yesterday taking Bison Daughter shopping, on account of the fact that she's grown out of everything. In the good old days we'd buy clothes in advance - whatever was on sale at the end of the season we'd buy it in a larger size for next season, and that way we'd stay ahead of the game. (To be fair, when I say "we", I obviously don't mean me.) However that doesn't work now because the girl has discovered "fashion". That means a shirt with no logo from Target is "unfashionable" but the same shirt with "Hollister" plastered all over it is "way cool". Never mind that they're all made in China and would fall apart if she didn't grow out of them so quickly, the branded stuff is much better.

There's a balance here - I'm not going to force my kid to be the only one with no logo gear, but I'm also not giving in to this "everyone else has it so I have to" bullshit. A few branded items amongst the other stuff go a long way.

The marketing of branded clothing to kids is an irritating way to suck more money out of our pockets but at least the clothes still look like clothes. The other night I had the misfortune to experience America's Next Top Model on TV. Have you ever seen such a load of complete bollocks in your life?

The whole fashion industry seems to be populated by freaks, degenerates and weirdos, the kind of bizarre, self-obsessed nonces that you'd cross the street to avoid in real life. Just look at what goes up and down catwalks in the major fashion shows - no-one in their right mind would ever conceive of actually wearing any of that crap, and anyone who'd pay what it sells for clearly has more money than sense, by a phenomenally wide margin.

I don't want to sound like an expert on America's Next Top Model, but it falls into the standard reality-show format, where a cast of wannabes are put through a series of tests and gradually eliminated by a panel of judges. One of the judges is a "bloke" (I use the term in its broadest possible sense) by the name of Miss J.Alexander. What struck me when I saw him on the show was that he was dressed in the kind of gear that would make anyone look like a complete pillock. The whole fashion industry is an "Emperor's New Clothes" experience; if some "high fashion" name started prancing around in a bin bag and wellies suddenly everyone else would want to. Who could believe that flared jeans came back, for fuck's sake?

But as soon as I saw J.Alexander, the famous fashion figure and catwalk coach, the first thing I thought was "It's Dwayne Dibley!" Yes, the ultimate fashion-failure character from Red Dwarf. He was the spitting image! I know everyone from the UK will know who he is, but here's a link to Dwayne Dibley for those who don't. And if you haven't watched Red Dwarf before I can only suggest that you've clearly been wasting your life to date.

At the top of the page are four pictures - two are fashion failure Dwayne Dibley and two are fashion guru J.Alexander. Can you tell them apart?

So forgive me if I'm somewhat reluctant to ponce about in whatever the fashion industry tells me is now "in". Remember, just because it's fashionable doesn't mean you don't look like a twat.


Copyright © 2009 Edward Bison

Handy Job

I'm not quite sure how the subject came up. There we were, sitting in a cozy restaurant in Belgium, with low ceilings and candlelight, enjoying one of those meals that you just don't get in St.Louis. It was a place run by a husband and wife; he cooked while she ran the front of the house. There was no menu - when we arrived she just explained what they were going to make for us and checked that everything would be OK. (Presumably they'll make accommodations if something would cause you to heave.) Outside the rain fell steadily, and through it, illuminated by evening streetlamps, we could pick out the classic architecture of the town square.

Early on the conversation was polite but hesitant; this was a business dinner, with seven or eight of us gathered. Gradually the conversation shifted, however, and I found myself relating the story of a television program I saw many years ago in which zookeepers were harvesting semen from a gorilla in captivity. I pointed out that the process involved sedating the gorilla and then inserting a large stainless steel vibrator in its anus to cause ejaculation. Two things struck me: firstly, a gorilla has a really tiny dick considering the rest of its physiology; secondly, there didn't appear to be much in the process for the gorilla, who was presumably going to wake up with a hangover, a sore arse and an empty sac. None of us want that to happen, do we? What do you think goes through the poor beast's mind after that? "Jesus, I must have hit the fermented bamboo juice a bit hard last night. What the hell's wrong with my arse? Oh fuck! Who was I with? Oh man, does that mean I'm gay now? I hope no video ends up on YouTube."

I only verbalized the first part of that story in the restaurant, not the imagined thoughts of the awakening primate, but you have to be careful with stories like that because if you misjudge the mood of the group you can suddenly end up with an awkward silence, and everyone studying the menu intently. Since there was no menu in this place we would have been screwed. Fortunately my counterpart came back with an even better story.

Apparently his company used to be in the pig genetics business. Like most industrialized companies they had a very active health and safety program, involving sharing learnings and improvements between different sites that would make the workplace safer. In one instance there had been a problem with the people who had to harvest the sperm from the hogs ending up with carpal tunnel syndrome, which had resulted in the development of a new tool or gadget to help them avoid this. Carpal tunnel? You mean they did it by hand?

Harvesting sperm sounds like it's a noble and scientifically justified endeavor, but at the end of the day you know that you're basically a pig-wanker. How do you live with yourself if your job involves giving hand relief to swine on a daily basis? What do you say when your kid asks what you did today? More to the point, what's the going rate for jerking off a hog? Because I have to believe that there would be more money in pulling off people, and probably less chance of being trampled in the mud while you're doing it.

Back in the restaurant, three excellent courses were followed by a fine dessert. Although the rain was still falling when we eventually stepped out into the cobbled street to make our way back to the car park, life didn't seem too bad. The weekend was coming, and there is, at present, no prospect that I will have to wank off any pigs in my immediate future. And I'm not hung like a gorilla either. Happy days!


Copyright © 2009 Edward Bison

Road Trip

It's Spring Break here in St.Louis so, contrary to normal practice, we decided actually to go away for a few days. Since I'd rather stick pins in my gonads than pay to be treated like shit by an airline, we set off by car for Big Cedar Lodge, down in Southern Missouri by Table Rock Lake. This is about a four hour drive from St.Louis, providing the opportunity to experience the very best of highway-side Missouri entertainment along the way.

I have to assume that the places dotted along the highway are examples of what is known as "small town America", albeit somewhat corrupted by the influence of so many passing travelers just begging to be separated from their dollars. It must be interesting to live there - it's not at all clear what you'd do by way of entertainment, unless you have an inclination to junk food, fireworks or pornography, because that's all you see along the road.

One of the large signs proclaimed "The World's Biggest Rocking Chair" was nearby, begging the question "Who gives a shit?".

One of the great benefits of I-44 is that you have plenty of gigantic billboards to help ensure that you don't miss any of the fine roadside establishments that grace the highway. On the way down we were still two hours out of Branson when we began to be bombarded with invitations to stop off for Branson coupons, or to see the big-name tacky shows that infest this otherwise meaningless town. Of course there are also many artery-hardening junk food emporia peddling their greasy wares, but by far the most entertaining signs are those advertising "ADULT STORES". The signs are invariably large and yellow, whereas the stores themselves appear small and seedy, although judging by the number of cars parked outside they weren't hurting for business, even before midday. Isn't there some sort of basic principle of decency that you shouldn't hit the scud mag store before lunch? It's like drinking - perfectly understandable if you do it in the evening, but if it's the first thing on your mind when you get out of bed then you've probably got a problem. The exotic dancers at the place next to Big Louie's apparently start at 11am, in case you're interested...

My favorite store sign was the one for what I believe was called the Lions Den establishment just outide Waynesville. It apparently offers a new video arcade, which cannot help but to conjure up images of people tugging themselves off in little cubicles. No-one watches porn unless they plan to "take Captain Picard to warp speed" do they? Can these people really not wait until they get home to rub one out? Or maybe they can't take the porn home in case the missus finds it, in which case this is less of a porn shop and more like a porn library. (Silence please!)

Anyway, this store was almost next door to the Grace Covenant Christian Center, which seems like unfortunate planning on someone's part. Maybe the Lions Den name was an oblique biblical reference, although I don't recall Daniel pulling his pud when he was thrown in with the big cats. What really got my attention was the giant bowling pin eight in front of the Adult Store sign. Maybe there was also a bowling alley nearby, but it just seemed to me like they couldn't quite get planning consent for a huge pink dildo to advertise their store, and consequently had to make do with a bowling pin.

In between the Christian Center and the Porn Warehouse was McDonalds. Now we know they don't site their stores by accident - they pay great attention to traffic patterns; clearly plenty of people frequent the video arcade. Or perhaps they just have an outlet for all the man-mess generated. What's that funny sauce they put on the Fillet O Fish called again?


Copyright © 2009 Edward Bison

Vegetable Rights And Peace

No wonder vegetarians are such miserable cunts - have you ever tried the food? Mrs Bison decided, for reasons better known to herself, to mix things up on the dinner front tonight, with a recipe for meatballs based on this Match textured vegetable protein. Now I have to give Mrs B the benefit of the doubt on this - she almost always makes excellent food, something she attributes to me having low standards and being easy to please. No matter what the truth in this, I get a lot of good food, and all of it based on variations on a theme of dead animal, so I was willing to give the soy-based veggie crap a go.

Jesus, how does anyone choke that shit down? I was prepared that it wouldn't taste like meat, in much the same way that a spicy bean burger doesn't taste like a hamburger. But here's the thing, a bean burger does taste like real food; in this case beans. And spices. So while you're certainly going to be disappointed if you bite into one and you were expecting medium rare ground sirloin burger, if you set out to eat it as a bean burger it can actually pass as food.

Textured vegetable protein is another thing altogether. It doesn't taste like beans, or any other recognizable food substance. It has the consistency of something that has been extruded from the rearmost orifice of a cat, and a flavor that makes you wish that it had. At least cat shit would have some meat content. I suppose the veggie crap is supposed to be all nutritionally beneficial but, let me tell you, the nutritional value of something is irrelevant if it engages your gag reflex so comprehensively that you can't swallow it.

Bear in mind that Mrs Bison's characterization of my eating habits is not far from the truth. If it moved once I'll eat it. Even if it's still moving I'll give it a go. I've eaten duck brains, fish eyes, frog ovaries, dog penis and cow tongue, so I'm not what you'd call a picky eater, but I'd eat any one of them before ever again tucking into textured fucking vegetable protein. It's earthworm-guts, leper-sputumly disgusting. I kept trying to eat it; I got three balls of the shit down, for fuck's sake, but I couldn't get through it all.

So I retrieved the package from the trash to see what the source of this vile taste was, and I have to say that I was left somewhat in the dark. The ingredients included the aforementioned textured vegetable protein and some other items like caramel color, but did not include any clue as to the source of the nasty seed things in it, which appeared to be mildly less appetizing than what we feed the parakeets. What I did recognize was assorted veggie-world slogans about this kind of crap being "better for the world" and "better for everyone". Bollocks is it.

Bison Daughter complained that she needed some meat, which made me very happy, since with girls you worry that they're only one step away from some bullshit vegetarian anorexic nightmare. Just imagine that there was no meat though. Last night we went out for barbecue, and the dead pig meat was so tender I could have hugged it; what if you had to exist for the rest of your natural life on the kind of tasteless, nutritionally worthy, ethically responsible shit for which textured vegetable protein is the poster child? Fuck that!

Have you noticed how the animal rights brigade are ready and willing to engage in violence so they can stuff their world view down everyone else's throat? You know what, if I had to eat that modified dog excrement every night I'd be ready to burn something too, although I'd be more inclined to direct my ire to the vegetable protein manufacturers before going after Hummer dealerships, drug companies and those people who like to make beagles smoke. I've never yet had a smoking beagle ruin my dinner.

Anyway, I'm now about ready to yak up the few veggie balls I swallowed, and Mrs Bison has vowed never to go anywhere near that shit again. Tomorrow I fully intend to find myself a vegan and slap them for being such a dickhead. If it wasn't for them no-one would make that textured veggie bollocks, and it wouldn't be lurking on the shelf, ready to ensnare the passing shopper with wholly unfulfilled promises of flavor.

It's fucking shite - don't ever attempt to eat it, OK?


Copyright © 2009 Edward Bison

A Good Read

It was a wonderful sunny day in St.Louis, and there's always that little voice inside me on days like this that says "You need to go out and make the most of it". Fortunately I've got really good at ignoring that voice, as it can result in a perfectly good relaxing day being spoiled by some pointless trip and vain attempt to wring joy from it. Much better to sit on the deck in the sun and fritter away the afternoon aimlessly. To be fair, I didn't ignore the little voice which said "You need to go to the gym and do your leg workout", which was why I only had the afternoon to fritter.

What I really like to do on a day like this, or indeed any day with nothing better to do, is to sit with a good book. Unfortunately I am shit at buying good books; I can wander into Borders with the best of intentions, but no matter how hard I try, I can't find anything remotely worth reading. It's all trashy fiction, deep meaningful treatises on feminist thinking and nineteenth century drama by people who you get to study in literature classes. (And don't we remember how shit they were?)

For good reading I have to rely on gifts from my in-laws, who periodically send me excellent books, and without whom I'd be reduced to reading the back of cereal boxes. Sure, I don't get many books from my in-laws, but that's not a problem because I can re-read the good ones. In fact, in a couple of decades I probably won't even know I've read them at all, so I'll never be short of a good book.

Today I sat in the sun with McCarthy's Bar, an outstanding gentle travel/comedy book by Pete McCarthy which I've had for years but which never gets old. It's about his travels in Ireland, the country of his ancestry, and his attempt to see if he belonged there by virtue of his Irish roots, even though he grew up in England. I strongly recommend you get a copy.

I always enjoyed going to Ireland because of all the great people I met there (and not because of the weather, which was invariably shit). I can't stand St.Patrick's Day, and all that pseudo-Irish green shamrock bullshit, paraded by fat Americans who had a great, great grandfather who once drank a pint of Guinness, and who consequently believe they're all refugees of the potato famine. Fortunately Ireland isn't like that, apart from the touristy bits which cater to all the visiting fat Americans, of course.

I used to travel regularly to Mullingar, which I've never seen mentioned in any travel guide. It's about two hours West of Dublin, assuming you know where you're going and you avoid the highway. I always went on the back roads, using directions I'd copied on a cardboard rental car sign while being driven at night by the bloke whose job I was taking over, while suffering from the after-effects of food poisoning. (I'd spent the better part of the previous night riding the porcelain bus in a hotel in Manchester.) When we arrived in Mullingar we went to the Bloomfield House hotel, which had been a convent in the past (there was only one other place to stay at the time, the Greville Arms I think, and it was always risky because loud parties could be taking place right under your room.) As we left the check-in desk and walked upstairs all noises faded away and suddenly you felt a weird silence, kind of creepy and ominous. Every time I walked up there alone I half-expected to see a ghostly nun sweeping down the corridor.

On this occasion my colleague was walking with me and as he opened the door to his room he beckoned me in. "See? Can you smell that? It is the menstruation of the nuns!" Frankly I think that says more about him than the hotel, which was always excellent, and never smelled of nun menstruation as far as I could tell (although I'm hardly an expert).

Anyway, in spite of my careful directions I got lost the first time I tried to drive to Mullingar by myself, on account of following a sign to the town of Trim (which was on the way) that actually directed me off the road to Trim. I drove down the narrow lane and came to a junction where five lanes came together. There were no signs to give me a hint, but there was a man standing there with a herd of cows. I wound down my window and asked him where Trim was; he directed me back the way I'd come, but then he asked me if I wouldn't mind putting my car across one lane and standing in front of another so he could drive the cows without them wandering off in the wrong direction. That's when I realized that I was really in Ireland.

It'll soon be St.Paddy's Day, and wankers everywhere will be drinking pissy green beer, wearing ridiculous shamrock crap and pretending they're "Oirish". I won't be among them - the whole thing is bollocks, and dangerous bollocks at that, used in the past by Irish Republican terrorists to cadge cash for weapons from fat gullible Americans so they could kill kids in the streets of England. But I always enjoyed the real Ireland, regardless of the personal hygiene habits of its nuns...


Copyright © 2009 Edward Bison

Tipping Points

Two things are happening that have the potential to bring economic prosperity to an end, and at the risk of referencing one of the most overused new phrases of the age, in each case we are approaching a tipping point.

The first issue is that approximately half of voters the US pay no net income tax. Of course it's long been the case that the majority of taxes are paid by the wealthy, and you can certainly argue that this is fair - why shouldn't everyone pay the same percentage of their income in tax? Unfortunately taxes aren't "fair", and the very wealthy always end up owing much more of their income in tax than lower income earners because it's so tempting for the many to push the burden onto the few, especially since envy is such a powerful social motivator. Sure, the rich can always respond by just not paying the taxes - note how many wealthy Democrats failed the "have you paid all the taxes you owed" test recently. And that's just the ones exposed to scrutiny as part of Obastard's confirmation process.

The problem comes when so many people pay no tax at all. When most people pay tax there is a natural brake on government spending because people don't like tax increases. Without any brake, government will always find new ways to spend money and never cut back on the old ways. However, if you don't pay any tax, why not vote for all sorts of new spending? Free healthcare? Yes please! Someone else is paying! At the point where the majority of voters have no personal interest in restricting tax increases we risk an accelerating orgy, a society bingeing in new entitlements at someone else's expense.

You might hope that Americans wouldn't be that stupid, but just check out what they watch on TV to get an idea about the IQ of the typical voter. They're fucking idiots, and considerably less likely to take a considered view of long term economic impact of tax policy than they are to text their vote for American Idol while eating themselves to obesity on stuffed crust pizza.

Meanwhile government is adding new branches, new programs and millions of new non-jobs, all paid for by taxes. (Climate change department, anyone?) There comes a point where more people work for the government than work for private companies. Obviously it's worth pointing out that government contributes absolutely zilch, zero, fuck-all, nothing by way of productivity. No wealth is, or ever can be, created by governments; it can only be redistributed, inhibited or destroyed. But that's not the tipping point issue. The problem is that when most people work for the government the majority suddenly has a vested interest in the government not cutting back on wages, benefits and other perks. In fact they'll likely use the power of their union to make sure that the government pays them well above what they are really worth every year. Governments, being craven bodies, entirely beholden to the fear of losing power at the next election, will avoid facing the economic crisis that results from a bloated, inefficient, unnecessary, overpaid, unaccountable bureaucracy, and will just vote it another pay rise and print more money to do it.

So if you're expecting an economic recovery from the so-called stimulus package, don't hold your breath. Taxing the rich and employing more enviro-crimes officers will simply accelerate the decline in the economy until it finally becomes apparent even to the liberal cocksuckers that money does not, in fact, grow on trees.


Copyright © 2009 Edward Bison

Wasting Money

OK, I'm not even going to pretend to be in a reasonable mood today. I'm still pissed about that $900 million gift to Gaza that our fuckwitted government intends to make on our behalf. My equilibrium was not improved by the stock market's further collapse below 7,000 today and the consequent knowledge that everything I invested in it was a complete fucking waste, and I'll be working until I'm ninety, whereas if I'd pissed away the cash and taken out a big loan instead, for a house I couldn't afford, I could now sit back and wait for everyone else to pay my mortgage for me.

Needless to say, I've heard nothing whatsoever from the complete twat that "manages" my investments (such as they are). The only things he ever sent me were selected articles titled "Next Stop The Dow at 15,000" or similar crap. Ever since the decline started I periodically receive articles from him pointing out that we're now at the bottom, and the only way is up, usually prefacing another round of collapse. What a cunt.

Anyway, I don't think yesterday's short and vitriolic note really captured the underlying problem I have with how governments spend money. I was concentrating on how stupid it was to give huge amounts of our money away to strangers. I didn't even get onto two other salient points which Ms. Clinton might have considered:

1. The Palestinians all hate America and want us dead. They hang effigies of Americans in the street and regard us as the Great Satan because we support Israel. Giving them a huge gift is like giving a Rolex to a cousin who hates your guts, except it's $899,995,000 more expensive. You might as well burn the money.

2. The Palestinians will continue to fire rockets at Israel, so the Israelis will knock down Gaza again, rendering the investment utterly pointless.

But even that isn't really the point. Just imagine that the project made sense (go on, really try). Assuming someone did the math and evaluated the project goals, the potential approaches and the costs and benefits, how did they come up with a number of $900 million, with an initial payment of $300 million? Don't those numbers seem kind of round to you? For those of us who live in the real world, where capital is scarce and has to be justified based on a cost/benefit analysis, return on investment calculation, consideration of alternatives and supported by a well thought-out project plan, just imagine going before the Board of Directors and asking for $300 million for a project.

"Really? You need $300 million exactly? You developed a plan to accomplish a goal and the cost for this plan to be executed came out to be $300 million exactly? Pull the other one, shit-for-brains, you haven't got a plan at all, have you? You just showed up here with an idea and expect us to write you a giant check? Did you even attempt to find a less expensive way to achieve your project goal? Did you carry out any value-engineering? Use any cost management tools? What's your bid strategy?"

Nothing the government does is ever properly thought-out. It's always a really big round number, and then they go away and spend it without any oversight, usually with no-bid contracts for all their cronies.

Even on a smaller level I just don't understand why government isn't required to act like business. Our local school district is remodeling Bison Daughter's school. In reality they're making a new entrance and enlarging some office space. Total square footage of additional classroom? Zero. Total additional amenity provided to the kids? Zero. Total return in terms of enhanced education? Fucking zero. And yet they're spending the money anyway, because it'll look pretty, and presumably it got passed because "educating our kids is a priority". Bollocks.

In business we have to at least show in theory how investment generates return. If I brought forward a multi-million dollar project to create a new entrance for our office, but it didn't add any revenue, reduce any costs, increase quality or add productive capacity, I'd be laughed out of the room. And even if it's a good idea we're expected to work that idea, to reduce costs and consider different options, so that when we spend the money we get the best return for our investment. Guess what? None of them ever show up as a round number.

So you can bet your arse that no matter what you think about giving money to fucking Gaza, the money will be wasted. Which just pisses me off more, because amongst all those companies with falling stock prices are many who would just love to get $10 million or $20 million to invest in new facilities, here in the good old USA. Instead Obastard is going to increase the tax burden on corporations, making investments less attractive. If you wanted the Dow below 5,000 you could hardly write a better prescription. Which probably means I can expect a note from my investment advisor tomorrow, pointing out what a great time it is to buy stocks...


Copyright © 2009 Edward Bison

Thin The Herd

Today I'm suffering from Rhinovirus Homilis, better known as the Man Cold. Of course it didn't hit me during the week, so as not to interrupt work, but instead chose to fuck up my weekend. Yesterday I felt like shit, and was therefore looking forward to the cold progressing so that I would feel better today. Instead I now feel like double shit, lightly toasted with a side-serving of shit. Shit cubed, in fact. Yesterday I bought a mountain of cold remedies, not because I had a cold, but because the money in last year's health savings account is about to expire and I thought I may as well spend it on something. I don't know why I bothered - cold remedies don't do shit.

So I'll spend the rest of my day drinking tea and filling tissues with unhealthy looking phlegm, until I eventually give up on stupid cold remedies and mix some honey, scotch and lemon for a proper treatment.

In the meantime, since thoughts of illness and impending early death were on my mind, I was reflecting on the mess we've got ourselves in with old people. Let me put in simply: the fuckers are everywhere. They make up names for themselves, like "seniors" in an attempt to connote wisdom, societal status and rank, but we know them better as those fuckwits who buy a new Buick every three years, put white tires, a vinyl roof and a luggage rack on it and drive it up the pavement or over a bus queue.

To be fair, old people come in different categories. Mrs Bison has a relative of 102 who still lives at home and tends his own garden, whereas a significant portion of those twenty years his junior are sitting in a giant diaper being fed soup, if they aren't already pushing up the daisies. One centenarian in the same town apparently developed a penchant for internet porn, which is as far as I'm concerned a reason to congratulate him (although not to shake his hand); at least it gave him a reason to get up every day.

There are, however, legions of old people sitting around just waiting to die. A lot of them are warehoused in old people's homes, at considerable expense to them, their relatives or the government (i.e. the taxpayer, you and me). The problem is that people don't die of anything anymore. Back in the good old days a harsh winter would take care of the weak and feeble. Heart attacks, cancer and all the other old favorites would similarly thin the herd. But with all the medical advances of recent years it seems that the expectation in the medical community (indeed, their whole mission) is to postpone death indefinitely.

The problem is that while you can postpone death, you can't postpone aging, so that the animated carcasses you get left with don't necessarily have any quality of life. Of course the medical profession links arms on this point with religious groups who seem to have some major hangups about letting people die. This seems somewhat odd when you consider that the afterlife is supposed to be such a fabulous "meeting God, no more pain, eternal joy" affair. If Great Grandpa is kept alive by machines, is fed through a tube and shits in a bag, what's the big deal about letting him go on?

Leaving aside the personal morality, what about a bit of simple common sense? In 2004 old farts represented 36 million, or 12% of the US population; by 2050 they will number nearly 90 million, more than 20% of the population. Not all of them will be taking Viagra and going on cruises; a significant portion will require full-time care and constant, increasingly expensive medical intervention. At the same time we're being told that the healthcare system here is broken. At some point we need to grow a spine and confront the fact that a massive portion of our limited healthcare dollars are directed to the pointless extension of low-quality life. Not only is it spend with a very low return in terms of quality of life improvement per dollar, but everyone completely avoids talking about what a waste it is, while younger people die for want of quality care.

The danger here is that the AARP is already a powerful lobbying group in the US (meaning that by giving money to politicians they effectively buy policy). Why do you think that blind half-wits who don't realize the war is over can drive their giant Cadillacs through a school playground? The AARP effectively blocks any attempt to force old people to be checked for driving competence. Imagine that their ranks are doubled: now we have a society which will spend its entire working life generating money to pay for Mum and Dad's residential care, or their own. The US economy will implode and no-one will be able to buy anything except incontinence pads, tartan rugs and small, annoying dogs. We'll all be working directly or indirectly for the healthcare industry.

At some point we need to accept that people should die. When I was a kid we learned that there were about 4 billion people on this planet; we're now over 6 billion, actually closer to 7 billion, and expected to pass 9 billion by 2050. If you serioulsy believe that we can, and should, extend every life indefinitely, where the fuck are you going to put everyone? There won't be enough space to park all their fucking Buicks!

I vote for letting people push the button and end their lives when they're ready. And if you no longer know what's going on around you, that's a pretty good indication that it's time to go, so at that point someone else can choose. Hell, I can barely put up with this fucking cold, endless nose-blowing and feeling like crap for two days; if I have to sit in my own piss and breathe through a tube while I'm doing it you can sign me up.


Copyright © 2009 Edward Bison