What’s So Funny About Nuclear War Anyway?
There’s always some fucker that shits in the gazpacho and ruins the party.
I know what yer up to
Yer standing at the big window behind yer desk, binoculars in hand, looking down at Mrs Shinberry, who is wearing her cream nightgown with the seagulls on it as she does every Wednesday.
Or maybe yer lying in yer bed, stuffing yer face with custard creams, watching re-runs of Seinfeld and desperately trying to stop checking the news every five minutes for information about whether that ‘madman’ Putin or Xi Pingpong has lost their mind and randomly decided to chuck a nuke yet.
Oh, Jerry, what are we to do? Is this the end of the world?
What’s it gonna take before you look up from ya phone and go:
I can’t do this shit anymore. It’s just too fucking stupid.
Whether you get hit in the head by a nuke, or yer choke on mozzarella at Pizza Hut or go a few seconds too far during your daily auto-erotic asphyxiation while yer wife is at work, or you go some other way, you’re leaving this life at some point, so why bother wasting it lying in bed in fear?
The world is run by suited, clean-shaven, perverted pricks who make money every time a bomb falls on a hospital.
They make money when a child gets cancer.
They make money when a man gets locked up for stabbing his wife forty-two times with a potato masher.
They make money when someone tries to commit suicide.
They make money when someone is drugged up for their depression or ADHD or whatever.
And they make money when you sit in bed and doom-scroll your way into an eating disorder or an alcohol problem.
And the only way to say fuck you to the suited, clean-shaven fucks is to turn off the damn news.
Stop eating from the shit machine, and start living your life instead of theirs.
Maybe you need to get out of bed, eat a cheese sandwich, have a wank over Mrs Shinberry and dance or play some music or go hit some golf balls or swim in the sea.
I don’t know. Whatever floats your inner goat.
But for fuck’s sake, don’t tweet about it or post pictures of your yuzu-soaked crackberry pancakes. Just eat the bastards and enjoy the flavour would ya?
Still, some useless pig will always tell you that you need to be informed about what is happening in the world.
Meanwhile, you don’t know your neighbour whose partner just fucked off, leaving them and their children to rot.
And you don’t know the old Vietnam veteran two doors down who recently lost his wife to cancer.
You literally don’t know one damn person in your street.
And you won’t bother to meet them because you keep listening to the pigs telling you that being informed is more important
Those shit-eating hogs are wrong.
We can all change the world like John Lennon, they say.
But it’s too late for that.
Sure, you read about it, but what can you do about it?
Buy a slightly more recyclable bog roll? What else?
Sign a GETUP petition to ban fucking squirrel hats, only to forget about it sixteen seconds later when you find a YouTube short of Hugh Jackfruit gargling coconut water in his anus?
Post a vein-bursting rant on Twitter to approximately zero readers so it can dissolve unseen into the ether?
Why should you keep eating from the shit machine under the guise of being informed when there is fuck all you can do?
You are being conned.
It’s not called being informed.
It’s called being addicted to the dramatic shit machine.
It’s called feeding the system that imprisons you with your limited supply of precious time coins.
It’s like being in love with an abusive partner.
It’s like taking punch after drunken punch because you have this deranged idea that you are observing some social or intellectual responsibility.
Look around you
There’s plenty to be done without picking up your damn phone.
Your world is as big as you choose it to be.
If the world is going to end, let it end shockingly during a beautiful picnic with friends, not at the tail end of weeks and months of fear and depression.
Stop sticking your dick in the cheese grater of world news and get off the shitshow that is social media, and you will be surprised how quickly the idea of nuclear war fades from your life.
That’s what’s so funny about nuclear war — the minute you stop giving it your attention, it goes away.
That was good. Perhaps you would join Thor and I in a world-berating group discussion along the lines of "handbook for the new paradigm" to encourage mass non-attention-giving?
Great post. I’m subscribed.