Tonight’s ramble is brought to you by Glen Moray, an Elgin single malt of reasonable price. Very light in colour, very mild to drink and a good general-drinking one. Not special, not like Laphroaig or Ardbeg or Caol Ila, those tastes of the deep peat bogs, but for the novice it’s best to build up to those. Glen Moray is a good starter. As a general rule, I have found that the lighter coloured malt whiskies leave less damage in your head in the morning. This does not apply to grain whiskies, all of which will leave you with a head full of sharp sand if you go just one glass too far..
And now we return you to your regular programming.
The Daily Madness laments the requirement to dig big square holes to put big round corpses into. Which is silly. Very silly indeed.
There have always been big round corpses. Sometimes lots, sometimes just a few, but there have always been some. Seen pictures of Henry VIII in his later years? They must have dug a very big hole for that particular King of England and nobody minded. It was worth it to be rid of the randy old porker.
One of my grandmothers was a short woman but wider than she was tall. She rarely left her chair after her husband died and was looked after by… well I never really knew who she was. We knew her name, at least we only ever knew her surname, and she did everything in that little terraced house in the backwoods of Wales. She was not a relative, not of ours anyway but she might have been this guy’s grandmother –
Much more wrinkly, more gaunt, more hookiness in the nose and with grey instead of blonde hair and far less good teeth and you’re there. We did exactly what she told us to do when we were children. No questions asked.
Anyway, she was really nice to us kids when we were well behaved even though she looked like she might eat us if we didn’t. I believe she was left Gran’s house when Gran’s cubical coffin was lowered (Which way up? Who knows?) and I really hope she was.
She must also be dead by now. If she isn’t then the undead are real because she looked like one fifty years ago. Her coffin would have been very narrow indeed.
My other grandmother was a brick shithouse with hands that could crush a normal human skull and a face with only two expressions – annoyed and very annoyed. She swore at us in Welsh but it was pointless because neither myself nor my brother have ever learned to speak it. We did get the gist though, through the body language and subtle cues of sudden pain.
Kids today don’t have the ordinary, normal upbringing we used to have. They are going to grow up weird.
The commenters on that Mail article prove it. There are some sensible ones and it is good to note an increasing prevalence of sense in the comments over there. Some note that there have always been chubby ones to bury and that since in the modern world the trainee corpses book their rooms many years in advance, there is no way to know what size room they’ll need. They might gain or lose a lot in between.
There are, however still many idiots out there. ‘They should be cremated to save land space’. For what? Wind turbines? They are under the land, not on it. Only wind turbine massive concrete bases need to go that deep. Nothing to worry about, drone, your GM crops are not fed on the dead. Yet.
If you bury a 40-stone corpse, surely that is a massive carbon lockdown? If you cremate that corpse it all goes back into the air.
So, using the same strange logic of the drones (ELO missed a trick there – ooo, it’s a strange logic – but then again most of the mad claims require magic) if you have to bury a dead fat boy and all the carbon he contains, that is a waste of resources but if you have to spend all the energy of a power plant in the process of making its expelled carbon ready to bury, that is a good thing.
If any of this made sense, if there was any logic and joined-up thinking anywhere in the cretinous world of politics, then people would get grants to get massively obese and thereby sacrifice themselves as carbon sinks for the good of the cheeeldren (except the ones they sat on, but then they get a bonus for population control).
There is no logic in any of it. It’s clear to anyone above the terrible mental disability of ‘being a politician’. There is no joined-up thinking anywhere in Wastemonster, nor in any council meeting room, because there is no thinking at all. Anyone attempting thinking in those places will be arrested for gross perversion.
The absurdity of it all is not yet simple enough for the average drone to grasp. But it is getting closer.